The Sculptor Being Sculpted

workThe Sculptor

A sculptor works away at the remains of what was once probably a large and beautiful tree, now just a seemingly a useless piece of wood, nothing like its former self.  She labors and toils for weeks, months as long as it takes to achieve perfection according to her vision. Where other sees trash, she sees beauty; she holds it she knows that where she stands is the starting point of the creation of another one of her works of art. She goes to work, she carves, chips and hammers away beating and shaping tirelessly, slowly out of nothing a masterpiece emerges from her tools and hard work. From her fingertips her vision comes into reality.

A Labor of love

What a different story would be told if this three no vision if the beauty that could be was not seen.  If there were no purpose, no want; if there were love to massage, caress and nurture that desire. If there wasn’t the will to work to sweat until the that which is desired is delivered exactly the way it has been envisioned or something better.

Being Sculpted

If that piece of wood could talk, if it could articulate of where it came from; if it could tell of how it fell from grace into obscurity only to slow rise again, to be reborn and transformed into something new.  If it could cry and tell of the pain it had been through to become something of worth and something beautiful.

In life we can be both the sculptor and the object being sculpted. If we are persistent in our pursuit of our dreams, and we work, with a strong will and determination, success will be ours.


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