No problem. “I’ll be back shortly,” I call to my family. “Half-hour tops.” I should have suspected my drawing, I mean tracing, wasn’t going to be sufficient. My dad is somewhat of a perfectionist.  

First, he gets out His square. I mean really dad, it’s art. It’s supposed to look misshapen and out-of-proportion.  Then, I knew we were in for it when the rulers and multiple tools were being drug out. 

As my concern for my dad’s perfection is beginning to trouble me, I nearly found myself in tears. He was so much like my Heavenly Father in that moment, I was beyond myself.

Read last year’s Father’s Day Post, The Carpenter’s Daughter. You can get a taste for the kind of man my dad is. He is the hardest working; most loyal father a girl could ask for.

As my dad straightened the anchor with one mark, drew a curve with a smooth sail of his hand across the board, and worked his way around something I threw together, my art suddenly began to look more pleasant. I was realizing how often I bring that sort of mess to my Heavenly Father.

As I watched my dad work, I was so grateful for the details he was sketching out for me and erasing the mistakes I had previously carved. His hands slowly and meticulously moved over the wood as he held it in place and poured over the details. Then he held the wood against the saw and slowly carved out every detail and it was beginning to take shape. 

I began to see the similarities in what our Heavenly Father has to do in us. We come to Him with our sinful, broken, misshapen hearts. We have done a complete number on them and we want to bring them in for the quick, painless fix.

We refuse, like I was, to work in his time and wait for Him to create a more perfected picture of who He wants us to be.

When he starts to get the ruler out to straighten our messes, we put up our guards. When the square comes out to make sure the line is in proper placement, we begin tapping our watches. We stand with our hands on our hips as he sketches out a new plan in a perfected working order. We try to stand firm in our ways as He gently erases the lines we have so deeply etched on our hearts. And we balk at the idea of the chisels coming out to shape us to be more like him.

As my dad worked on my “art” for over two hours, I began to appreciate the time and lesson my fathers were teaching me.

Our God wants to create a more beautiful picture of who He is in us. But it takes work, time, and some painful carving along the way. The results, however, are far beyond what we could have asked for or imagined.

My wooden anchor turned out way better than what I could have done and better than I initially brought to the table. My dad didn’t question the job he had to do to fix my mess. He humbly smiled and sent me on my way.

I now have a reminder of the anchor for my heart that leads me back to my dad who has always loved me unconditionally. Through his life, he has helped me form a deeper love and understanding for my Heavenly Father.