I love to go yard sale shopping.  There is just something about digging through all the items that were once loved and cherished, bought with a price, that are now being tossed aside, unloved and unwanted.

Today while I was out shopping, I found a rocking chair.  It wasn’t pretty.  The nicks and gouges on the arms spoke of many moments of carelessness.  The gold and butternut squash colored flowered fabric, was undoubtedly the epitome of fashion in the 70′s.  I could almost see it sitting in the corner of a wood paneled room, thickly carpeted in green shag, surrounded by heavy corded drapes.  Clearly, this chair was past its prime, it had seen better days.

Yet, there was something about it.  Every time I looked at it, I couldn’t help but see past its dated and abused outer appearance, and see what it could become.

I took a chance, I brought the chair home.  I paid $15 dollars, which was, judging by the condition and age of my new possession, entirely too much.  Nevertheless, It was bought with a price.

I brought it home, and immediately set to work.  My only tool was a tattered piece of 100 grit sand paper.  I diligently began my task of sanding away the 30 years of abuse, 30 years of imperfections.  As I sanded, Brandon looked down at me and said, “Why are you smiling?”  I hadn’t realized I was.

Why was I smiling?  What about this brought me such joy?  As I sanded each imperfection, I carefully ran my fingers against the grain of the wood, testing my work.  As I touched each bump, each bruise, each scar, I couldn’t help but smile.  How had each of the marks occurred?  Was the deep gouge that stretched across the back from that one time that an especially rambunctious grandson decided to see just how far it could rock?  Were the scratches and dents in each of the arms from children that chose to use them as seats as their mother read them “just one more” story?  Each mark held a story.  Each imperfection, a memory. Each scar, a truth.

I couldn’t help but think of myself, just 13 years ago.  I laid on the floor by my bed.  Battered, bruised, abused by the careless use of this world.  My soul was shrouded in its own ‘gold and butternut squash’ colored fabric, tattered, and worn.  I felt used up, and tossed aside by those who once cherished me.  What is worse, is that much of the damage was self-inflicted.  The result of my own careless and sinful  use of the body and soul the Lord had entrusted to me.

It was there that the Lord met me.  He looked at me, at all my imperfections, scars,  and He loved me anyway.  It was in that moment where I first gave my life to the Lord.  I was not my own, I was bought with a price.

Then the sanding began.  As the Lord ran His nail scarred hands over the gouges and imperfections of my life, He gently sanded away.  Not because He didn’t love me with my scars, no I daresay, He loved me because of my scars.  As He touched each scratch, each dent, He already knew how I received each painful mark.  The parts of myself that I thought made me unlovable, made me all the more beautiful to Him.  He sanded away patiently, gently removing the damage done.  It was painful at times, as change often is, but our Lord is so kind, so merciful, so patient with me and my stubborn imperfections.  Is it any wonder that our Lord Jesus was a carpenter?

My beloved chair will never be perfect.  No amount of work will ever completely erase the damage that was done in its former life.  But you know what, I love it any way.  Each mark is a symbol of where it has been, who it has come into contact with.  Why, would I ever wish that away?

I will never, in this world, be perfect.  No amount of work will change or take away the scars I have received, nor the scars I have carelessly given to others.  That is OK.  I was bought with a price by a very patient carpenter, who loves me despite my scars.  He looks past the gouges in my soul and mind, and sees beauty.  He sands away at me to make me useful for His will and His purposes. He uses me not despite my painful marks and bruises, but often because of them.

As for my chair, it is a work in progress.  When I look at it I can’t help but smile.  I don’t see it for what it once was, battered, used up, and left for the highest bidder.  No, I see it for what it shall become.  A place to rock children to sleep.  A place to read stories to drowsy eyes and ears.  A place to snuggle.  A place to dream.

Thank you Lord, my ever so patient carpenter of my soul.  I give you my life, scars and all.

“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong. 1 Corinthians 12:9-10