A DIY Lesson

DIY projects are definitely not my thing. Yet last weekend, I found myself sanding down chairs for my dining room because I’m all about saving money these days. As I scrubbed, I started to see their backstory.

These chairs at one time were brand new. Freshly stained wood, never-before-sat-on cushions. They were designed for a purpose, and they fulfilled their purpose. By the time I got them, they were covered in glitter and random paint colors. Their cushions were faded by time and use. They’d been fulfilling their purpose and still had plenty of life left in them, but needed a couple new screws, a fresh coat of paint, and new material for the cushions in order for them to really be seen as valuable to an ordinary set of eyes.

Yet to get to that new-again state, they had to get worse. They had to go through the most pain that possibly they’d ever been in so that they could be restored as a better version. At one time, they were perfectly smooth, but now time and life events resulted in rough edges.They’d had to carry too much weight some times and other times had sat empty waiting for someone to want them. Both were depleting of their original design. And that depletion was obvious. They needed something fresh. Something reviving. They wanted to be new again. But all they could do was wait and hope.

And then I bought them. I saw past their depletion, worn-out face and saw value. Worth. Beauty. Past how they were used beyond the original intention. I saw room for restoration. They needed care. Care that began with them being wanted. Care that resulted in tough love, some extra holes drilled in for sturdiness, a complete covering of black paint over the worn-out wood stain. And now they are restored. They are better for it. They even look better than the original design. They are ready for use. They’re available. But they didn’t transition to new with a snap of the fingers. Becoming new was a process. Painful at times, but through it all, they were loved. Accepted as they were and seen as more valuable. Seen as worth the work and time to be restored.

This may seem a bit dramatic. But I encourage you, as I encouraged myself as I wrote this, to re-read the above and put yourself in the place of the chairs. Because this is how Jesus sees us. He sees our tired and hurting hearts yearning for more but not knowing how to get more. He sees how we have strayed from our original design and aren’t sure how to get back there or even if it’s possible to get back there. He sees the things that need to be stripped away in order for us to be truly restored to His renewed design. He sees our value and knows we are worth His time. He cleans us up. He covers us. He makes us new.

Because of that, we get to walk confidently in His love and acceptance while we start to accept ourselves, too. We get to accept ourselves the way He made us because that was His perfect design. We are His perfect design. We get to live the way He designed - free and filled with purpose.

I needed this reminder from these chairs. I hope it helped you, too.