There is a time to everything, a season for all, a purpose under heaven…
As I’ve often pondered over life’s events, time ticking along, I have found that to be true. Births and deaths and all the heartache and joy that lies in between. Each takes its place on the bookshelf of our lives. How we read it and what we comprehend, the interpretation of each work, now that is ultimately up to us. Certainly, there are times I was utterly positive that nothing could be gleaned from a particular chapter in my life. Haven’t we all been there in some fashion or another?
Yet, somehow, someway, I was always able to flip another page, to “keep on keepin’ on,” as my dad used to say. I have to tell you honestly, there were times it was as if the breath of God was turning those pages for me. Like a subtle spring breeze brushing back the curtain, letting sunlight stream in.
It’s amazing the difference one sentence can make. One simple statement. Then, suddenly, a new chapter begins.
Beginnings are glorious. Beginnings are terrifying. They are everything you dreamed they would be and all you feared they could. Beginnings are not to be taken lightly. I suppose you might say that we, my husband, Vincent and I, are starting a new chapter, chapters really. Beginning afresh. And I know that we are not alone.
It makes me think of something we hear Marc Spagnuolo (aka The Wood Whisperer) say repeatedly in his videos…”Our shops are in a constant state of evolution. Always changing, moving, accommodating the current needs… And that’s as it should be.” Now, granted, I realize Marc was referring to woodworking but, you know what? He’s absolutely right! Our “shops,” our soul shops, the heartbeat of our lives, are indeed, in a constant state of evolution.
I felt bad the other night. Driving, alone, down our dark little gravel road, headed to the grocery store. Vincent was home in his shop. Working, striving, laboring over tiny details with a couple of boards that were crucial to a woodworking project he’s completing. The thing is, the details had ceased to be miniscule and were now massive. A massive pain. All because he just didn’t have the proper tool for that task. Or if he got one that was close, it was too old, too cheap, or too busted to work well. When I’d kissed him goodbye he looked tired, hot, and stuck. As I drove along, I was overwhelmed with frustration on his behalf. I felt sad for him. I pulled into the parking lot and under the glow of the street lamp I texted him. I told him how sorry I was that we didn’t have what he needed. How I wished we did. Then, I said how sad it made me to see him work harder and longer because of that. And do you know what he replied?
“Don’t be sad baby. That’s just how we grow and learn and get better.”
Always changing, always growing, accommodating current needs. And that is just as it should be.