My friend is a skilled woodworker, but sometimes the wood does not conform to his purpose.
He once sanded an enormous plank destined to become a dining room table. The plank had been specially kiln-dried, but the weather was rainy. Moisture penetrated the wood grain, and the long edges curled slightly like a potato chip--not acceptable material for a dining room table. The only solution was to score long lines in the wood so the drier surface could relax and lie flat. He then refilled the scores with resin and resanded the entire surface.
Our writing can be like that wood plank. We labor over our novel, essay, or article—honing the message and massaging the words. We find it beautiful, like the carpenter who has sanded the table surface until it feels as smooth as silk. We then offer our cherished work to our editors, who point out that the plank is not level. We will need to cut and sand more to have an approved product.
We find it difficult to hear that the results of our long hours are imperfect. We resist cutting long grooves in something we feel we have made smooth. Someone wants to whittle away our efforts. Yet we do want something useful to readers.
The same is true of our lives as Christians. We pray and read our Bibles, but occasionally we may receive feedback from those who have walked longer with the Lord. These mid-course corrections may alert us to blind spots in our faith practice. When we open ourselves to constructive feedback, we may become more useful to God.
Extra work is often worth it. You will have a table to share meals with family and friends, a book worth reading, and a life worth living. Let God do what He will with your life planks.
Laurie Herlich followed the Lord’s leading across the country to the promised land of Northeast Tennessee. There she writes cozy mysteries and devotions in a converted garden hut situated in her back yard.