Max Lucado, in his book...
Illustration
Max Lucado, in his book, On the Anvil, uses the image of blacksmith's anvil to understand the meaning in suffering. In a blacksmith's shop, he points out, there are three types of tools. The first are the tools that have been brought in for repair. They are outdated, broken, dull, rusty. These sit in a pile over in one corner. They're useless to anyone.
Then there's a second category of tools: those on the anvil. These are the ones who have just been subjected to intense heat in the forge; now they are being hammered, red-hot, on the surface of the anvil. These tools are being re-created. It's a process that, were we to be undergoing it, would be described as painful. It would involve something akin to suffering. Yet these tools are on their way to being transformed into something new.
Finally, there's a third class of tools. These are the ones being used by the blacksmith himself. They are the tongs he uses to grip the hot metal, the hammer he swings to pound it. Once upon a time, even these tools were molten metal, being pounded against the smooth surface of the anvil. But now they are seasoned tools, carefully fashioned and balanced. They swing in a perfect arc, as though they were an extension of the master's arm. They do the master's will.
The finest tools of all are those that have had the most extensive treatment in the blacksmith's forge. These are the ones produced of something called "living steel." Living steel, they say, is the finest example of the European sword-maker's art, still being practiced in a few places. The blacksmith's repeated hammer blows actually alter the crystalline structure of the steel, breaking the microscopic crystals as they form and forcing them into a tighter, more highly aligned pattern. Living steel, forged under the blows of a powerful hammer, is strong. So, too, with the life forged by suffering.
Then there's a second category of tools: those on the anvil. These are the ones who have just been subjected to intense heat in the forge; now they are being hammered, red-hot, on the surface of the anvil. These tools are being re-created. It's a process that, were we to be undergoing it, would be described as painful. It would involve something akin to suffering. Yet these tools are on their way to being transformed into something new.
Finally, there's a third class of tools. These are the ones being used by the blacksmith himself. They are the tongs he uses to grip the hot metal, the hammer he swings to pound it. Once upon a time, even these tools were molten metal, being pounded against the smooth surface of the anvil. But now they are seasoned tools, carefully fashioned and balanced. They swing in a perfect arc, as though they were an extension of the master's arm. They do the master's will.
The finest tools of all are those that have had the most extensive treatment in the blacksmith's forge. These are the ones produced of something called "living steel." Living steel, they say, is the finest example of the European sword-maker's art, still being practiced in a few places. The blacksmith's repeated hammer blows actually alter the crystalline structure of the steel, breaking the microscopic crystals as they form and forcing them into a tighter, more highly aligned pattern. Living steel, forged under the blows of a powerful hammer, is strong. So, too, with the life forged by suffering.
