One of the lenses for life that I look through came from my grandfather, C.C. Pinson. This lens shows me what I accomplish if I am just a toll in the master’s hand.

Drive by 4409 Byrd Avenue in Chattanooga, Tennessee and you’ll see it.  It’s a three acre showplace that’s a testimony to the character of my Grandaddy, C.C. Pinson.  The house and yard are filled with articles made from concrete.  One of my favorites is a picnic table that is so large that when it was finished, it took seven men to lift the top on the sides.  Grandaddy was a man of solid character.

He was what is commonly called a “good man.”  Another colloquialism that would describe him is “Jake of all trades.”  He could do anything he decided to do, and if you could imagine it and describe it to him, he could build it.  He was good at carpentry, plumbing, wiring and much more, but he was a master at working with concrete.  He built the picnic table, a sandbox for grandkids, flower beds for Grandma, a swing set that was anchored in concrete so deeply a kid could swing all the way to the sky and it would never budge.  He made a barbecue pavilion that was used by family, neighbors, and business, and he made water bowls that set under the water faucets for animals to drink from; he even made a replica of a civil war cannon that looked so real, high school students stole it once for a prank.  He got it back, though.

The magical place where all of this took place was in Grandaddy’s basement.  When you first walked in to the basement, the workbench was to your right, and above the workbench was a peg boards covered with metal hooks that held the tools of the master.  Each tool had an appointed place and Grandaddy knew where each one belonged.  When he reached for his tools, he expected them to be there.  I guess this was reasonable since they were his tools.

One of fondest memories of childhood is sitting on the picnic table with my cousins cracking hickory nuts with Granddaddy’s hammer.  We all knew to return the hammer to the pegboard, but we often forgot.  Sometimes we could hear my Granddaddy as he came up the basement steps yelling, “Alright, where’s my hammer?”  We would all set out immediately to find his hammer and return it to its appointed place, and it didn’t matter who left it out, we just wanted it put back where it belonged because we knew how this master was about his tools.

With a quick glance at the pegboard you could tell which tools were his favorites.  The handles on these tools had a groove that just fit the palm of his hand.  Most obvious was his favorite hammer.  It showed the signs of frequent use.  It was probably the least attractive of the tools, for the head of the hammer showed the stress of every time it had been used to hit a nail.

My Granddaddy passed away several years ago and my uncle live there; he has also passed away, but his widow still lives at 4409 Byrd Avenue.  When I visit, we usually sit on the concrete patio that was the last masterpiece that Granddaddy created.  I don’t know where his hammer is today, but you can sit on the patio and survey the three acre home place that is a showplace created by the master.  You can’t see the master, and you can’t see his tools, but you can see the works that remain of the tools in the hand of the master.

I think that perhaps we, the children of God, are somewhat like the tools of this master.  We have, after all, been bought with a price and given an appointed place of service.  And, the master is jealous over His tools.

I think it would b a wonderful thing to be so available to be used by God that you would just fit into the palm if His hand because of the frequent use.  In a way, you would be a favorite tool of the master.  You might have to show some  signs of stress, but mush more impressive than the stress signs on the hammer would be the signs of its usefulness that remain when the work is done.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if someday when we are gone that the things that remain of our lives would reflect the work of a master, and when people looked at our life’s work they would see a masterpiece created by the greatest master of all.  They wouldn’t see the master, and they wouldn’t see the tools, but they would see the works that remain of the tools in the hand of the master.

So, “I beseech you therefore, brethren, that you present your bodies a living sacrifice wholly acceptable unto God which is your reasonable service.