Give Your Hands Something to Do

My boys,

There is an old chair in the garage.

It belonged to my grandfather before it belonged to anyone else in this family.

One leg is loose.

The finish is worn down to bare wood where a hundred elbows have rested.

I have been meaning to fix it for three years.

Last night I finally did.

Not because I suddenly had time.

Because I had a worry I could not put down.

It was one of those weeks.

Something at work had gone wrong, and I could not fix it until other people answered me.

So I sat with it.

I turned it over.

I turned it over again.

I have learned that a worry you cannot act on will gladly eat a whole evening if you let it.

So I went out to the garage.

I turned on the lamp over the bench.

I took the chair apart, slowly.

Cleaned out the old glue.

Sanded the leg until it fit again.

And somewhere in the second hour, I noticed something.

The worry was still there.

But it had gotten smaller.

It had moved over and made room for the work.

My hands were busy with something they could actually finish.

And my mind, watching them, began to calm down.

I am not telling you to run from your troubles into a project.

Some things must be faced head on, and you will know which ones.

I am telling you this.

There are nights when you have done everything you can do.

You have prayed.

You have made the calls.

You have written down what is next.

And still the mind keeps circling.

On those nights, give your hands something honest to do.

Sand a chair.

Knead bread.

Sharpen the kitchen knives.

Fold the laundry slowly and well.

Write someone a letter by hand.

I have discovered that prayer does not only happen on your knees.

Sometimes it happens with sawdust on your sleeves.

The hands work.

The heart talks to God.

And neither one is in a hurry.

The chair is back in the kitchen now.

It does not wobble.

I sat in it this morning with my coffee and thought about my grandfather.

I do not know what worried him on the nights he sat here.

But I would guess he had a few.

And I would guess he knew this too.

I love you.

— Baba

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Question: What could your hands make or mend tonight while your heart works out what it cannot yet solve?

Moral: When the mind is heavy, give the hands honest work; worry grows in idle hands and shrinks in busy ones.

Disclaimer: This story reflects real experiences and philosophies behind Backyard Brew. It is shared to inspire perspective and intention.

Author: R. Solace