This morning I was at the DGD clinic for my follow-up exam. Now when you're sitting there, you have plenty of time to sit, think and do reading. This morning, I chose to do the latter. I decided to bring with me The world as I remember it-Through the eyes of a ragamuffin, a book based on some of the articles that Rich Mullins wrote for Release magazine. Well there was one that got my attention, entitled "Attics and Temples". It reminded me that even though in two days I celebrate my 47th birthday, that there is still a lot of work yet to be done....
So here is the article-the part I want us to think about is in bold:
My new apartment is in the attic of Jim and Megan's house.
It's a big old one-roomer with a mind of its own - a cacophony of lines that
occur at approximately 45 to 90 degree angles, with floors that sort of
redefine "level." This attic has it's own idea of what
"square" means; its studs have their own interpretation of the
classic 24 inch center. Its walls are loosely vertical and the whole thing is
about two weeks away from being much more than a lot of potential. Right now it
is resistant to change - openly hostile to my ideas of what it ought to be. But
slowly, surely, occasionally even patiently I am (with the help of some
friends, a hammer, a saw, some nails and a wrecking bar) enlightening it,
changing its self-concept, convincing it that it is not merely an ugly, old
attic - it is a great space that I would like to inhabit and be on friendly
terms with - a space full of promise and beauty and order and life.
I suspect that is wants to cooperate, but it's hard and I
must be patient. Whoever it was that shaped the attic before me did so with
some pretty big nails, deep cuts, hard hammers and rough saws. They considered
the attic to be wasted space, storage space - a distance between the roof and
the ceiling - a buffer zone and not much else. Someone else came along and
closed it in for a smoking room; a place for those ignoble activities that
would be inappropriate in the "house proper." They slopped the walls
with cheap, nasty paneling and put in a bathroom, covered the floors with ugly
carpet and stunk it up with a tobacco habit.
Sometimes in the heat of the toil of my labor I give in to
fits of selfish rage - frustration more over my lack of skill than over my
apartment's progress. But late at night when I look over the piles of dust and
dry wall and knee-deep debris that remain during this reconstructive effort, I
am strangely moved by the place and I proclaim the gospel to it softly. I say,
"I know how it hurts to be torn up. I am often choked on the litter left
by my own remodeling. I know what it's like to settle (by the grave act of a
strong will) into the despair of believing that you are wasted space. I have
felt the blows of heavy hammers that nailed me to a sense of uselessness. I
have been shaped by some pretty careless workers who came to the task of making
me and lacked any craftsmanship or artistry. I know the pain of wanting to be
changed and yet being distrustful of changes, of wanting to be worked on, but
being suspicious of the intentions of the Worker.
But here is some good news:
He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of
Christ Jesus. However messy it may be now, however confusing and scary it
appears, however endless the task may seem, we will some day be glorious, beautiful,
alive! There is much tearing out to do - a lot to give up. No thin coat of new
paint, no shallow, petty piety will do. It's not good enough to cover up
imperfection, it must be corrected. Art, beauty, function - these things take
time. They may take till the day of Christ Jesus."
But we are not wasted space, we are temples of a Being
greater than ourselves, temples being built to be inhabited and brought to
life. Though we may not understand the process, our Rebuilder does. We are His
workmanship and the place where He lives.
Little attic, do not despair! I'm being made by a Master
Carpenter. I'm learning a little about building too.
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