It finally snowed a bit here in Madison, WI yesterday. Not a ton of snow, but enough that it made sense to shovel. This year, I went all out and bought this semi-fancy shovel with a thick handle and, to really ensure I get it all, a metal edge along the bottom of the “solid” plastic scoop area. Seriously, this is supposed to be a great shovel.

After a clearing a small portion, however, this shiny new shovel was really disappointing. Sure, it’s got metal along the bottom, but it doesn’t seem to hit the pavement evenly. So, while fine for some types of snow, it wasn’t clearing my walk all that well. Looks great, but doesn’t really deliver.

I went back into my garage and grabbed an old, all metal scoop shovel that a retiring family gave to ours as they headed to Florida. This thing is old, orange, beat up, bent, rusty – some would look at it and simply put it out with the trash.

But this shovel worked perfectly. It cut right down to the pavement and performed exactly as I needed.

The shovel reassured me of something. So often I’m worried about improving myself, learning more, developing more, looking better or more impressive, or getting ready to – someday – be truly useful in this world. But my bent, rusty snow shovel shows me that sometimes the perfect tool for the job doesn’t look perfect at all.

Most of us don’t look perfect. But we wish we did. I love my bent, rusty snow shovel. It’s perfect for just the right job.

So are we. Right now. As we are.

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The end of the sliver
is under my skin
I broke the exposed part
off

Now I can see it
And I try to push it out

But I cannot

Something else is needed

By myself
I can only do part

To purge completely
I need
Something
For that purpose

And quick

lest my skin harden
And make the end
invisible to me

–
23 June 2004
1st comment explains what I was thinking.

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