The Chapel and The Candelabra

 

In making plans for Kayla and Dustin's wedding, we wanted it to be unique, personal and meaningful.   The choice of venue, the upper floor of her grandfather's pre-Civil War building on the Mississippi riverfront, raised more than a few eyebrows.  We were called "insane" and told it couldn't be done.  Randy (my father-in-law) and I believed in the project from the beginning.  It took months to get my husband, Mike, on board.   It was Randy's hobby for nearly 20 years.  He worked on whatever project suited his mood and didn't bother to clean up between projects.  Many things were started, but not finished.  Every piece of wood, every door was salvaged from another building that was being torn down or a tree that was cut.  The glass sunroom doors came out of the convent at the old Mercy Hospital in Davenport.  The doors in the bride's room were saved from Tipton High School.  The walnut flooring on the staircase was hand milled by Mike from the trunk of a walnut tree that was removed from a family member's property years ago.  I saw beyond the piles of sawdust and dirt and knew that with a lot of work, a lot of love and probably a divine miracle, it was exactly the place we were looking for.  So, expecting a miracle, we went to work.  Critical projects were finished and a major cleaning was done and, when the day arrived, our daughter was married in a space that sparkled and glowed with the love and talent of her grandfather, her father and countless other family and friends who pitched in along the way.

The story of the candelabra is not so different.  While on a weekend trip to their Missouri lake house late this winter, my parents decided to go for a walk in a nearby wooded area.  During the walk, my mother noticed something sticking up out of the woodland debris and mud and sent Dad over to investigate.  They determined it was something metal and began digging to remove their find.  What they pulled out was a rusty 4-foot tall candelabra.  It was really in surprisingly good shape and they determined that with a little sanding and a fresh coat of paint, it would be a fine addition to the chapel.  So, they loaded it up and brought it home.  Dad patiently straightened out some of the dings and bends, had it sandblasted and painted it a glossy white.  With some new glass candle holders, candles and a bit of ribbon it made a beautiful accessory and suited the salvaged, one-of-a-kind nature of everything else in the chapel.

The story of the chapel and the candelabra have a lot of meaning for me.  Just as we found them dusty, rusty, dinged and unfinished, so God finds us.  We saw the potential in them and went to work to repair, finish and polish so they could be what we knew they could be, just as God sees us and works in us to make us what He knows we can be.  Just as when we were done with our project, there was a glow and sparkle and light shining brightly, when God is done with us, we glow and sparkle and shine with His light brightly.

All things can be made new with love, patience and hard work...places, things, people...all it takes is the hand of a Master Craftsman who knows what He is doing.