Not Much of a Carpenter

I awakened with the giddiness of a child on his first day of summer vacation. Filled with memories of playing in my brother’s workshop when I was young, I went to the hardware store to purchase all I would need to construct a trash container at our mountain house. Over coffee, I made my plans and figured out what I needed and the order in which things should be done. Now, I just needed to pull it off. That fact is, I’m not much of a carpenter, but that’s not the point.

I set up a workstation on the deck and stumbled my way through cutting the supports. After correcting some measurements, I attached the supports, then put on the siding. Building things is harder than I remembered, and I marveled at my friends who are accomplished carpenters throughout the project. By the time I got to the lid, I was eager to finish the project and rushed through the final stages. In the end, I pulled it off. Anyone who looks closely could see countless mistakes. As I put away my tools, it was clear I wasn’t much of a carpenter, but that’s not the point.

My experience building the container is not unlike my efforts to live a life of faith. I awaken every morning with high hopes and spend time “getting ready” before beginning my day. I make plans, but either the day itself or my scattered heart usually gets in the way. Mistakes are made and I need to correct them, it seems, by the minute. Determined, I push on. Some days I make it through because of sheer stubbornness.  Some days take less effort. Whether a day feels like a disaster and isn’t so bad, I’m can always see I’m not much of a carpenter, but that’s not the point. 

I can get lost in comparing my work to those who are accomplished, those who seem to be able to live a spiritual life effortlessly, but that never helps. I can look closely and only see my mistakes, but that will just make me want to give up. Instead, I need to see that I showed up, cared enough to try. Even though I’m not be much of a carpenter, that’s the point.

Split Logs

He was a friend of a friend, but, after years of meeting on Friday mornings in a men’s spiritual support group, he became a friend of my own. Well-traveled, he spoke of terrain I had not yet reached, described views I had not yet seen. As if standing on the side of the trail clapping his hands, he encouraged me to travel on, to see within what I couldn’t see on my own. 

“You can do this.”

“You can rise up and carry on.”

           “God loves you more than you know.”

                        “If you don’t believe me, read the Bible.”

Today, I received word he died, and my thoughts are not only of my appreciation for his friendship but my dismay over letting our opposing political views come between us. Like a wedge in a log, his love and my hatred for the same person spit us apart, and I sit here this morning mourning not only his death but the lost days of friendship. 

The things which divide us seem to have overtaken the things which unite us - as neighbors, as Christians, as Americans, as citizens of the world. How you choose to respond to the pandemic, which news channel you watch, how you worship, if you worship, what state or region of the country you come from, what school or team you root for . . . the wedges to split us apart seem endless. Maybe it’s always been this way, but it seems worse than ever. 

Now, in all my self-righteous indignation, I sit on a Friday morning alone. It must be that way this morning, but it didn’t have to be for the last two years. What a silly and unnecessary loss.  

A Mighty Wind

If I didn’t know better, I’d say it’s a calm, clear day. From the safety of a mountain home, I look out at the peaks and valleys and am fooled by the bright sun and clear mountain air. The flags on the deck, though,  are dancing wildly in the wind. Because of them, I know wind is swirling all around me. Like dust that reveals a ray of light, it takes something like a flag to help me “see” the wind. 

Too often, the same is true for my spiritual life. I look out from the safety of wherever I happen to be and think I see things as they are. I’m deceived by appearances. Too often, I’m fooled into thinking things are as they appear, but, then, I’m given the gift of something that awakens me to the mighty wind swirling around me.

The Hebrew people had a name for the mighty wind. They called it, “Ruach,” and believed God was with them in such a wind. Christians also believe God is present in the wind. They call it the Holy Spirit. Like my experience in the mountains, I don’t see the wind until something is placed before me. Suddenly, the wind causes whatever it is to dance. It may be an event that speaks to my heart, a note or call from a friend at just the right time, or a comment made as if speaking directly to me. 

The mighty wind makes itself known through the most unlikely “flags.”  Because of them, and through them, we’re able to see the wind that surrounds us and know that we’re not alone. In this unusual time, looks can be deceiving. Looking out from our homes, we may think we see things as they are, but there’s a wind. There’s always a wind. It just takes a flag to make us see it.