The violin was once not in tune.
The home was once under construction.
The butterfly was once a caterpillar.
The work of art was once a blank canvas.
The gold was once unrefined.
Anything of beauty, of worth, of value... has not always been.
It takes doing. It takes time. It takes grace.
It takes seeing it before it is.
We just inserted three beams in place of a wall that needed removing. The beams came from an old barn on our property that was torn down years ago. Old, raw, precious wood -- wood with a history -- that has been sitting in piles just waiting for someone to see the worth in it again.
I took to the sander. Sanding and sanding. Revealing, beneath the years of weather, between the marks of the saw blade, light.
And I thought...
What if I hadn't taken this time? What if I began this work but did not finish it? What if the task was so big I chose to take an ax to the imperfections instead of the tedious work of sanding?
It's beauty would remain unbeheld.
It would never be appreciated for anything more than old, dirty, unfinished barn wood.
Sure it would be appreciated for what it represents. Time and purpose...
But would it radiate of freshness, newness, and the splendor that comes only from undergoing transformation?
What if I did hack at the imperfections with an ax?
Scarring the wood. Deeply. Undoing not possible.