The story began when I was put on
firewood detail in the first week of a summer-long forestry
camp, an in-the-field training session to back the book learning of
the final two years of college classes in my pursuit of a degree in
forestry. Somebody put a chainsaw in my hands and the afternoon
yielded not only a stack of wood but a nickname that stuck.
“Chainsaw” became my identity, due
largely to the efforts of a very determined fellow forester and
friend. Because he called me that so persistently, soon everybody
else did, too, including classmates, professors, even the dean of the
College of Natural Resources who handed out the diplomas on
graduation day. For two years I went by little else.
The years passed and we all went our
separate ways, to wherever the jobs were available. One by one I lost
touch with the people I'd gone to school with. The nickname was
packed away in the trunk along with other treasures from those years,
followed eventually by my hard hat, cruiser's vest, and corked boots,
when I left the field of forestry for the fun of raising a family as
a stay-at-home mom.
Decades passed. And then a
Sunday morning found me visiting a church in a nearby town with my
family. A long relationship with another church body had ended when
my husband's office moved to a neighboring town and we began looking
for a new place of worship closer to home. Spiritually I was feeling
lost and discouraged, cut off from ministry activities of the past
and wondering if God still had a use for me in the years ahead.
Everything about the church that
morning was great, from the coffee in the foyer to the friendliness
of the congregation, and the worship service was alive and vibrant.
When it was time for the pastor to speak, he came up to the platform
bearing a bulky case of some kind, and as he welcomed the
congregation he said that God woke him at four in the morning and
told him to illustrate his message with a tool he had in his garage.
He sat on the top step of the platform
and began telling a story as he unfastened the locks on the case. He
owned a piece of property on which he wished to build a house, but
the acreage needed a lot of work in preparation. It was overgrown
with trees and shrubs, and he had a long day of cutting and clearing
ahead of him.
I didn't think anything of it at first
when he then pulled a chainsaw out
of the case, held it in his hands, and continued with his
tale. It wasn't until he began speaking to it directly that I
suddenly didn't hear a man talking to his tool any longer, but God
speaking directly to me. “Chainsaw,”
he said, “I know the plans I have for you...plans for good and
not for evil...you're going to build me a house. I knew I was going
to need you...”
My eyes popped; my heart pounded. I
listened carefully to every word He said, scribbling them down in my
notebook and later pasting them into my journal where I could find
them the next time I was attacked by the demons of doubt and
disbelief.
God called me by a name that only He
and I remembered, speaking the hope, encouragement and purpose I so
desperately needed to hear into my future using an identity from my
long-ago past. I left the building excited and encouraged, filled
with new hope. Ironically, the message that morning was on the fourth
dimension, how even the smallest details of our days are deliberately
put in place by God for use in some distant time when He will call
them into play. The events of our days are carefully orchestrated by
a loving Father who has good plans for us and destinies we have the
opportunity to fulfill.
As if to emphasize the point, I
happened to read a story about a family that lost a pet tortoise
during a renovation of their home. They assumed it got out during the
chaos of builders coming and going and leaving doors and gates open
in their wake. When the patriarch of the family died some thirty
years later, the children gathered to clean out the upper storage
room that was packed with old furniture and junk the old man had
pulled from the surrounding neighborhood and saved. There they
discovered the long lost family pet, still alive and thriving, having
survived perhaps on termites found in all the old wood.
We never know what treasure we have
deliberately or unconsciously packed away in life experiences we
thought were over and done. Every detail of our lives is
important to God, and nothing is forgotten. When we least expect it
He might pull a long lost pet name or similar detail from our past
and use it to direct our future. He has a work yet for each of us to
do to help Him build his house; inside of us are the tools He'll use
to benefit somebody else. He calls them forth using words our hearts
respond to, hoping our feet will likewise move in His
direction. A fantastic future can be just a footstep of faith away.
“We are assured and
know that [God being a partner in their labor] all things work
together and are [fitting into a plan] for good to and for those who
love God and are called according to [His] design and purpose.”
(Romans 8:28 AMP)
No comments:
Post a Comment