I was up
at our family cabin recently and as I looked up at the open beams on the
ceiling, an old conversation from twenty years earlier came back to haunt me.
“You
know, I don’t think that I ever forgave you for that crooked beam.”
The year
was 2000 and I was up at the family cabin sitting at the dining room table
eating lunch with my (now departed) father-in-law. We had gone to the cabin to
install some trim on some doors and a stained-glass window that I had recently created
and installed.
I looked
up from my lunch that I had been enjoying to ask what he said to me.
And his
statement seemed out of character for this man who was known for his kindness
and the gracious way that he treated people. He certainly was not known for
holding a grudge or holding back forgiveness.
“What did
you say?”; I asked him now that he had my full attention.
“I said I don’t think that I ever forgave you
for that crooked beam.” He said as he pointed up to the open rafters on the
North side of the ceiling.
He saw my
puzzled look and continued with his razzing; “When you were installing that
beam, I had commented that you were about to install the beam on the wrong side
of the line. Now, as I look up, I see that the beam is installed crooked. And,
I was making a comment that I don’t think that I ever forgave you for that
crooked beam.”
I
struggled for words to correct him but I knew that he was right. He had said it
but my youthful pride had prevented me from admitting that I was wrong or at
least from stopping to look at what he was talking about prior to nailing the
beam in place.
After all,
I was working construction and helped him to build this cabin. I was the
professional. I was doing this for a living five to six days a week.
He, on
the other hand, had only learned what he knew about construction from his
father who was a carpenter and had come from a long line of Norwegian wood
workers, carpenters, and ship builders.
Oh, and
anything else he learned as he studied structural engineering.
And all
of the construction projects that he had done over the years; including a large
two-story addition on their home long before I came into the picture.
My pride
had prevented me from learning from someone, who didn’t work occupationally in
construction, but who had noticed that I was about to do something wrong.
Now I
sat, looking up at the ceiling as I pondered what it would take to correct the
situation. I see it each and every time I go to the cabin.
First of
all, I would need to take off the whole roof system; which included shingles,
ice-and-water shield (which would be glued to the roof), plywood, polystyrene,
and one-inch roof boards in order for me to remove and replace the beam in its
proper place.
And that
would be just to replace the beam.
In order
to get my father-in-law’s forgiveness, I would need to exhume the coffin and
then raise him from the dead, drive him to the cabin eighty miles away and
then, after showing him the beam, ask for his forgiveness.
The truth
is I was able to have a conversation with him to understand that he was simply
razzing me for not listening to him. He let me know that he didn’t hold it
against me.
But what
if I hadn’t been able to hear his “aught” against me and asked for his
forgiveness? What if he had taken it to his grave when he died seven years
later never sharing with me that he had something between us?
More than
a crooked beam, unforgiveness will haunt both sides for the rest of your life.
And that is no way to live.
Jesus
said;
“Therefore, if you bring your gift to the altar, and
there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift
there before the altar, and go your way. First be reconciled to your brother,
and then come and offer your gift.” (Matthew 5:23-24)
All Scripture taken from the New King James
Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson. Used by permission. All rights
reserved.
