Behind
a wooden door in my grandfather's basement was one of my favorite childhood
places. Stepping through that door meant entering a new world. Inside, Grandpa
could reach up, just over his head, and pull a single string, and turn every
light on in the room. In a moment, his little woodworking shop came to life as
fluorescent fixtures struggled on and that beautiful workbench came into full
view. Grandpa was a retired farmer who loved to work with his hands. And over
the years of my childhood, some of my happiest hours were spent at his hip
watching him cut, shape and glue wood into presents for the family and for the
special orders of friends. Grandpa's
shop was very small, and his projects reflected its size. Nothing too big could
leave through the people-sized door, but this was hardly a limitation for him.
Every Christmas, he managed to think of something to make the grand kids.
A table for me to use as a pint-sized workbench at home, a wooden stove
for Cousin Linda, finished with wooden knobs and burner tops.
I
really enjoyed being with my grandpa in his special world in the basement; loved
feeling his arms around me moving my hands back and forth holding tight to a
chisel. I miss the way he would run his rough hand over a wooden surface I had
just finished sanding, and tell me "just a little more". I miss my
grandpa a lot, we all do...and for different reasons. But I miss the man who was
the carpenter and first taught me to love wood, and work, and to create
something beautiful out of nothing. Today I have a wood shop in the barn with a
few of Grandpa's tools hanging around to keep me company. When I pick up one of
his tools to work, I remember how he would tell me how God's son was a
carpenter, and that "If it was a good enough thing for Jesus, it was good
enough for him." I also carry with me from those times one other thing.
It comforts me through the ups and downs of my life and the changes I
experience. Grandpa always saw God as a carpenter, and we as his tools.
Sometimes God picks us up with a specific purpose in mind,. He holds us
carefully, and moves us slowly. When he is finished, he patiently restores us to
his workbench and allows us to rest until we are needed again. It’s important
to remember that God has many tools on his bench, and that he doesn’t
necessarily use every one for the same job or at the same time. Sometimes when
I’m feeling particularly useless and neglected, I think of my grandfather
building a gift in the basement, one implement at a time, always using the right
tool for the job, and caring for each of his precious instruments just the same,
until at last they are picked up and held in the carpenter’s hand again.