Getting Started
This past Saturday, I got started.
I took the rough-hewn planks of walnut and curly maple and cherry and lay them out on two sawhorses. I set up my miter saw in the driveway beside them, and grabbed my Field Notes pocket notebook where I had written out my cut list.
I spent the next two hours measuring and cutting. My shoulder ached. My physical therapist will give me grief this afternoon for not following his instructions to take it easy over the weekend. But I don’t care.
When I was finished, the 10 long planks had been converted into a pile of labeled two-foot boards. WALNUT - BOARD (2), read one. CHERRY - FRAME read another. MAPLE - PIECES read a third.
When next I have time and good weather, those boards will pass through the jointer and planer and table saw and become the raw components. Then they’ll be glued together, cut apart again, and reglued, then shaped, sanded, and finished. And if I do it right, it will turn into two beautiful chess boards and 64 chess pieces. I’m determined to do it right, so I am careful with my measurements, even at this early stage. I am no craftsman, but I aspire to create something lovely.
These chess sets are being created as gifts for two people who mean a lot to me (not saying who in case they read this). When they unwrap them, I hope they see the care I put into crafting the set as an expression of my esteem for them. And a little bit of astonishment, too: “John? He made this?”
This project, dormant for months, was in motion. And I felt more alive than I have in months. My thoughts constantly drift toward that stack of boards in the garage.
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It is said that he who works with his mind must rest with his hands. Perhaps that explains the euphoria I feel, but I don’t think that’s the whole reason. We, like our Maker, are meant to make. And my day job, at its most creative, was making software. Now, I manage a team of developers, so I make cost analysis spreadsheets and project roadmaps.
I remember a few years ago when I made my first cutting board - a standard beginning woodworker’s project. I remember the feeling of pride when the glued seams were spot-on. I remember the thrill of seeing the color of the wood pop when I applied oil. It was tangible. I could hold it in my hand. It existed, not as binary code on some hard drive, but as a real thing that I had created.
I look forward to be a maker again - a sub-creator, if you will. I will take those boards that came from trees that God created, each beautiful in their own right, and turn them into something else - something that in its small, feeble way, reflects the glory of God. For this is part of what it means to be human.
Oh, and if you’ll looking for me, I’ll be in the garage, with a grin on my face. For I will be fully alive.