Grace Writing Service

This has been an exciting week at my house – moving, changes in ministry, home repairs – all kinds of exciting things. It started out with a real bang, and has lost little momentum since.

Our family has very few heirlooms, but the one that would be the most definite qualifier is our old iron bed. My mother acquired it from my great-grandfather while she was in Bible college. He acquired it from another member of the family who had purchased it when they set up housekeeping around the time of the Civil War. Our best guess is that the bed is between 140 -150 years old. It is not especially ornate, but it has withstood the test of time. This week, as we prepared to set it up in yet another room, we realized that the years have taken their toll on our old bed. The finish, which was put on the bed some thirty-five years ago, was all but gone and rust was beginning to take its place. At first we thought we could just put a new finish on it. But further consideration convinced us that we needed to start fresh.

Monday brought a beautiful, sunny Montana day, with blue sky and warm Chinook winds to draw us into our outdoor workshop. I hauled the four pieces of the frame out into the yard and one by one sanded down every inch. It wasn't long before I was covered in rust-colored dust. The longer I worked the harder the wind blew, until at last I had to find a place that was more sheltered so that I could begin applying the finish. I spread a large plastic tarp under the bed frame to keep the grass away from the legs and went over the surface of the bed one more time. As I did so, I realized that the wind was not going to leave my tarp alone. It kept picking up the edges and blowing them against the bed frame. In no time, I had found some large rocks and a couple of boards to hold down the edges and I was soon under way.

The primer went on with no trouble, though the wind blew much of it away. Before applying the paint, I hurriedly adjusted the tarp to make sure that it would not blow up against the wet paint that I was about to apply. I was just about to finish painting the headboard when it happened. One of the boards that I had laid down on the tarp was (sadly) infested with a nice crop of nails. There were several of them, and I knew that I should either not use the board or should at least pound the nails down – but I was in a hurry. I had very carefully flipped the board upside down and had even pressed the nails down into the ground. But somehow, perhaps when I had adjusted the tarp, the board had gotten flipped over so that two inches of nail were now facing dangerously upward. I stepped backward – and that was the end of my project. An hour and a half later, I watched as nurse bandaging the wounds where two nails had gone into and through my toes, all the while dreading the Tetanus shot that was to follow. It was then that the spiritual applications began to seep into my shocked brain.

The bed is finished now. It looks very nice in its new corner. The surface is smooth and brightly finished in soft metallic gold. No one would ever know that it had such a history. But that bed is a little like a seasoned Christian. Just like the bed, he or she has withstood the test of time and served their purpose faithfully year after year. But the years have taken their toll and a few rough edges have begun to appear. It is in these moments that the One who loves His child, must take the time to smooth and prime and polish, so that they will come forth as gold. And like that bed it often takes an abrasive and un-forgettable wounds. But let not that Christian forget the piercing wounds received by the One who so lovingly sands away the corruption that has crept in –  Who first was willing to wear the dirt and dust that needed to be sanded away and then to receive the wounds which made the sinner's redemption possible.

I have a new appreciation for the nails in our Savior's feet this Easter. Let us not forget His sacrifice as we yield to His "sanding?" in our lives.