The Toolbox

“But now, O LORD, thou art our father; we are the clay, and thou our potter; and we all are the work of thy hand.”
Isaiah 64:8

“For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus unto good works, which God hath before ordained that we should walk in them.”
Ephesians 2:10


The ToolBox

By Nina Rose Hall

My God has a box of many tools
That he’s used to shape my life
And in His grace, he’s worked to build
And change me for the right.

As I’ve rummaged through that box
Of lessons learned, and memories made,
I’ve found he’s used each circumstance
To mold me to His way.

A rugged sheet of sandpaper
lay flat across the top,
The people who irritated me, He’d use
To rub off each rough spot.

There was a Level He would keep on hand
To set my perspective straight;
He’d remind me to stay on the narrow way
And lead others to that gate.

The wrench to tighten my hold on companions
Who were godly, trustworthy, and wise;
And to loosen my grip on those who were foolish
And learn to see through their disguise.

Then there was the hammer for the wake-up call
That the judgment was sure and soon;
That I’d better repent and get my heart right
For we know not the hour – night or noon.

Getting deeper in the box, I found that some tools
Were harder than others to face.
Some made me sad, and some gave sweet peace,
While others left me in disgrace.

The saw, used so frequent, encased with conviction
Had cut out much sin in my life.
My yielding had built habits, which led to deep roots
And sin’s darkness had shielded my light.

I found next the pry bar, which ever so gently
Had found each crevice to work,
To remove from my heart all things and all persons
That were taking the place of God’s Word.

Then to my great shame, I pulled out the paintbrush
And recalled dumb things I’d do or say.
He’d paint my cheeks scarlet, and I’d cover my face
…Yes, I’ve learned some hard lessons that way.

I picked up the tape measure, and pondered my life
Knowing time and eternity were his.
For He’d teach me to measure out my hours and my days
To plan – for how short the time is!

And precious to me was the tool that had held me,
A vice grip, so close to his heart.
To love me, to give strong security
Protect me, and never depart.

The glue and the duct tape tucked in the side pockets
He patiently, tenderly used
To patch up the pieces when my heart was broken,
To heal and make me like new.

I stopped in reflection, and left the box go-
My Craftsman to thank and to praise
For without him, I’d fail, and ruin myself,
I need him each step of the way.

He’s worked on me slowly, daily, uniquely
And it seems that we’ve come a long way;
…Yet there be many tools that I’ve not come to know
For still he builds on today.


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