There are tools on the junkpile: outdated, broken, dull, rusty. There are tools on the anvil: melted down, molten hot, moldable, changeable. There are tools of usefulness: sharpened, primed, defined, mobile.

Some people lie useless: lives broken, talents wasting, fires quenched, dreams dashed -- tossed in with the scrap iron, in desperate need of repair, with no notion of purpose. Others lie on the anvil: hearts open, hungry to change,wounds healing, visions clearing -- welcoming the painful pounding of the blacksmith's hammer, longing to be rebuilt, begging to be called. Others are in their Master's hands: well tuned, uncompromising, polished, productive -- demanding nothing, surrendering all.

We are all somewhere in the blacksmith's shop. We are either on the scrap pile, in the Master's hands on the anvil, or in the tool chest.