On the Anvil - Max Lucado [1]
Acknowledgments
With tenderest appreciation to
Doug and Carl—
for three unforgettable Gold Coast years.
Stanley, Landon, and Lynn—
for helping the Word become an action verb.
Steve and Cheryl—
for your unquenchable loyalty.
Fern, Sue, and Laurie—
for keeping your eyes on my grammar
and your fingers on the typewriter.
And, most of all, to my lifelong partner, Denalyn.
If every man had a wife like you,
how sweet the world would be!
Foreword
Flipping through the pages of this book brings a flood of memories of where I was when the words were written. Most of the pieces were composed when I was an associate minister of a downtown church in Miami, Florida, years ago. One of my tasks was to write a weekly article for the church bulletin. Many ministers dread such tedium. But I grew to relish the task. Because I was single at the time, I stayed in my office until late at night, writing and rewriting the pieces. The bulletin was small, so my essays were brief. I had no thought that the articles would ever be read outside of the church, which explains why many of the illustrations are local. But the pieces were read outside of Miami. I began receiving letters from people around the country requesting copies of the articles. For the first time, I was exposed to the power of the written word. The pen, I realized, would speak to people I did not know, in places I might never go, in ways I otherwise never could.
I was amazed.
Then I received a letter from Randy Mayeux, a friend who at that time lived on the West Coast. “You should consider writing for publication,” he said. I thanked him, filed the letter away, and didn’t give the idea much thought. It wasn’t that I wasn’t interested. I just didn’t have the time. I was busy preparing for my wedding and a move to Brazil. Where would I find time to rework the articles, compile them in a book, and mail them to publishers?
The answer? I found the time in Brazil. When Denalyn and I moved to Rio de Janeiro in 1983, we spent several hours a day in language study. During the evenings I wrote. I spent several weeks rewriting the articles and weaving them into a manuscript. Not knowing the name of a single publisher, I went into my library and copied the addresses of fifteen publishing houses and mailed them all a copy.
Six sent it back unopened. Six opened it, but said “no, thanks.” Three expressed an interest, and one of those three, Tyndale House, sent me a contract. I was stunned. I will forever be grateful to Dr. Wendell Hawley and the Tyndale family for taking a risk on me and publishing my first book.
On the Anvil predates many better-known efforts such as No Wonder They Call Him the Savior, Traveling Light, and 3:16: The Numbers of Hope. It’s the only book I wrote when I was single. In fact, it’s the only book I wrote before I had children. If I remember correctly, I received the contract the same day Denalyn and I received news of her first pregnancy.
It is also the only book of mine my father ever saw. He died soon after its initial publication.
I never dreamed of being an author. Never. The words in the book are not those of an aspiring penman. As you read On the Anvil, you are reading the thoughts of a young missionary writing from his soul. The style isn’t as good as it should be. Some of the pieces are too abrupt, others are too wordy—but it’s my first book, and it has a special place in my heart. I wouldn’t change a single word of it.
Thanks again to Tyndale for taking the chance. Thanks to Dr. Wendell Hawley and Mark Carpenter for seeing the potential. And thanks to you for picking up this edition of On the Anvil.
—Max Lucado
Introduction: The Blacksmith’s Shop
In the shop of a blacksmith, there are three types of tools. There are tools on the junk pile:
outdated,
broken,
dull,
rusty.
They sit in the cobwebbed corner, useless to their master, oblivious to their calling.
There are tools on the anvil:
melted down,
molten hot,
moldable,
changeable.
They lie on the anvil, being shaped by their master,