My Dad is a carpenter. A handy man. Mr. Fix-it. He really can do anything. If it’s broken, my Dad will figure out how to mend it.
When Lindsey and I started planning to convert the home office into Baby Benjamin’s room, one of the first things we mentioned was new flooring. The flooring that we had was “hand-me-down” flooring from my parents. They got new flooring in their home and when Lindsey and I bought this house, as broke newlyweds, we didn’t have money for new flooring, so Mom and Dad passed down their old stuff to us. It was better than what we had!
Now, the old flooring in our upstairs is about fifteen years old and it is beyond time for new carpet. A coffee stain in one place, a red wine stain in another, it’s beyond fixable. We bought a steam cleaner once and tried to remove the dirt and grime on our own, but some stains are so deep that you just can’t do it by yourself.
When we realized it was time to change the flooring in Ben’s room, I considered doing it myself, possibly with the help of a friend or two. Why? Because I’ve never been able to do any sort of manual labor or handy man work very well. Once I came to my senses, I realized that was foolish, when all I have to do is ask my Dad to fix it or replace it and he will.
Even though my Dad is a busy guy: fireman, paramedic, plumber, hunter, mechanic, and carpenter, he still made time for me.
We started by pulling up the old floor. It had to go. It was worthless. Stained, stinking, and saturated with filth. We pulled it up and threw it out to the trash heap. Once the old was gone, we swept up, getting rid of any trace of the old stuff.
And this afternoon and evening, as I stood back, of no real help, watching my Dad replace my floor, I had to fight back some emotion.
The carpenter was in my home, fixing, repairing, and replacing what I could not do on my own. In my own strength, I was incapable. But it was almost as if He seemed even more “cool”, even more capable, even more skilled, due to my lack. He could fix and replace what I could not do for myself.
Isn’t that just like Jesus?[clickToTweet tweet=”Trust the Carpenter. #graceismessy” quote=”Trust the Carpenter” theme=”style3″]
Steve Austin is an author, speaker, and life coach who is passionate about helping overwhelmed people learn to catch their breath. He is the author of two Amazon bestsellers, "Catching Your Breath," and "From Pastor to a Psych Ward." Steve lives with his wife and two children in Birmingham, Alabama.
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God is Love. No, really.
I Need You to Help Me See God Clearly
Hope for the Forsaken: A Doxology in Darkness
How Should Pastors Respond to People with Mental Illness?
Celebrating Christmas When My Faith is Full of Doubt
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