“And secondly, don’t let it define your existence.”
2024 is well-nigh expired. Gone forever.
Conversely, one of the benefits of being in the concrete business is that we typically leave something quite permanent behind, something that lasts. Concrete is both beautifully and painfully permanent. What it is, is what it will be.
For the longest time I delayed pouring any concrete driveways and sidewalks around my house. Being infirmed with a degree of perfectionism, I was afraid it wouldn’t turn out just right and mock me forever with its permanent defects. I finally made up my mind it is quite foolish to be in this business and not have any concrete at my house, besides we needed it. I determined to do it right, and made a sizable project out of it, including stamped sidewalks, a large patio, and a driveway with a turnaround in it.
On the day of the pour, I engaged the second of my infirmities. I took too much into my own hands instead of bringing in enough of my finishers and relying on their excellent help. You guessed it, it didn’t come out perfectly. There were some badly finished spots where the surface dried too quickly.
I walk past and see those spots many times. Sometimes I grimace, sometimes I smile and shake my head. I am always relentlessly reminded of several things, but I try to dwell on two of them. First the slight imperfections have not degenerated the overall appearance of the driveway and certainly not its usefulness. And secondly, the finishing defects so permanently marked into that concrete surface do not define me as a person or a contractor. It’s not who we are, but a gentle reminder of our fallibility and our capacity to be less than we could be.
Christmas is often a time when we focus on relationships and those we love. Even if not focused on, we can hardly avoid being reminded of them. More likely than not, all of us have left or felt a relationship defect in 2024.
I would like to remind us, like my driveway, the ugly spot doesn’t need to be the whole picture. It can simply be a little scar in an otherwise beautiful and functional thing. It can serve as a reminder that we have the capacity to hurt someone, whether we mean to or not.
And secondly, don’t let it define your existence. Because, unlike concrete, who we are today, isn’t who we need to be tomorrow.
If needed, I hope this Christmas can be a time of healing. My concrete driveway won’t heal, it will just be. But relationships do heal, and the Christ of Christmas is the “Sun of righteousness, with healing in his wings”.
I personally wish you a Merry Christmas, much happiness and good things to come.
