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Slöjd and Submission - a Parable

 I stand and I stare at the twisted silver-barked branch, with its velvety buds already beginning to appear on fresh purple stems that are growing in profusion now that it is spring. It is half of my neighbour’s magnolia tree, carefully pruned and tended for years, then sawn off unceremoniously by busy builders because it was in the way. Roy died two years ago, and now his magnolia lies on our lawn, where I dragged it after asking the preoccupied men with tape measures and tools if I could take it. I am seeking something, as I scan the bends and curves. I have a new book by Jogge Sundkvist, the Swedish woodcarver, and on page thirty I saw that a simple hook for coats can be hewn from a bent branch. Somewhere, in this tangle, I am going to find my hook. It takes time to see it. I go out and linger on the lawn, seemingly idle and vacant, while I am meant to be cooking dinner. I pause again before I get on my bike to go to work, letting my eyes meander along the curves. Eventually I find what I am looking for, and take my saw, my ‘silky gomboy’, and make three cuts to free the beginnings of something new, that will last long beyond the rest of the tree. I sit at the weathered picnic bench and begin to slice off the bark, slivers flying around the patio as I shave off the unneeded extra flesh, beginning to create a functional, beautiful piece to add to a home. Coats will be hung here, echoes of journeys and homecomings and welcomes and departures will be intertwined with the fibrous wood that I hold. I can see now, what it will look like, but first it needs to submit to my hands, to allow itself to be stripped, and gouged and carved. Once, the bark was necessary, now it is time for it to go. Once, this part of the branch was an unnoticed junction in the whole tree, letting sap and goodness run through it to produce an incredible spring display; growing, gradually, year by year, knowing its place and purpose and time. Now, it has been chosen, plucked out from where it began to become something new, something that will stand alone and continue life in an unfamiliar, yet perfect setting, serving, holding, patiently giving. But first it must allow for the changes, the stripping, the carving, the painting, that are about to take place. 


Ecclesiastes, Chapter 3


‘Submission is nothing but a recognition of place…. 

If you do not accept your place, you will never find God.’

Dallas Willard in A Call to Silence.

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