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What my father’s workbench taught me about prayer

A carpenter measures twice because the wood does not forgive. My father earned thirty-seven rupees on a good day, and not one plank was ever wasted in our house.

The economics of a single plank

When material costs more than a day’s wages, you do not experiment. You measure, and then you measure again, and only then do you cut.

I grew up watching a man be careful because carelessness was not survivable. That is a different education from being told to be careful, and it goes in deeper.

Waiting as a technique

He would set a joint and wait. Then set it again, and wait again. Nothing was hurried into place; nothing was forced; glue and gravity were allowed to do their share.

As a boy I found this maddening. I wanted the thing finished. He was entirely untroubled by my wanting it finished, which I now recognise as the more useful of our two positions.

The same waiting, in a different room

Years later I was kneeling in a chapel with nothing to show for a long stretch of asking, and I recognised the feeling.

It was the same waiting. It had simply moved rooms. The joint was set and I was being asked not to test it yet — and the impatience I felt was exactly the impatience of a boy standing at a bench wanting to know why we could not just carry the thing outside.

What he never said

He never once drew the parallel for me. He was not a man who explained things, and I doubt it had occurred to him that he was teaching me anything at all beyond the trade.

But St. Joseph was a carpenter, and my father was a carpenter, and I have never been able to hold those two facts apart. Whatever patience I have was learned from sawdust before it was ever learned from a rule of life.

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