The Toolbox

I tried using a table knife. While the blade fit nicely into the flat-head screw slot, the handle didn't offer enough torque. I sat on the kitchen floor, looking at the cabinet door. It hung precariously by the bottom hinge, oddly off-kilter.

I felt like that cabinet door. My back aching from sitting on the floor, I carefully stood up. I had had back surgery for a catastrophic herniated disk, just three weeks before. I was due to go back to work the next week and wanted to get a few projects done around the house while I still had time and energy. That had been the plan, anyway, until two weeks earlier, I told my abusive husband he had to go. He had refused to do anything to help me or our two boys after the back surgery, which was a result of him throwing me to the kitchen floor in a rage. After praying and mustering up all the faith and fearless power the Holy Spirit afforded me, I finally gathered the nerve up and told him to leave, ending years of abuse and mistreatment of myself and the boys. On Ash Wednesday. Most people just give up chocolate for Lent.

But there I was, stretching my back out in the kitchen and looking at this lopsided cabinet door. "Tools," I said aloud. The ex had acquired custody of all the tools. I got the boys and the house -- he had put up more resistance about the house. But nary a tool to be found.

A thought echoed through my mind, bouncing off brain stem and nodules until it rested squarely on the Cliff of a Hallelujah Chorus-sized Revelation. "I need a toolbox," I said aloud, walking to the computer to check the bank account online. This action, too, was a new-found source of power. Before, money management was something my ex and I never practiced. I tried, but because of the criticism, I stopped. That became a recurrent theme -- criticize me to the point where I cry for trying, and I'll give up. But, according to Paul, God "did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love, and of self-discipline." The abuse I had mistakenly taken for mental illness instead of what it was: mean-spiritedness, had ripped every bit of self-esteem off my delicate shoulders and left in its place a shell of a woman, hollow, but ripe for Christ to plant His fearlessness, His power, His love, and His determination to see this thing through.

The bank statement checked out okay. I gathered my keys and purse and left the house, knowing I needed to pick up the boys from school in about four hours -- plenty of time to do what I needed to do. I drove to a discount store and felt absolutely invigorated by my purposeful action to buy a toolbox. My purse in the cart, I navigated the buggy to the hardware aisle. I examined each empty plastic box as though I was checking for nutritional facts. I finally chose one with a small lid that covered the top part, full of compartments, but then had another lock for the larger inside space. A lift-out cubby completed the ensemble.

Next, I chose the tools. With the Scripture verse in my mind for some reason, "Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand," I chose the tools with a purpose: a screwdriver set with various sizes of Phillips and flat heads; a hammer; wrench; a tape measure. I put the tape measure back, thought that was silly. I chose a variety of screws and nails. After I had placed all this in the buggy, I felt a sense of peace that passed all understanding. I felt like Jesus the Carpenter, the Creator of the Universe, was standing there, choosing the tools with me, felt Him grip the hammer, sizing it up.....

I called my Dad that night. Daddy was in construction and understood the importance of tools, obviously; they were his livelihood. I told him, "I bought a toolbox today and tools to go in it..." and told him all about my purchases and the tape measure I put back. He was quiet as he listened and finally said, "I'm proud of you for taking your life back." That weekend he and Mom came for a visit; Daddy presented me with a gift of a tape measure. He said, "How do you know where you've been -- if you can't measure and track it?"

In choosing that toolbox and the tools to go inside it, God empowered me with a sense that I can do all things through Him. Armed with the right set of tools -- prayer, fellowship with other believers, Bible time, and giving Him all the credit -- there was nothing I could not do, including fixing the cabinet door.