THE DISTRIBUTION

After he passed away, he bequeathed to me the task of distributing his remaining work to people within the community.  It was all to be done in a very orderly and organized way

First, his children and grandchildren went through and made their selections.

Then, his son and I were to go through the house and collect the carvings he had set aside for special friends.

Then, an invitation went out to the members of the local carving clubs for anyone who wanted to select a memento from his collection.

The rest, I was to clean and oil and bring to the local carving club meetings to disburse to people who were not able to get to his house or may have missed the invitation.

Anything left over; I could do with as I wished….

The day came, and things progressed even more quickly than I would have imagined.

The family selections had been made before I arrived and the carvings for special friends were boxed and put in my car right away.  Some of the club members had arrived early and were being made to wait on the lawn.  It had to be made clear to them that the boxed carvings in my car had not been given to me, but rather, entrusted to my care to distribute to people that the master had chosen prior to his passing.  My heart sank, as there were a few present who were upset that they had not been among “the chosen few” who demanded to go through my “stash of the best stuff” in my car.  The master’s son intervened on my behalf and that situation was soon diffused.

As I watched those who were first in line crane their necks to scope out what lay behind the old wooden door, my heart sank a little more.  They rushed in and without hesitation snatched up the biggest and most ornately carved pieces.  They dug through drawers and upended boxes. 

Others went through as if at a garage sale…picking things up and putting them down…trading “up” if they found something more suitable…asking if they could trade in two small ones for that big one over there….

At this rate, would there be anything left for me?
         
But I was truly humbled by the ones who slowly passed through the house, taking little or nothing…lightly running their fingertips over the remaining pieces and his tool bench with a reverence for the man and his work.  I recognized some of those faces from the rogue’s gallery on his kitchen table.   His true friends, eyes clouded with memories or glistening with tears. 

After the last of the invited had gone, I packed up the remnants to be distributed at the next club meeting, once again expressed my condolences to the family and prepared to go home.  

As I sat in my car on his driveway for the last time, looking at the old fashioned latchstring hanging out of the hole in the front door,  I put my head down on the steering wheel and cried…mourning the loss of friend and mentor…mourning the exhibition of greed by people I had formerly respected…mourning my own covetousness that had been brought into sharp relief against the example of his true friends who valued his presence more than his possessions.

I was startled by a tap on my window.  His son was there, motioning for me to roll it down…he had something to give me. 

“Dad wanted you to have this.”

His son handed me a box…one I recognized as the old hand-made Scandinavian lunch box the master always kept at his right hand at the kitchen table.  Inside was his black magic marker, a few well-worn knives with homemade handles, his eyeglasses and three carvings…a self portrait that I had never seen before…an unfinished bird in flight that he had just begun…and an intertwined heart that said “I Love You”.

back to Meditations on the Master