The Toolmaker

Traditionally people take stock of their lives at New Year's day.  This year I offer the following short story as a stimulus for evaluating what we are doing with our lives. 

THE TOOLMAKER

The old man sat quietly looking at the intricate piece of equipment in his hand.  A toolmaker.

"My life?" he said with  shake of his head.  "What can I tell you of my life?"  He paused, lost in the thoughts and memories.

"I guess you could say this life began when I got my job.  I wanted a job I could devote a lifetime to.  Something useful. Something I could find satisfaction in doing.  Money wasn't that important.

"One day I saw a sign at the factory."  His eyes glowed mistily at the memory.  "It said 'Trainees wanted.  Rewarding career and secure future.'  That was just what I was looking for.  A life of satisfying work.  So I went into the office and filled out the forms.  The competition for jobs must have been stiff because I saw a sign that said, 'Many are called but few are chosen.'

"I guess I'm one of the few 'cause a week later I was 'called' and 'chosen' both."  He snorted a laugh.  "I still didn't know exactly what my job would be but I knew anything in the factory would suit me.  I guess you could say I thought that working in the factory was a calling and that the particular job didn't matter much.  Everything was a part of the factory's operation."

The old man sat lost in thought as if trying to sort out how everything fit together in the functioning of the factory.

"I remember the first day I went to work.  My supervisor wore a badge stuck proudly on the lapel of his work jacket.  It was shaped like a strange piece of equipment.  A tool of some kind. Underneath it was the word 'INSTRUCTOR.'  He sure seemed proud of that pin.

"He led me into the factory to my work station.  There on the table was something that his badge must have been modeled after.  He said, 'That's your toolmaker.'

"At last I knew my job.  I was to be a maker of tools.  Tools. What would our world be without them?  Everything's made with tools.  Well, maybe not plants and babies.  But farmers use tools for planting and doctors use tools for delivering.  And I was to make tools for the factory.  Why, what could the factory do without the tools I would make?  My job was important.  It was basic.  It had meaning.  And, the pay wasn't bad."

A smile broke through the moisture in the old man's eyes as a rainbow breaks through the mists of the air.  And faded just as quickly.

"My supervisor was patient with me.  He taught me step by step how to use the piece of equipment I had been given to make the most extraordinary toolmakers.  He told me how he had started by responding to a sign, just as I had.  He, too, had started work in this very department making toolmakers.  We laughed together when I made mistakes and he told stories about how he had done the same thing, or something more outrageous.  He always showed me where to find help in the instruction manual so as to avoid repeating my mistakes or making other similar ones.

"After my initial training I became my own supervisor.  I was certified 'RESPONSIBLE AND COMPETENT.'  I got a badge with those words written under what looked like one of my tools.  I was so proud of that badge."

The old man absent-mindedly rubbed his sleeve against an imaginary badge on his lapel.

"That badge was the beginning of my advancement at the factory.  That badge created ambition in my life.  It made me dissatisfied with only making tools.  I wanted to understand the workings of the factory and wear one of the rarer badges.

"I worked extra hard making tools.  I was always above quota even though I was extra careful to assemble them perfectly.  I always told the folks in town what a good factory I worked at. I guess I bragged a bit about how good our tools were.  I was really proud of my work.  Other fellows came to work at the factory because of the things I had told them about it.

"After a while my former supervisor asked me to help him train a new worker.  It was easy for me to do.  I just helped him like my instructor had helped me.  I really enjoyed that.  I gave this new guy on of the tools I had made.  I felt like a grandpa watching him use a tool made by my tool to produce more tools. Sorta like the Bible with its 'begats' come to life.  'Some tool begat my tool.  My tool begat his tool.  His tool begat some other tool.'"  A grin sneaked across the old man's face.

"Somebody must have liked the way I trained this guy 'cause I got called into the office and given a promotion.  My new badge said 'INSTRUCTOR.'  I guess that idea of the 'begats' did something to me.  I'd think of that and find myself enjoying being an instructor even more than I enjoyed making tools.  I got to thinkin' that someday one of the guys I had trained might become an instructor.  I'd become not only an industrial grandpa but an instructional grandpa, too.

"I guess you can't expect only good times and success.  One of my trainees walked off the job one day.  He just threw down his tool and left.  He said there weren't no point in makin' these darn fool tools!  And he left.

"I never hurt so bad before.  I hadn't ever imagined that anyone could just up and quit.  I couldn't see why anyone would want to quit.  I mean we were making good tools.  The best tools. Our working conditions were good.  Our tools created jobs.  How could anyone say, "There weren't no point?'"  The old man sat pondering that statement as if hearing it for the first time.  He took a deep breath and continued talking.

"Somehow I got on with things.  I tried not to think of my failure.  That's what I called him.  MY failure.  He was a failure if he couldn't become a toolmaker under my instruction.  I just worked a little harder and did a little better with my other trainees.  I learned how to point them in the right direction.  I helped them find satisfaction in a job well done.  I showed them the joy of seeing their tools 'beget' more tools.  "Even unto the third and fourth generation.'"  The old man smiled at the phrase. "Most important I taught them to be content.  Not to question their job.

"The inevitable happened.  I was called into the office again.  I was made a plant manager.  I was in charge of recruiting, training and production.  The factory was expanding.  I was contributing to that expansion.  Success.  That was the word I heard.  I liked it.  I worked hard and gave my best.

"And so that's the story of my life.  It's been a good life.  I worked hard.  I did a satisfying, useful job.  I contributed something.  I made toolmakers.  And taught others to use those toolmakers to make more toolmakers.  And trained others to teach others to use those toolmakers to make more toolmakers. And recruited others to be trained by those I had trained to train others to train still others to use toolmakers to make more toolmakers to make more toolmakers to make more toolmakers . . .

"OH, my God!"

The old man sat silently in the witness chair staring at the toolmaker in his hand as the Judge passed sentence.

Uncle Sam and the Panhandler

Recently my uncle saw an old friend panhandling on the street corner. This old friend had been quite successful, but hard drink and bad judgement had him homeless and hungry. He asked my uncle for some money to buy some food. My uncle wanted to help so he offered to give him some if he promised not to use the money to buy alcohol. The agreement was made and the money changed hands.

A short time later my uncle passed by again and saw the old friend quickly emptying a fifth of whiskey down his throat. My uncle was angry and confronted his former friend. "You promised not to use the money I gave you to buy alcohol!"

"I didn't use the money you gave me to buy this whisky!" replied the increasingly inebriated man. "I used your money to buy a burger. I bought this with the money I had been saving."

My uncle is Uncle Sam and his friend is the Wall Street banking establishment. When poor people use their existing resources to buy big screen TVs or such luxuries and then ask for public assistance to obtain food and housing, most hard working people are outraged. One must first use one's own resources to provide for the necessities of life. It is only when all of one's resources are insufficient that one can ask for help.

Does not the same principle apply to big business? Shouldn't the excessively remunerated executive have an obligation to reduce his own wage before depriving the industrious worker of his job? Shouldn't executive perks be eliminated before the business is driven into bankruptcy? Shouldn't a business cut ALL possible unnecessary expenses before asking for government assistance?

We must not limit our focus to the excesses of greedy CEOs. The boards of governors of these irresponsibly led companies must also be called to account. Shareholders must demand better management of their investments or replace these overcompensated incompetents.

Perhaps a good way to measure the relative value of workers and executives at a business would be the following: Let the executive officers stay away from work for 1 month and see the impact on the business. Let the hourly wage workers stay away for 1 week and see the impact. Whichever group's absence has the greatest impact should receive the greatest compensation. I doubt that those currently getting multi-million dollar bonuses will be missed. In fact, their assistants will probably do a better job in their absence.

Political Hardball

Political Hardball

The playoffs for the Democratic (National) League championship to decide who would play the Republican (American) League champion in the Political Baseball World Series has proven contentious.

Team Clinton batted first in the opening game and scored a run in the top of the first inning. A light mist was covering the field. As Team Obama came in to bat it began to rain and continued to do so resulting in the game being called off.

When game one was replayed, Team Clinton scored a run in the third inning and Team Obama scored one in the fourth and one in the eighth, winning the game 2-1.

Game two went to Team Clinton who scored 5 runs in the sixth inning while Team Obama scored 1 run in the fourth and 1 in the ninth. Team Clinton won 5-2.

Team Obama won the third game 9-4, scoring a run in each inning. Team Clinton scored all four of its runs in the ninth inning.

Team Obama also won game four 7-5. They scored 1 run in the first inning, 2 runs in the fifth, 2 runs in the sixth and 2 runs in the eights. Team Clinton scored all five of their runs in the ninth inning.

Team Clinton won game five by a score of 6-1. Team Obama opened the scoring with a run in the first inning but Team Clinton replied with 4 runs in the fifth and another two runs in the eighth.

Team Clinton claimed that the series was tied 3-3 since they had won the opening game 1-0. Team Obama argued that it was 3-2 in their favor since the opening game had been called before they had an opportunity to bat. The commissioners of Political Baseball ruled in favor of Team Obama leaving Team Clinton fuming.

Game six was vigorously contested by Team Clinton. Four Team Obama batters reached first base after being hit by pitched balls. Ultimately Team Clinton was victorious, winning by a score of 5-2.

Team Obama took game seven by a score of 5-3. Team Clinton failed to even the score in the top of the ninth inning, but insisted that Team Obama bat in the bottom of the ninth, even though they lead on the scoreboard. They argued that the game must be played out since in the remaining half-inning, Obama players could suffer injuries which would prevent them from achieving victory against Team McCain of the Republican League in the World Political Baseball World Series.

Team Clinton put out a press release stating that they should represent the Democratic League since they had scored more total runs than Team Obama. When informed that it was games won rather than total runs that decide the winner of a series, they replied that their superior total run scoring showed they were the stronger team. Moreover, they had made more double plays than Team Obama indicating that they were also a better defensive team. If they had been allowed a designated hitter as Team McCain was in their playoff, Team Clinton would have won game four since it was the strike-out by their pitcher that ended the game before they could win. They had been robbed of the run they scored in the aborted first game and should be allowed to apply it to their total score. They also scored more runs in big innings than Team Obama. For all these reasons, according to Team Clinton, Team Clinton should go to the Political Baseball World Series rather than Team Obama.

At last report, Team Clinton planned on fielding a team at the Political Baseball World Series, even if it meant locking Team Obama in the dressing room before the game.

"Capt'n Shrub"

Capt'n Shrub is the captain of a large cruise ship. He's been going around pushing passengers off the deck of his ship. Whenever one splashes into the ocean, he calls out, "Man overboard!" and throws a life preserver. He never stops the ship to pick up the overboard passenger. He does have a rope ladder hanging from the stern of the ship and if a passenger can reach it and climb aboard, he is given a large towel. Once he is dry, the towel is taken away and he is charged an extra fee for cleaning the towel.

Lately, the ship has been running low on life preservers, since so few are recovered. Capt'n Shrub has asked the board of directors of the cruise line to buy more life preservers. When they questioned the reason for the shortage of life preservers, Capt'n Shrub accused them of not caring for the passengers' safety. He suggested that they should be sued for negligence if they did not authorize the extra expenditure for additional life preservers.

Some members of the board tried to find out why so many passengers were falling overboard. When they learned that Capt'n Shrub was pushing them over the railing, they suggested that if Capt'n Shrub, himself, cared for the passengers' safety, he wouldn't be heaving them over the railing.

Capt'n Shrub responded that these board members were starting a mutiny and should be court martialed. Besides, the passengers came on board voluntarily and being thrown overboard was just a part of life on a ship.

Some of the board members are trying to find a way to stop Capt'n Shrub from continuing to throw passengers overboard. Others argue that as captain, he has absolute authority on the ship and the board should not try to tell him how to sail. After all, a ship can only have one captain.

Other board members are trying to stop more passengers from boarding the ship so that more lives will not be lost. Others oppose them, arguing that profits must be preserved by always sailing with a full ship.

About the only point where all board members agree is that passengers who are able to reboard the ship after the plunge should be given a cup of hot soup to go with the dry towel and they should not have to pay for cleaning the towel afterwards.

Meanwhile, the coast guard continues to fish corpses out of the ocean.

"Not the Sharpest Blade"

I was in the hardware store the other day and ran into my friend George (see "Digitally Speaking" or "Fingerless George"). I asked him what he was looking for and he said he needed to find the sharpest blades available for his saw.

"What are you building now?" I asked.

"I'm continuing with that project I was working on the last time we met," he said.

"Have you changed the plans so that things fit this time," I asked?

"Well," he said, "I'm keeping the same dimensions but using oak instead of pine now. I'd tried to save money before by doing things on the cheap. Now I'm going to spend whatever it takes. This time I'm going to run two boards through the saw at a time. That'll get things done quicker."

"Won't it be hard to do with your missing fingers?" I asked.

"Oh, that's why I need a sharper blade," he said.

I'm not sure I understood that reply, but . . . Excuse me. I hear a siren. Let me look out the window. It's an ambulance and it's stopping at George's house.

I wonder how George is going to continue his project with no fingers at all. It won't be a pretty sight!

One Fool or Two?

Two motorists coming from opposite directions met at a single lane bridge.

"Back up so I can cross," one motorist called out to the other.

"No, you back up so I can cross," replied the other.

"I won't back up! You back up," responded the first motorist.

"Never! You back up first," retorted the second motorist.

This argument continued for some time until one motorist exclaimed, "I don't back up for fools!"

"I do," said the other motorist, and backed up. Both motorists then were able to cross the bridge.

Do not repay anyone evil for evil. . . . Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.
-- Romans 12:17a, 21 NIV

Reaping the Harvest -- A Parable

A certain farmer made an amazing discovery. He discovered that at any given time, somewhere in the world, crops were being harvested. He knew that the goal of all farmers was to reap an abundant harvest. So he decided that it would be best if he quit expending energy and resources cultivating, planting, fertilizing, irrigating and weeding. He would get the best return for his investment if he would concentrate upon going to where the harvest was.

The farmer put his plan into action. He was overjoyed with the results. No longer did he have to spend his limited financial resources on plows and tractors, on fertilizers and irrigation equipment. He only needed harvesting equipment and transportation. He no longer had to wait from the time of planting until the time of harvest to reap the rewards of his labour. Every day was harvest day. His only wasted time was when he traveled, and with a sound strategy, that could be minimized.

The farmer was so successful in his new approach to farming that all his fellow farmers decided to follow his example. Soon the land was filled with harvesters. Plows lay idle. Irrigation equipment rusted. Fertilizer remained unsold in the warehouses. Except for harvest time the fields were empty. Everyone was focused on their primary task of reaping the harvest.

Then someone noticed that the bumper crops that they had previously experienced were beginning to be fewer and fewer. Some places produced so little that transport costs could not be recovered, let alone any profit. No crops were being planted. No fertilizer was being applied. Irrigation had ceased. Only weeds were growing.

Soon, there was nothing left to harvest. 

I planted the seed, Apollos watered it, but God made it grow. So neither he who plants nor he who waters is anything, but only God, who makes things grow. The man who plants and the man who waters have one purpose, and each will be rewarded according to his own labor. For we are God’s fellow workers;
(I Cor. 3:6-9a NIV)

PRAY THAT IN OUR RESULTS-ORIENTED EVANGELISTIC ZEAL WE WILL NOT FORGET TO PLANT, WATER, AND FERTILIZE FOR CONTINUED HARVESTS.

MAY WE ALWAYS GIVE GOD THE CREDIT FOR THE HARVEST.

Parable of the Loerie

Once in Southern Africa there lived an old man with three sons. One day the household was running out of firewood and the man sent his oldest son to the forest to gather wood. After a short time the son returned home without any wood.

"Why are you home so soon, my son? Why don’t you have any firewood?" asked the old man.

"When I got to the forest someone called out to me, ‘Go away!’" replied the son. "So I’ve come back home with no wood."

The father was very upset. He didn’t understand what had happened and was disappointed in the actions of his son.

The next day the father sent his second son to the forest to gather firewood. The father and his other two sons waited the whole day for the return of the second son. Finally, after the sun had set, the second son arrived at home. He had no firewood.

"Why are you so late, my son? Why don’t you have any firewood?" asked the old man.

"Well father, when I arrived at the forest I, too, heard someone call out ‘Go away!’" said the son in a hoarse voice. "So I replied, ‘No! I won’t!’ Then the voice again said, ‘Go away!’ and I said, ‘No! You can’t make me!’ And we argued until it was almost dark and I decided to come home."

The father was more upset and puzzled about what was happening. The need for firewood was now desperate. The next day, early in the morning, he sent his youngest son to the forest to gather firewood. Just after noon the youngest son returned home with a huge load of firewood upon his head.

The father and his two older sons gathered around the youngest son as he lowered the firewood to the ground in front of their house. They began to question him excitedly.

"How did you gather so much firewood so quickly?"

"Didn’t you hear the voice?"

"How did you get permission to enter the forest?"

The younger son replied, "Yes, I heard a voice call out ‘Go away!’ when I reached the forest. I looked to see where the voice came from and saw a "go ‘way bird"* in a tree. I told myself, ‘I’m not going to be ordered around by some dumb bird. I’m going to obey my father.’ And so I just went into the forest and found plenty of firewood and here it is."

A WISE MAN DOESN'T PAY ATTENTION TO BIRDBRAINS.

*The Grey Loerie of Southern Africa is known as the "Go away bird" because of its call that sounds like "go-WAY." Hunters hate this bird because it alerts other game when a hunter approaches."

(photo from Ian Sinclair's Field Guide To The Birds Of Southern Africa)

Bush Pilots and Airliners

A friend just called me on his cell phone from an airplane. He told me that he got on the flight to go to New York City. All the signs at the boarding gate and all the attendants there said that the flight was going to New York. When the flight was in the air for some time, the pilot came on the intercom and said that the flight was going to Chicago instead. The flight crew was as surprised as the passengers at this information. The chief of the flight crew spoke with the pilot while the rest of the attendants tried to reassure the passengers on the flight.

The pilot informed the chief of the flight crew that they had all been mislead by the people who posted the signs and took the boarding passes. It was important that the flight go to Chicago rather than New York. Since the crew and passengers had boarded the flight, they had consented to Chicago as their destination and were obligated to support the decision to go to Chicago.

No one was happy with this explanation, but the flight crew, as loyal employees of the airline, tried to calm the passengers and convince them that everything was OK. The passengers were promised that arrangements were being made to get them to their desired destinations and their flight would actually be better with a stopover in Chicago.

Later, the pilot came on the intercom to inform the passengers and crew that they were not going to land at Chicago afterall. The flight had already bypassed Chicago and was headed toward its destination making good speed.

At this announcement, everyone became very upset and tried to find out from the pilot where, exactly, they were going. They demanded that he land at the nearest airport that could handle a jumbo jet and let them off the plane. He refused, saying that it would be catastrophic if they did not reach their destination. When they asked what the destination was, he replied that they would know when they got there. He assured them that they were making good time and would soon be arriving.

After several more hours of flying, the crew was worried that fuel might be running low. They tried to get the pilot to tell them what signs indicated that they were nearing their destination. He responded that he did not set arbitrary sign posts and that they should trust him to get them there. They responded that, so far, he'd started a flight to New York City and diverted it to Chicago. He'd overshot Chicago and was now taking them to who-knows-where. Why should they trust him? His response was: "I'm the Pilot!"

Just before my friend phoned me, the pilot announced that they were increasing the fuel flow in order to guarantee that they arrived at the destination. It was imperative that they not run out of fuel before landing. That would be a catastrophe. He argued that a surge in the fuel flow, would make the plane go faster. As they burned fuel more rapidly, the plane would get lighter and would therefore go further and faster for each gallon of fuel burned. This would guarantee that the last drops of fuel would allow them to land safely.

The last thing my friend said before his phone went dead was, "That's what we get for letting a Bush pilot fly a jumbo jet."