Blue Collar Work
A Saturday Story
We weren’t finished yet, nevertheless, Jeremy stood back, pulled out his phone, and took a picture. We had spent the day framing up a platform addition to a storage area of a warehouse. The following day would include the making of stair stringers for new and safer access to the upper level. Jeremy has been helping me off and on throughout the winter. I need the help. That has become more and more true as I creep into my sixth decade on earth. Most days, the spirit is willing, and the flesh is weak. By Friday the flesh has beaten the spirit into submission, and both are forced out the door by mere necessity. So, having help with the heavy stuff is a blessing.
I understood Jeremy’s desire to take a picture as we stood back and looked at what we had accomplished that day. When we arrived earlier that day all we had was a stack of lumber and a box of hardware in the bed of my work truck. By 4:30 heavy posts were anchored to the floor, standing at attention, plumb and level, evenly spaced, and proudly holding the new platform we had created atop their beefy frame.
It wasn’t finished, but it looked nice. That felt good. Those who make things or have some part in creating or rebuilding physical stuff – carpenters and quilters, painters (both the artistic ones with an easel and canvas and the ones with old chevy vans with ladders on top), welders and landscapers – have an advantage over people whose occupation doesn’t end with something physical to show for it. That isn’t to diminish or disparage those jobs at all. It is simply an acknowledgment of what I perceive as the advantage of some kinds of labor.
Those whose work day ends with standing back and seeing something physical, something they made or made better, feel delighted in what they see. They can take a picture and show it to their spouse, or just point to what they made, or hold it up and say, “I did that.”
That is especially satisfying when the outcome of their labor is good. When it is plumb and level, when the lines are straight, when the design is unique, when what they had envisioned becomes a physical reality it just feels right. I think there is something of the image of God leaking out of us at that moment. At the end of every day of creation, God stood back, looked, and said with joyful satisfaction, “It is good.”
Sometimes, after I build something, I get a little down. The realization that it is not going to last sinks in. Wood will rot. Paint will fade. Someone will damage it somehow. I start quoting the words of the Preacher, “Vanity of vanities! All is vanity.” (Ecclesiastes 1:2) I don’t think it should be that way. The aim in this world can’t be for that which we make will last forever. The Lord knew when He created everything good that the devil and man would try their hardest to make it all bad. In this fallen world, the “moth eats and the rust decays” what we make.
Nevertheless, I think it is good and right to stand back and look at what you’ve made and say, “It is good,” because in those moments we are reflecting, even if in a small way, something of the nature of God. Those moments remind us and teach us about the Creator and His creation. I don’t think I’m off base here. For God, Himself designed our weeks and our intended pattern of work and rest to be like His own. Six days of labor and a day of rest.
The Creator made us creators. The Designer made us designers. The One who brought order out of chaos made us organizers. In doing these we reflect Him. And when we do everything “as unto the Lord,” we honor and glorify Him in our work. We look at what we made and say, “It is good,” and the One who made everything good agrees.
