The Relics and the Refresh: A Lesson in Value
I was reading a beautiful post today from a friend over at Cupola Ridge. She talked about a weather-worn relic she found in a field—something most folks passed by—and how it eventually found a sacred new purpose in her home. It got me thinking about the things we overlook, and the things we think are broken beyond repair.
In my work with Bondgard, I’m constantly drawn to the small and the fragile. I’ll find a lone demitasse teacup tucked away on a dusty back shelf of a junk store. It’s lost its set, its saucer is gone, and most people wouldn't give it a second look. But I see the square joints of its history, the "carved pockets" of its design, and I have to save it.
I think I’m drawn to them because I know what it feels like to be "weathered."
There were moments over these last few years—through the liver failure, the cancer, and even a heart attack just a week after my transplant—where I felt like that forgotten item in a field. I felt stripped of my purpose, unsure of where I belonged now that my body had changed so much.
But as the scripture says in Isaiah, "See, I am doing a new thing."
God has a way of taking what we think is a "disruption" and turning it into a "fresh assignment." I may not be the same man I was before the transplant, but I have been repurposed. My value wasn't lost in the hospital hallways; it was being transformed into something I never expected.
Now, when I’m out scouting with Rod, I don't just see "inventory." I see reminders that losing your original purpose doesn't mean you've lost your worth. Whether it's a fragile cup or a survivor like me, there is beauty in the new life that springs up after the storm.
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