I was in need of shelving in my storage room. Having a healthy aversion to spending money, I looked for a way to build these shelves “on the cheap.” I found a discarded metal frame of a set of shelves that, sadly, did not include the shelves themselves. I also found some odds and ends pieces of wood at my home and from some discarded furniture at the church. The question was, “How will I cut the wood into the size needed to fit in the frame and form the shelves?” I ran through a list of crafty friends in my mind, but decided I didn’t want to ask anyone to enlist in my home improvement project. Then, I remembered. Stuck back in the corner of my storage room, covered in black plastic, was the disassembled table saw from my father’s workshop. I knew this saw had been on a long sabbatical. To the best of my memory, it had sat idle for more than forty years. I removed the plastic, laid out the pieces, and found, to my amazement, that everything needed to make a table saw work was there. Nothing was missing. Most of this table saw, purchased in the 1960s, was solid steel, a Sears Craftsman last-a-lifetime kind of tool. I wondered if the belt that connected the electric motor to the pulley that turned the saw blade had rotted in nearly half a century of storage. Again, to my delight and surprise, the belt seemed solid enough to resume its long-neglected labor. I put all the pieces together, then, very gingerly, plugged the saw into an extension cord to see if it would work. The motor cranked up, the belt made laps around the pulleys, and the saw blade began whirring as it spun at high speed.As I heard the sound of the saw, a kind of hardware
instrumental ensemble of a motor, a belt, and a blade, I was suddenly taken
back across decades of time and a hundred miles to my dad’s basement
workshop. The last time I’d heard that
distinctive saw sound was in his shop on one of the occasions I’d been summoned
to be his table saw assistant. If dad
were cutting a long or large piece of wood, he needed a helper to hold up the
overhang that wouldn’t fit atop the saw.
By keeping the wood level as dad moved it across the blade, I would
prevent the wood from binding against the blade, messing up the cut, or
damaging the saw. Most of my woodworking
assistance probably left Dad wondering why good help is so hard to find. But I learned the sound of the saw, the
distinctive sound of dad’s table saw, and hearing it again made me feel as
close to him as I’ve been in a long time.
The sweet sound of that saw so delighted and inspired me
that, though it was late Saturday afternoon and I was tired from a full day of
cleaning out and organizing my storage room, I stayed on the job for another
hour or two, cutting all the boards I needed to complete my shelving
project. The last thing I thought about
as I drifted off to sleep that night was how a simple sound, reprised after so
many years, took me on such a heart-warming journey.
As I count my blessings this Thanksgiving season, I’ll
name a number of things I have in common with most people I know. I’m grateful for family and friends who love
me and brighten my journey. I’m thankful
for good health and a good home. I
praise God for the opportunity to play a part in His kingdom’s work. But this year, they’ll be an entry on my
blessings list that few people would understand. I’m thankful for the sweet sound of a table
saw, mechanical music that took me back to a place and a person I so tenderly
cherish. God gave me a precious gift by
playing my song. May you hear God
playing your song soon and often.
