Thursday, January 22, 2009

Raking Rusty Scissors

So after a great deal of begging, my husband caved into letting me get a puppy a few months ago. I came home with 4 month old Labradoodle.

Now in her 7th month, she has picked up a nasty habit of chewing and for those of you who have ever had a dog, you're laughing or cringing in sympathy, for the dog-less neighbors, your blood is boiling from the never-ending pieces of plastic and bones and goodness knows what else the wind carries into your well manicured lawn.

Well a couple weeks ago, in an effort to not bring my own neighbors to the aforementioned point of emotion I decided to rake our yard of these pieces previously known as toys (and the cotton stuffing that I realized was not snow when it never melted away!)

As I was raking along, something caught my attention--being the saver/collector/pack-rat that I am, this is of no surprise to those who know me. But there, amidst some leaves, cotton, and sticks were (was) a pair of scissors. Old, rusted out scissors, a mere few feet from my labradoodle's dog house. Initially I picked them up and slipped them in my pocket with every intention of just getting them thrown away where they couldn't cause an additional vet trip.

Later that night, as I pulled off my sweatshirt I felt the lump in the pocket containing the old scissors. As I carefully removed them, I couldn't help but pause to ponder the life of this tool. And as much as my initial intentions had been to let them go--I found myself suddenly attached. Because as I held in my hands a rusty pair of old scissors, I couldn't help but think of the endless object lessons such a finding held...

1 Peter 1:24-25 "All men are like grass, and all their glory is like the flowers of the field; the grass withers and the flowers fall, but the word of the Lord stands forever."

You see, as I reflected on this verse and held my new found scissors--I realized how much I had in common with this inanimate object. A reminder of how fleeting our lives really are. A reminder of the rust of slothfulness. A reminder that we are no more than tools of a God greater than we can even comprehend.

The rusty scissors have a special place on my tool board in my studio room. I can't imagine the day will come that I will no longer need their subtle reminder, and I imagine this blog is only the beginning of the things they provoke.