I love tools. In the hands of a skilled person, they repair the broken.
They are used to create objects of beauty, and bring form, from imagination.
Tools are designed for the toughest of jobs, yet, in the hands of a surgeon, the most delicate surgery on the human body.
Tools in the hands of its master are just as a musical instrument in the hands of the musician.
This week, my family gathered, as we said goodbye on this earth to a great man, my father-in-law. He used his hands, his knowledge, and yes, his expertise with tools, to enrich the lives of others.
He diagnosed with resolve. He crafted with pleasure and fulfillment. He pounded and twisted with understanding and accuracy. He understood things that many people don't. With the twist of a wire and the flip of a switch, power would flow to its intended end.
With patience, he would listen and observe, determining with clarity the heart of the matter.
Then he would reach. He would reach for the tool. Never haphazardly but defined intent.
A new part or a minor adjustment. Something that was doomed now brilliantly working just as it was designed. Something that was destined for a landfill, now bringing joy or at least needed use to its owner.
God does that. Patiently and intricately repairing the deepest recesses of our soul.
Replacing the old with the new. A twist and a turn, with gentle loving hands.
What was doomed and without hope, now filled with everlasting life. It's a miracle.
I'd just look at Dad and say, "wow, it's a miracle". Thanks Dad, new again.
And he who was seated on the throne said, “Behold, I am making all things new.” Also he said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.”