I have spent over 60 years bent over a guitar and to know that I

Jerry Reed, the troubadour of six strings and storyteller of the American South, once reflected with the humility of a servant and the joy of a victor: “I have spent over 60 years bent over a guitar and to know that I wrote 70 compositions that masters have recorded, that makes me feel so good and full, and proud and thankful to the good Lord.” These words carry the weight of a lifetime, a testament not only to labor and talent, but to perseverance, faith, and gratitude. They are the cry of a man who gave himself to his craft and in return received both recognition and the quiet contentment of a fulfilled soul.

The origin of this declaration is found in Reed’s lifelong devotion to music. For six decades, he bent his body and spirit over the humble guitar, chiseling melody out of string and wood. To many, such labor would seem small or common, but to him it was the forge where his spirit was shaped. The image of being “bent over a guitar” is not one of drudgery, but of devotion—like a monk bent in prayer. His craft was his calling, and in answering it, he transformed ordinary labor into sacred offering.

To have written seventy compositions that were then chosen and performed by masters of the craft is no small feat. It is as though a mason built stones for a cathedral, and others of great renown chose his work to stand forever in the halls of glory. In this, Reed expresses not arrogance, but astonishment. He feels full, not in the sense of material wealth, but in the richness of having given something of himself that others found worthy to carry forward. His pride is not boastful—it is the pride of a laborer who has seen his work bear fruit after years of toil.

The ancients, too, praised such devotion. Hesiod spoke of the farmer who, through steady plowing, brings forth abundance from the earth. Likewise, Reed’s life was one of steady plowing across the strings, and in time, harvest came—not quickly, not without struggle, but richly in its season. His thankfulness to the good Lord shows that he did not see his success as his alone, but as part of a greater providence. This humility places him among the wise who know that talent is a gift, labor is a duty, and fruit is a blessing.

Consider also the example of Johann Sebastian Bach, who, though he labored in obscurity and hardship, wrote music that has endured centuries. At the end of his manuscripts, Bach would often write Soli Deo Gloria—“To the glory of God alone.” In Reed’s own way, his thankfulness echoes this same truth: that the highest music is not merely for human acclaim, but as offering to something higher, something eternal. Both men remind us that to create is to participate in the divine act of giving form to beauty.

The lesson for us is clear: devote yourself to your craft, however humble, and give it your strength, your time, and your heart. Do not measure your success only by riches or fame, but by the fullness of having given your best, and by the joy of seeing your work inspire others. Be thankful for every gift of talent, and direct your gratitude upward and outward—to God, to mentors, to all who share in your journey. For gratitude is what transforms achievement into wisdom, and pride into humility.

Practical action flows naturally. Whatever your “guitar” may be—your tool, your calling, your craft—bend yourself over it with devotion. Count not the years as burdens but as blessings of discipline. Celebrate the small victories, the moments when your work is recognized, but never forget to lift your eyes and give thanks to the Source of all inspiration. And when the fruits of your labor come, share them, as Reed did, so that others may carry your song into places you may never reach.

Thus, Jerry Reed’s words endure as a teaching for all generations: that a life bent in devotion, proud in labor, and thankful in spirit is a life well lived. For in the end, it is not the fame of the name, but the fullness of the heart, that becomes the true measure of greatness.