Entering the Foundry
Not long ago I was challenged to quit asking people I just met, “So, what do you do?”
This good friend shared his opinion that the question is bland and lazy, along with a quick way to slot the person into a social category of my making. So, “I’m a doctor” is one level where, “I clean houses” is quite another. Assumptions, most often false, follow like ducks in flight.
My friend offered a number of alternative questions to get to know a person early in conversation.
What’s one thing you are involved in that gets you excited to be a part of?
Looking forward, what does the summer hold in store for you?
I’d love to hear your story. What are some things that have shaped who you are?
This small change really gets folks talking at a much more interesting level. So as I’ve test-driven these recently, I noticed that third question will often orbit around a trying time, or crisis, or sudden event that moved the person away from who they had been and toward another, ultimately better version of themselves. And, almost universally, people (me included) will say that they would never, never want to relive those days, but they would not exchange them for anything.
Life’s hardest moments were their foundry, where on the anvil of hard chapters their character and heart were shaped by a skilled hand wielding a hammer.
If you have ever watched or seen video of skilled blacksmiths soften hard metal with intense heat then pound new forms crafted for new purposes, far beyond what they could achieve beforehand, it’s a terrible beauty. Purpose brought from the chaos of fire and pressure.
A foundry also takes metal, melts it in a crucible, then pours the now liquid into a mold of the maker’s choosing. Both the forming on an anvil and the melting through the fire bring the same result: Something new and more useful or beautiful from what once was.
The metal is transformed while remaining of the same stuff. Without the fire or the pounding the new would never come, but the change agency of the fire and anvil is again a terrible beauty.
And if that metal could speak, it would plead for mercy while in the fire or under the blows of a sledge, aware only of the present pain and without understanding of things to come. It would offer anything for the pain to cease. Just like how I sound when on the anvil.
So, while listening to most anyone’s story it’s not hard to catch a whiff of the smoke from the furnace they have traveled through. Pay attention and you might just hear the echo of the ringing anvil. Those transformed by hard times carry a weighty character that only comes through walking with Jesus through the fire and time on the anvil, but the gain comes at cost.
Where does this leave us when we strike up a conversation and discover our friend has entered the foundry?
With two hands full of the best we could offer: Compassion and Hope.
Simply, Compassion looks like standing alongside a friend who walks a most difficult path. A mentor of mine calls it the Ministry of Presence. No “Job’s friends answers” to explain God or their pain, but simply not going away as their foundry days do their work. Compassion means to co-suffer. This committed action comforts without minimizing loss, it listens without judgment, it doesn’t run from questions that have no answers, it gently reminds of truth without it being swung like a guilt-bludgeon. Never underestimate the powerful affect compassion brings, like aloe on sunburn.
And Hope, at the right time, showcases what can be found as the foundry work progresses. Like the old saying goes, “What we lost in the fire, we will find in the ashes.” Hope never glosses over heartache or wounds, but it does encourage looking through and beyond the circumstance at hand and fixing one’s gaze on Jesus. Hope employs eternal perspective while never neglecting the needs of the present. Hope keeps filling the leaky balloon with reminders of God’s love and care. Hope is a believer’s currency, invested in the “here but not yet” aspect of Jesus’ kingdom come.
And the same twin tools for surviving or recovering from a crisis time holds true for you, as well. When it is your time to enter the foundry and it seems almost unbearable, remember your closest friend, Jesus, who endured it all before, and is now with you. His compassion embraces your hurting soul, he never tires of hearing your heart cry out, he is on the anvil with you since he lives in you.
And that gives you hope for tomorrow and for all the tomorrows beyond the horizon. He has gone ahead to prepare a place for you, that place of safety in God’s Kingdom and in his heart.
So let the Maker do his work in your life. No experience will be wasted, but redeemed in your life. What you will become when the work is done will reflect a bit more of the One who formed you, in love.
(NOTE: I’ve reread this post numerous times and still feel unsettled about how it might sound to a wounded heart. The themes of pain and suffering and God’s hand in the midst of the hard edges of life run throughout the Bible, literally every book in the book tells of it. Every person struggles, and some will be crushed while others transformed and strengthened. I do believe God uses the hardest of times to bring the strongest of change, but would never want for this to heap any more pressure on those who are in the “foundry” of life, hating both the fire and the anvil. If you are there now, seek out a wise friend, pastor, counselor with whom you can walk this road. We are not built to go it alone. And, if no one has said this to you in awhile, let me say, “You are his beloved and he is with you always, even to the end of the age.”)
Music for the week
…and a couple of Jokes (as lame as they might be)
(this one is a lesson in graciousness)
Some neighbors of my grandparents gave them a pumpkin pie as a gift. As lovely as the gesture was, it was clear from the first bite that the pie tasted bad. In fact, it was so inedible that my grandmother had to throw it away.
Ever gracious and tactful, my grandmother still felt obliged to send the neighbors a note. It read, "Thank you very much for the pumpkin pie. Something like that doesn't last very long in our house."
********************************
Shortly after the birth of their second child, a husband offered to take his wife shopping for a new dress.
He endured more than two hours of listening to her complaints about which figure flaw each dress accentuated.
As she emerged from the dressing room, having tried on the last selection, she asked for her husband's opinion. By this time he had learned just the right things to say.
"It's perfect!" he exclaimed. "It makes your waist look smaller, your legs look longer, and slenderizes your hips."
Just then another lady in the dressing room spoke out. "If there are dresses here that will do that, I'll buy them all!"