“That trim board is just a little proud.  We’ll have to hit it with the sandpaper to get it flush before we finish it.”

My brother-in-law was installing the new bookshelves in our living room.  As he set them in place, he noticed the errant piece and was unhappy to see it.

I didn’t care about the piece of wood; but being a certifiable word nerd, I did want to know about the terminology he had used to describe it.

“Proud?”

Patiently, as he sanded the offending wood to match the surrounding cabinet, he explained that the word described the position of the wood in relationship to the rest of the bookshelf.

“It just needs to be flush with the rest of the edge.  If we leave it standing out like that, you’ll catch on it every time you walk past and could actually damage the rest of the bookcase.”

With a flourish, he finished sanding.  I looked to get a glimpse of this proud board, but it was now impossible to see what he had been working on.

Proud no more, the trim piece blended in with the entire unit.

Integrity.  All the individual pieces working together achieved beauty and functionality, so our books were safe and protected.

But, I didn’t intend to write about books or even shelves today.  I want to talk about something else that happened just this week.

It seems to me I should make this clear from the get-go; I won’t move your piano, even if you’re desperate to have it done.

I’m just saying…

Well, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, perhaps we can go ahead with the story that inspired this little essay.  It does, in fact, involve moving a piano.  And, I don’t do that anymore—right?

The Lovely Lady’s daughter and son-in-law (okay—mine, too) have moved into a larger house, one that will accommodate a grand piano.  They were able to locate a good instrument at a fair price and asked if I could come along, “…purely in a consulting capacity, you understand?”  (Because I don’t move pianos.)

We gathered up the equipment and, hooking the little trailer up behind my pickup truck, drove to the outskirts of town to collect the piano.  There was plenty of help, with muscles galore—enough of them that I wouldn’t need to lift even a corner of the heavy instrument.

After disassembling the piano enough to stand it on edge, we put it on a dolly and rolled it outside and into the trailer we brought for the task.  We covered it well with pads and strapped it against the side of the trailer.

We should have been ready to load the sundry pieces into the truck and drive away to deliver the piano to its new domicile.  We weren’t.

I looked at it sitting there against the side of the trailer and thought that something was off.  Gripping the side of the instrument, I pushed and pulled, first away and then back toward the trailer’s side.  As I had suspected, it moved an excessive amount.

I wasn’t at all sure the weight of the piano wouldn’t make it tip over as we traveled down the road.  Tipping over isn’t good for a piano.  Not at all.

I discussed the problem with the moving crew and we agreed that more than half of the piano’s body was sitting above the side of the trailer.

It was just a little proud.

We traded ideas about how to remedy the problem.  I was even ready to attach another strap to the opposite side of the trailer to counterbalance the weight.

Then my son-in-law had the bright idea.

“Why don’t we just take it off the dolly and make it sit down lower in the trailer?”

The man is a genius.

We tipped the piano up a bit and removed the moving dolly, letting the board under the piano sit back down on the trailer’s floor.  Reattaching the straps, I shook the instrument again.

Rock solid.  There would be no tipping.

The reader might be excused for thinking someone uttered the words, “That’s not going anywhere,” but no one did.  I thought it but resisted saying it.

That piano had been proud.  Sitting up where it was exposed to the vagaries of gravity and my erratic driving, it was a prime candidate for a fall.

But, there were no calamities in the piano move.

Because we cut it down to size.  Okay—we didn’t actually use a saw blade; we just lowered its center of gravity.  For safety and efficiency.

Is it the right time for this reminder?

“So, if you think you are standing firm, be careful that you don’t fall!“
(1 Corinthians 10:12, NIV)

It strikes me that standing proud has never been the way our Creator intended for us to approach life.  While our culture differs dramatically, telling us to stand tall, to be proud, and to make sure we’re seen and honored above our peers, it seems clear that we were never designed to operate apart from the support of others.

A friend I was talking with this morning said it this way:

“We want to work from the top down.  God actually works from the bottom up.”

His creation shows the principle again and again.  A strong foundation supports the structure that rises from it.  Take away the foundation—stone, roots, or terra firma—and the structure is headed for a rapid unscheduled disassembly (to borrow a term from today’s vernacular).

The Word of God describes pride as sinful, in addition to its pitfalls.  In some ways, it seems the original sin of mankind was bound up in pride—contempt for obedience, along with a desire to show independence, driving the act.  It is certain that pride drove Lucifer’s rebellion and casting down from heaven.

And somehow, ages later, every one of us is just a little proud.  Or, more than just a little.

Proud.

But, God’s plans for us are for our benefit and to build us up.  Together. 

In the big picture, humility builds all of us up taller and stronger than pride.

I have seen the result of pianos that were allowed to stand tall in their conveyance.  The last one I saw was scattered across the farmer’s field that abutted the curve in the highway. 

It couldn’t have been a proud moment.  Despite any pride the owner might have felt as they loaded that piano. 

Maybe it’s time to get our feet on the ground again.

He gives grace to the humble.  (James 4:6)

And the sandpaper He uses on the proud doesn’t always feel that nice. 

I’ve learned that from experience.  And I’m not too proud to admit it.

Grace is better.

 

“A person standing alone can be attacked and defeated, but two can stand back-to-back and conquer. Three are even better, for a triple-braided cord is not easily broken.”  (Ecclesiastes 4:12, NLT)

“Do you wish to rise?  Begin by descending.  You plan a tower that will pierce the clouds?  Lay first the foundation of humility.”
(from Confessions by Augustine of Hippo)

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2024. All Rights Reserved.