I’m a Fixer

I wish I could lay down my hammer more easily. I wish didn’t roll over in the night and want to fix something.

Sometimes, the curtains rattle and I think of the fixing that needs to be done. I’m serious. My body has a constant knack to shove a wrench here, a pliers here and pull, and yank, and tweak, and fatigue hits like a drunk man’s punch: heavy and awkward.

Picture a robot that’s running on E but putting up a sign: “Battery recharge here”. It’s ironic right? It’s laughable. But it’s who I am. Every since I can remember I have taken the message of brokenness, as an invite to fix. Problem is…well let’s start what the problem isn’t first.

The problem isn’t that I have too small of a work room. I have a lot of connections in this life, a lot of friends, a lot of heartache and access to a lot of tools. I can write to them, I can talk with them, I can laugh and make them forget. I have a big enough work room.

The problem isn’t that I don’t care. I care every morning. I put my feet on the floor and before I can gain my balance I smell fear. I smell my own, and I smell other peoples. It’s hidden in the need to control everything, it’s hiding beneath the passivity. It’s lurking under the laughter that doesn’t end until bed time. It’s even there behind a smile that looks straight but sits just a bit crooked. It wakes me up more than my french press and let’s me know I’m still feeling.

The problem isn’t I am a bad tinker. This may sound prideful, but it’s true. Many of you are great at relationship help, walking someone through pain, or sitting in silence with someone. And yet we still have a fixing problem. Yet, I don’t think we are restless to fix something because we just aren’t good at fixing the problems that arise. I don’t think it’s because our progress report screams ‘F’ so we are in a perpetual state to earn an ‘A’.

Here’s what the problem is: I don’t like people tinkering with me. I am especially uncomfortable with God reaching inside, pulling and yanking and fixing. I know it seems completely backwards, but I have a problem accepting the hammer. I have a problem letting people tinker.

The problem is I don’t want to let people see how many nails are missing in my wood frame. It’s incredibly delicate wood in my heart. It was given to me by my Father and sin has caused some warping, and disfiguration. Yet, all the while He is making it new. Making it new…this hurts. It forces me to ackowledge the work that my own heart requires.

But it’s good. It’s always good with my carpenter. He never pulls too soft or too hard. He never grabs a nail too big or too small. He always hits at the right time: not at the most convenient time but when the nail will drive in fully…when the wood is soft and straight.

Christian, if you have a fixing problem…I understand.
 I pray that we would both let God wash through our hearts, blow through our minds, and heal our broken spirits, while we also humbly lend a small hammer to others.

Notice the word, ‘while’. That’s an important one. Because I firmly believe that we best help other’s hearts when we talk about the warped wood in our own.

The Carpenter is good and He is skilled. I pray we would let Him work.

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