Sawdust filled the air, tickling my nose. I tried not to sneeze, but I couldn’t hold it in.
“Ah-ah-ACHOO!” Dust flew all over the little workshop. “Sorry, Daddy,” I said quietly as my Dad looked up from his work at my dust-covered face. He knew how much I disliked dirt and dust and that I absolutely hated to get dirty. But, there I was in the shop, watching my Dad.
“Are you sure you want to be out here? It’s only going to get worse,” he said to me as he watched me wiggle and squirm to keep from sneezing again.
“I know, Daddy. I still want to watch you work, though.”
I loved spending time with my Dad, especially when he was in his shop building something. Dad has always had a great talent with wood. He can take a few scraps and build a masterpiece. He can take a broken piece of furniture and make it look like new. That was his task that cool autumn afternoon. Mom had found an old table that was desperately in need of work and covered it with a table cloth. It wobbled; it creaked; it had been painted a dreadful yellow that was now cracked and faded. But, Mom had seen some kind of beauty in it. So, Dad decided to give a new look.
Dad thoroughly inspected the table and found a crack in one leg. He carefully amputated the cracked leg and used it as a pattern to fashion a new one. He disassembled the top and replaced the supports. He sanded the yellow away and sanded more until the bare wood was revealed. He gently worked at the edges of the top and found a lovely ornate carving that completely encircled the outside edge of the tabletop.
After a short break and a chocolate chip cookie (Mom was at Bible Study, making it easy to smuggle a couple of cookies out of the cookie jar!), we went back to the shop to re-assemble the table. In minutes, the table was back to one piece and Dad started to apply the stain. The old wood drank up the stain like it had been lost in the desert. It took three coats of stain to get the desired color.
I waited impatiently for my Mom to get home. I couldn’t wait for her to see the table. It was more beautiful than expected. Dad had completely transformed that old, abused table into an incredible work of beauty.
Mom was overwhelmed when her eyes fell on the table. She ran her hands over the surface again and again, amazed at the work my father had done to make it so beautiful. The old wobbly table was now strong and sturdy. It no longer creaked, its surface no longer peeled. It was instead a work of art, beautiful and new because of the love and care my father had given it.
My father still has that incredible talent. Much of the wood in my house has been transformed by the loving care of my father. It’s a reminder to me of the transformation that takes place when we allow the Master Carpenter, Jesus, to work the abused, creaky, wobbly parts of our lives. His loving care and gentle working on us will take the broken, hidden parts of us and make them whole and beautiful.
