I watched a carpenter so busy at his craft.
And must admit I was a little awed,
But when I saw his tools I all but laughed,
For every tool he had was worn and flawed.
His rusty hammer had a broken claw,
With handle worn and black from daily use.
I didn’t see a tool without a flaw,
Apparently from years of gross abuse.
His saw, with missing teeth and handle cracked,
Was slicing through the wood with skill and ease.
I didn’t see a single tool intact.
I asked him why he worked with tools like these.
He stopped his work and turned, I saw a smile,
And lovingly he glanced at all his tools.
He reached and picked a bent and rusty file.
“You see them rusty, broken, I see jewels.”
“For when I use these tools you’re seeing now
And they become extensions of my hand,
I use my skill and power to endow
These broken tools to follow my command.”
I couldn’t help but think, ‘I’m broken too’,
So worn and flawed by selfish, prideful sin.
I’ve faults and stains aplenty, talents few,
But God will choose to use me even then.
He’ll take this broken, bent and failing soul
And hold me in his loving warm embrace,
Then in his skillful hands, he’ll have control,
Accomplishing his work of love and grace.
This poem was a finalist in the January 2018 poetry contest