Originally written for Nevada Rancher
His shift just ended and he’s heading to the house. The night was restless to say the least. Two fires and a car accident. Sleep came in short shifts and each time he’d almost drifted off the alarm would sound again. The life of a firefighter. One he takes great pride in, one in which he fulfills his purpose. His ranchin’ roots run deep and have taught him valid lessons that compliment him as a first responder.
In the cowboy world, he may be going to help out the man next to him in the drive, noticing his absence he lopes over to assist if needed. Perhaps cattle aren’t following a lead cow down the steep side of the mesa. It’s all about team work when working cattle and the same holds true as a fire/rescue crew. There’s the tight spot with a mad mama that puts him on his toes…. Quick thinking could mean avoiding a wreck for himself and his horse. You see, this is my son…a firefighter, a cowboy, a hand.
There’s something else about him that he uses in both settings, he is a gear maker. When he was in high school, our house burnt down, to pass the time and get he and his brother’s minds on something other than this bad situation we were facing…we bought both boys a leather kit. It was simple, a wallet. We figured if they showed interest, we would invest a bit more and build supplies, as the craft showed it solidity in their lives.
Soon, we visited a man from our church who had a leather shop. He had boo koos of tools, leather scraps were in piles according to size and thickness and several large work tables took up precious real estate, in his shop. The boy’s jaws dropped as their eyes scanned the room. They also felt overwhelmed with his tool collection, theirs slimmed in comparison to only a few punches and a couple of knives. Our friend Jim, reassured them that it would take time and gave them both lessons in some basics. I just have to pause right here for a second because I’m fighting a lump in my throat and I’m currently on the threshing floor of a full mother sob. I shall contain myself for a moment to go on with the story.
As our boys grew into men the craft followed them. Their wallet projects turned into belts, then leggins’ and eventually the building of their own saddles. I’d say the wallet kits we bought from Tandy Leather, was well worth the $20 a piece. We and the boys, bought endless amounts of dye, bond cement, wax thread, sheen, and hides. Our dining room table allowed enough room for larger projects, as each piece of leather was fashioned into its master purpose. The head knife, which is extremely sharp would slice through the thick hide leather and into the wood table below. At first I’d get on to the boys for scarring up our wooden table, pasted down to me from my dad but then I began to admire the markings. Markings, I knew etched our table, as something greater was being built. I considered them the works of craftsmen, a reminder to us as we conversed around them. Each time I set the plate beside their indentations, I’d remember them standing hinged over, engulfed in their work. A few years ago we lengthened the table and ran the boards through a planer to correct a bit of bowing, but we were sure to leave the markings of the head knife as a reminder of hours well spent.
As time progressed, our son Clay kept the leather craft as he cowboyed through college, as he made leggin’s for fellow cowboys and for those on his ranch horse team, at Texas Tech. It has stayed with him through fire academy and a few fire stations, even taking along projects to do between calls. In addition a new project has surfaces, he has made countless shield’s for fellow firefighter’s helmets.
I can see him there, in his shop in Lubbock. He carries his cup of coffee and sets it on his desk, turns on his radio and picks up his swivel knife to work on the fine curves of a flower or measuring out the perfect circumference in the eight ball used on the shields for station 8. He skillfully loads his brush with the perfect amount of dye so it doesn’t bleed past it’s borders. And in these moments his gear making has taken him to a place, a place of solitude between the moments of rescue, the moments of chaos. His mind has rested in the craft, in the tedious detail where only a craftsman can go. I find myself thanking God for the nudging we had years ago to engage him in it. I can’t help but feel a bit of pride thinking of that cowboy stepping into his leggins, which will protect him in harsh country. I also can’t help but think of those firefighters stepping into a burning building adorned with a shield on their helmet. Clay’s gear making helps outfit them in the jobs which are the back bone of our Country.
Finally, I can’t help but think about the Master Craftsman…the ultimate gearmaker. As He takes the head knife to cut and fashion us into His master projects. As He meticulously forms His character in us to glorify Him. He trims away the things we no longer need. Each marking on the table reminds us that God is hinged over us and engaged in the workings. I open my Bible to confirm this work…
“For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.”
Eph. 2:10
I find myself at a loss for words in the reminder of the skills He outfits us with. The skills that adorns us as we step out into the world each day. His maker’s stamp telling others who the Master Craftsman is.
“He has filled them with skill to do all kinds of work as engravers, designers, embroiderers in blue, purple and scarlet yarn and fine linen, and weavers—all of them skilled workers and designers.”
Exodus 35:35
Knowing this and the sacrifice Christ made for us is a sobering thought. It’s one that excels me to rely on the work He continues to do in us. To allow the Craftsman to fine tune, to cut away when necessary and to converse around the markings.
Friends, I leave you with this….
“Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters,”
Col. 3:23
We are in skilled hands….
Thank you for reading, the cowboy pastor’s wife
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