The craftsman uses various instruments (hammers, forges, anvils) to shape his tools. Some of his work now lies on a junk pile, broken, outdated, dull, rusty. There, heaped in a cobwebbed corner, they have become useless, never fulfilling the purposes for which they were created. Other tools are still on the anvil, being melted down, molten, changeable. They wait on the anvil, being shaped by the craftsman's hammer, becoming in the sometimes painful process what they were meant to be.
These become tools of usefulness; sharpened, primed, defined, mobile. They lie ready in the craftsman's tool chest, available to their master, ready to fulfull their calling. As Max Lucado draws these parallels we realize we are all there, somewhere in the Craftsman's shop.
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