Faith, Fettle, and Fingerstyle Guitar
20 March 2026 • by Bob • Music, Health, Guitar
Someone shared the following video in a Progressive Rock forum, which was a great throwback for me. Here is Steve Howe playing "Beginnings:"
In the early 1980s, I used to play that piece (without the harpsichord accompaniment) as part my classical guitar repertoire.That piece, along with the following piece (Steve Howe's "Surface Tension"), were to have been audition pieces when I wanted to apply to college to study as a classical guitar major:
Those who know me realize that I eventually changed my plans, got married, became a dad, joined the military, and then became a professional geek in the computer industry. But I never gave up my love for the guitar.
However, Steve Howe's "Beginnings" in particular was a sad reminder for me of what once was. Not because I am foolishly pining for days gone by, nor am I regretting the decisions that framed my life and set me on the path that has led to where I am today. On the contrary, that video was a reminder of the fact that due to the slow progression of incurable hand tremors, there are many things that I cannot play now - nor will I ever play again - on the guitar.
Another piece that entered my repertoire prior to tremors taking over and occasionally rendering my hands useless was David Qualey's beautiful arrangement and variations on J.S. Bach's "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring:"
Another piece that I recently tried to play - and failed miserably at - was Leo Kottke's "Rings." I will ashamedly confess that I used to sing this song when I played it, because it made the piece that much harder to play - and I wanted the challenge:
Shortly after tremors had noticeably affected my dexterity and before my official medical diagnosis of Essential Tremor, I attended a music festival in Evart, Michigan, with my good friends Mark Alan Wade and Randy Clepper, which - unbeknownst to them at the time - was my final hurrah as a "performing" guitarist. I had a blast joining them onstage for the last time, but I will admit, it was a bittersweet moment for me, because even without the diagnosis, I knew what was in my future.
It's been a decade since my symptoms first became unmistakably prominent, and I've adjusted to the fact that some days the simple things I used to take for granted - like eating in public - can be a challenge.
Occasionally I'll sift through the scores of classical and fingerstyle arrangements that I personally wrote, and I am often taken aback when I remember that not only did I write those arrangements - I could play them, too. When that happens, I am reminded, much like the piece by Steve Howe that began this dissertation, that part of my life has passed, and I am left with the decision of how best to adjust to my new reality.
A few days ago, I reposted someone else's thoughts on progressive christian theology, and in the ensuing conversations that happened on that thread, I spoke a lot about faith - and what happens when someone loses their faith. To be frank, when a neurologist looked me in the eye and said that I have a degenerative condition that may one day make it impossible to hold a pencil or a fork - that was a moment when I was forced to examine my faith.
I have often said that there are three ways that I can react to my condition: I can scream about it, I can cry about it, or I can laugh about it.
Screaming is where many people lose their faith. They scream at God. They scream at others. They scream at life. As is often the case with my condition, people scream at their hands for failing to do what the brain has instructed them to do. And while I will admit to occasionally screaming at my hands in a moment of frustration, this is not the path I commonly choose.
Crying can be therapeutic, but only for so long. Eventually you have to pick up the pieces of your life and move on, lest you fall into self-pity and depression. And here again I must admit that I initially mourned my condition by going through all five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and finally acceptance. And this is where faith really comes to fruition: yes, my situation sucks, but I choose to believe that God has a plan that is reinforced through His Word (e.g. scripture).
This is why I choose the last of the three reactions that I mentioned: I choose to laugh, even when it seems illogical. My wife of 40+ years, Kathleen, has seen me laugh when I've failed to do the most basic of tasks that I have been able to do without error since I was one or two years old. And in all of this, I do not waste my time whining about whether this is "fair," because any notions of "fairness" are wholly subjective and utterly useless. It might seem unfair that I'm slowly watching my once-skilled hands as they continue to degenerate, but I am blessed in so many other ways. In short, as I said earlier, I trust that God has a plan, even though I cannot see it.
Bringing this conversation full circle, while it was sad to see and hear a guitar piece that I once enjoyed playing (but can no longer play due to unforeseen circumstances), I know my situation isn't the end of the world. I choose to believe that God has other plans.
Tags: Music, Health, Guitar, Essential-Tremor