The Great Exchange

Based on Romans 1:25 and Isaiah 44:9-20.



.back.forth.back.forth.back.forth.back.forth.
He holds the handle and slides the metal teeth horizontally through the wide base. "Timber," he mumbles to himself. It breaks branches of surrounding trees as it falls to the ground.

.up.down.up.down.up.down.up.down.
The axe splits it into dozens of pieces, some bigger than others. He stacks them in his arms, and carries them load by load into the house.

.snap.crackle.pop.snap.crackle.pop.
He rubs his hands together over the flame, stirs the pot, and returns to his work.

.tap.scrape.tap.scrape.tap.scrape.tap.scrape.
Skillfully he chisels it away, leaving a dust drifting slowly to the floor. He smoothes the edges, shapes the eyes, polishes the form until something that looks similar to himself is left. He sets it in the corner of the room and drops to his knees. Prostrate, he waits for his supper.

.drip.slurp.drip.slurp.drip.slurp.drip.slurp.
Sitting by the window (still close enough to feel the warmth of the flames) he watches the rain fall on the forest and slowly eats from his bowl. After his last bite he returns to his position on the floor in front of the fireplace.

.back.forth.back.forth.back.forth.back.forth.
Months later he slides the metal teeth horizontally through the wide base. "It's a good thing I planted so many," he mumbles to himself. "Stupid termites."



He spent weeks getting ready to plant them. He watched the rain fall on them and the sunlight pull them out of the ground. He cut them. He carried them. He burned half and sanded the other half. He carefully dug the splinters out of his palms and then returned them to a position of prayer. He created his own god. With his own hands he made something that those hands could serve.

Am I any different? I invest my time in relationships. I work hard to improve on my talents. I do a little cutting here, a little chiseling there, a little smoothing of the rough edges. I take the pieces of my life that I think are usable for such noble purposes and I burn the rest to keep me warm and fed and to give me light while I keep busy at my "woodworking". Daily I exchange the truth of God for a lie. Daily I worship the created instead of the Creator. Day after day I bow myself down to the images I have constructed while I watch the rain He provides.

It's time to put all the wood in the fire and just walk through the forest. It's time to put down the tools and just bow before something that did not involve my hands. It's time to exchange the lies for the truth of God.