The Wooden Staircase

This afternoon I was sitting in the lobby of one of the buildings at work, looking at this wooden staircase.

I have always loved this staircase. I love how it gracefully curves to the floor, I love how the steps are wider on the outside than the inside. I love the sheen and shine of the wood. I love to let my hand slide along the railing as I step down each stair every afternoon.

While I was looking at this staircase today, though, I wasn't thinking about any of those things. I was thinking about myself. I was poring over my own feelings. . .feelings of being been taken for granted, being misunderstood and misused. It was while I was nursing my own personal injuries that the light from the window reflected off the wood of the staircase and caught my eye.

In a moment, it was as if I could see everything that had gone on in the creating of the staircase. You see, the tree didn't grow in that shape. The tree had to be cut down and the timbers cut for those steps. Each piece of wood had to be shaped to fit the curve of the staircase. They also had to be sanded smooth so no one would trip and fall as they traveled up or down.

The wood didn't grown in that beautiful deep, rich color either. The stain had to be brushed on and then rubbed off. Finally, the wood had to be polished, rubbed and rubbed until a reflection was easily seen.

The events that happened to me this afternoon were just part of the process of me going from a wild tree, to one day being a beautiful shining staircase. It is all part of removing a rough outer bark to reveal a reflection of glory and hopefully to provide a pathway for any who may need to see the way by what has happened in and through me.

I have always loved that staircase. Now I will love it even more.