On the Anvil - Max Lucado [2]
There are tools of usefulness:
sharpened,
primed,
defined,
mobile.
They lie ready in the blacksmith’s tool chest, available to their master, fulfilling their calling.
Some people lie useless:
lives broken,
talents wasting,
fires quenched,
dreams dashed.
They are tossed in with the scrap iron, in desperate need of repair, with no notion of purpose.
Others lie on the anvil:
hearts open,
hungry to change,
wounds healing,
visions clearing.
They welcome the painful pounding of the blacksmith’s hammer, longing to be rebuilt, begging to be called.
Others lie in their Master’s hands:
well tuned,
uncompromising,
polished,
productive.
They respond to their Master’s forearm, demanding nothing, surrendering all.
We are all somewhere in the blacksmith’s shop. We are either on the scrap pile, in the Master’s hands on the anvil, or in the tool chest. (Some of us have been in all three.)
In this collection of writings, we’ll take a tour of the “shop.” We’ll examine all tools and look in all corners. From the shelves to the workbench, from the water to the fire . . .
And I’m sure that somewhere you’ll see yourself.
We’ll discover what Paul meant when he spoke of becoming “an instrument for noble purposes.” And what a becoming it is! The rubbish pile of broken tools, the anvil of recasting, the hands of the Master—it’s a simultaneously joyful and painful voyage.
And for you who make the journey—who leave the heap and enter the fire, dare to be pounded on God’s anvil, and doggedly seek to discover your own purpose—take courage, for you await the privilege of being called “God’s chosen instruments.”
Part One: The Pile of Broken Tools
1: The Pile of Broken Tools
To find me, look over in the corner of the shop,
over here,
behind the cobwebs,
beneath the dust,
in the darkness.
There are scores of us,
broken handles,
dulled blades,
cracked iron.
Some of us were useful once, and then . . . many of us never were.
But, listen, don’t feel sorry for me.
Life ain’t so bad here in the pile . . .
no work,
no anvils,
no pain,
no sharpening,
And yet, the days are very long.
Are you broken, too?
Do you think God might be calling you “off the pile”? What would that require of you?
2: I Am Very Weary
It will be remembered as one of the most confounding missing-persons cases.
In August 1930, forty-five-year-old Joseph Crater waved good-bye to friends after an evening meal in a New York restaurant, flagged down a taxi, and rode off. He was never seen or heard from again.
Fifty years of research has offered countless theories but no conclusions. Since Crater was a successful New York Supreme Court judge, many have suspected murder, but a solid lead has never been found. Other options have been presented: kidnapping, Mafia involvement, even suicide.
A search of his apartment revealed one clue. It was a note attached to a check, and both were left for his wife. The check was for a sizable amount, and the note simply read, “I am very weary. Love, Joe.”
The note could have been nothing more than a thought at the end of a hard day. Or it could have meant a great deal more—the epitaph of a despairing man.
Weariness is tough. I don’t mean the physical weariness that comes from mowing the lawn or the mental weariness that follows a hard day of decisions and thinking. No, the weariness that attacked Judge Crater is much worse. It’s the weariness that comes just before you give up. That feeling of honest desperation. It’s the dispirited father, the abandoned child, or the retiree with time on his hands. It’s that stage in life when motivation disappears: the children grow up, a job is lost, a spouse dies. The result is weariness—deep, lonely, frustrated weariness.
Only one man in history has claimed to have an answer for it. He stands before all the Joseph Craters of the world with the same promise: “Come to me, all you who are weary . . . and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28).
Have you ever been truly weary? What do you do when you feel that way?
Have you ever known the