Heavenly Sandpaper

One of my favorite places in the house I grew up in was my dad's workshop. It was this filled-to-the-brim room that he built at the end of the carport; one door led in from the carport, and another led out to one of the multitude of porches that cascaded down the back of Mom and Dad's house. Those porches were awesome ... but that's another blog for another time ... back to Daddy's workshop. Daddy was always designing, building or repairing something, and he was truly gifted when it came to working with his hands. Daddy's hands ... just the thought of his weathered and scarred hands brings tears to my eyes, but again, the subject of my dad's precious hands is another blog for another time. Sometimes I wonder how many hours I spent in Daddy's workshop as I grew up, constantly trailing along behind him and begging to help him with whatever new project he was working on.

As was true with most of the time I spent with Daddy, there was usually a lesson involved in every activity we did together and my time in his workshop was especially abundant in lessons. Some of the tasks that Daddy had me perform were fun, like hammering nails or painting furniture. And then there were other tasks that I truly detested, like rubbing sandpaper over and over a piece of wood in an often feeble attempt on my part to smooth out the rough edges and prepare the wood for whatever use Daddy had in mind for it. Sanding the wood seemed pointless to me ... a monotonous and meaningless waste of time, not to mention that it made my fingers sore and blistered. I would sand and sand and sand ... Daddy would look at the wood and run his fingers across the surface, judging whether or not the wood was ready for its ultimate purpose. And much to my dismay, Daddy would, more often than not, tell me to keep sanding.

This morning, my pastor talked about heavenly sandpaper ... about how going through difficult times builds character and integrity in us. He spoke of how God's work in our lives is like heavenly sandpaper... rubbing away the rough edges, taking away the splinters, preparing us to perform the tasks God has set before us to do. As I listened to my pastor's words, tears coursed down my face as I thought of the words spoken to me by a friend last week. In a moment of pure unmitigated self-pity, I was ranting about how hard I try to be a good person, how I have a good heart, how I don't know what more God wants from me, and on and on. Reminding me that none of us are good or worthy of anything, my friend said, "God is going to keep on whacking away at you until He gets rid of all that stubborn pride of yours."

It struck me this morning as I sat weeping in church ... sandpaper ... that whacking away at me is God's heavenly sandpaper. The same lesson in two forms in the same week ... two different people imparting the same truth ... God wants me to hear that message. He has me where I am for a reason. He's sanding my heart and refining my character. He's honing my integrity and teaching me that I truly am nothing without Him.

Father God ... I don't like it here ... it's lonely and it's frightening and it's hard here. It's a place I've never been before, and I don't even begin to understand why You have me here. I do, however, know that You love me still ... You love me perfectly ... You love me always. Use your heavenly sandpaper on me, Lord ... rub away all of me that needs to go ... sand away, Lord, sand away.