I once met a man, a connesieur of D.I.Y. if you will. I watched him at work, skilfully carving, cutting and fixing. The thing I noticed is how old his tools seemed. I’d expected him to be equipped with the latest and best, seeing as how he was an expert and all, but instead he used a patchwork of old, venerable tools.
“Why don’t you chuck that lot away and get some new stuff?” I asked him.
He looked at me as though I was an idiot.
“Why? There’s nothing wrong with these. The blades are still sharp, the heads still solid. They get scuffed and damaged over the years, and need to be patched up – a new handle here, a sharpening there – but they’re still good. Better than good actually.”
“Ah, sentimental value,” I said.
He nodded. “A bit, but not just that. They do the job, and do it well. Those new tools are alright, but they don’t make them like this anymore.”
I knew a man in Christ who had been broken but got up again, and been broken but got up again, and been broken but got up again. He limped his way along, leaving the fragrance of the Kingdom of God wherever he went.
“Why don’t you use someone else, God?” I asked. “That guy’s had it.”
He looked at me as though I were an idiot.
“I don’t throw things away, James.” Then He looked at the man with such love in His eyes. “They don’t make them like this anymore.”
