It was unlike any other day, lying on the metal rack listening to the old familiar sounds inside the work shed. I’d grown accustomed to the distinct smell of the dripping oil can and I imagined the look of anticipation on the workman’s face as he went about greasing up the lathe. The joy of fulfilment lit up his eyes whenever he pumped the foot pedal as it began the perpetual motion of the wheel. Now having learned, I was content to be still and know the vast orchestra of diverse tools, some from a great distance and others which remained close beside me. Our spirits gathered in a collaboration of excitement and we leaped upon the first sensation of the master craftsman’s footsteps coming towards the toolbox. Next there was a pause and then a sharp snap. The flaps would fly back and nick the top of our world, heralding a changing moment in time. To us whose entire devotion was to be joined with the master craftsman, it was like a resurrection call.
With bubbling anticipation our hearts leaped as our comrade was chosen for the hour’s needs and we saw the proud smile of the builder. He stood quietly as he stroked the beauty of the divinely unique participant. Second to be noted was his pattern of joy that was most predictable. We heard a sigh, then…..a sacred pause. So marvellous it was as he gazed into the depths of his memory reliving other creations where this very piece had done either an extraordinary action or a menial, yet vital function. How flexible and diverse our fellow parts had grown and we began to understand why they were lifted into nearness more oft than we. That willing tool had become malleable, so longing for the explosion of immeasurable and divine potential for which we or each vital tool had been created. The master craftsman’s visible expression over past adjoining was a pattern that lit up the workbench and their union became so expressive that it seemed we were at the opera house.
Oh what harmony and pleasantries to feast on. Together they embarked into hours of song and vibrant beats that created colors in our souls. Thousands of sparks flew off the metal with screeches and flashes but we still remained in awe of the union. What might the master be creating with our fellow tool and we wondered and could only imagine from our motionless place. But in this state our senses sharpened and we listening in awe so much that we hardly recognised the sound of the one who lay dormant beside us for so long. As evening came to a close my spirit engaged in the dawn of an epiphany. Surely without the willing tool bonding with the master craftsman his dreams and purposes would lay lifeless and dormant, just as each of us, waiting our turn amidst the days’ display of finished work.
I admit I adored the sunlight that peeked through the aged cracks of the weathered generational toolbox. Yet life in the shady inactive prison had taught me how to imagine each tool’s most variant and integral potential. I came to appreciate the symphony of the fireworks display and to hear the chorus of diversity. The humble position of life on the shelf, in a toolbox or in a messy, greasy, broken bits on the floor place became a transforming hub of preparation for every tool. I joyed for my friends who came in and out of inactivity and I nourished myself on their stories. Just hearing their thrills of fulfilment became like a warm soothing oilcan that softened emerging molecules of motion inside of me. I felt the beat of the wire wheel scathing off the roughness of a presently unknown masterpiece that awakened my abilities. Accepting my uniquely created fashion soon gave way to a longing for the privileged place on the shelf rather than the confinement of the darkened metal toolbox. Oh to watch the master at work, up close! And it came about as the day’s creations were unfolding with whirls and thumps, cracks and songs that I too was lifted out of dormancy. As fast as the ticking of a grandfather’s clock there I was whisked up into the very hands of the Master Craftsman. The time was now and I too joined in the song of the ages to create His unfolding story.
We are chosen instruments harmonizing with God as his created beings. If we are passionately patient he will take our willing shape and function and twin us to himself. There in the ancient workshop he will transform us into an ecstatic expression that brings about the redemption call for all and to whomsoever wills.
Do you find yourself in His toolbox? Have you not yet experienced this or are you waiting to return into the hands of the Master Craftsman?
Throughout history we know people have resisted God’s plan for them and stayed dormant, much to his sorrow. Let us not think that we are forced to participate in the great plan of the ages. We are all here for a time in heaven’s toolbox and each is offered our precious place in His story. Created with immeasurable value though being very different we all, with diverse and limitless potential, must mature. Would the Master only choose one or two while the rest of us sit idle and never become a fulfilment of everything that our Creator has in his heart for us? No! All are of equal value and celebrated when we allow the spiritual processes to prepare us for function.God does not ‘use people’ rather he calls us into deep bonding covenant friendship and partnership with him. This is His greatest joy and most certainly ours too!
“No eye has seen, what no ear has heard, and what no human mind has conceived”–the glorious things God has prepared for those who love him.” 1 Cor 2:9