Mike Chason gets credit for consecutive column topics. Inspiration for today’s musings came as he was trying to tear apart a cardboard box for the trash. Even the athletic hands of an accomplished pickleball player couldn’t rip the industrial-strength tape.

Hedge clippers were nearby but didn’t help. Nor did the smaller hand snips he tried next. Scissors, though, easily sliced the tape, causing him to ponder the importance of having the right tools. 

That cutting-edge experience reminded me of my wife’s late father. Jane’s parents had a wholesale candy and tobacco company in Thomasville. Her mother handled the office work as her dad filled orders and restocked shelves. 

Mr. Horne kept a three-inch, metal box cutter in his pants pocket. Its single razor blade was easy to extend and retract. We have one in our kitchen drawer, the Horne Candy Company imprint long gone from its gold finish. It’s quite useful, especially for unpacking memories.  

Having the right tools is important for all sorts of undertakings. Growing up on the farm our cabless tractors each had a small toolbox mounted on the side. Necessities included a hammer, pliers, screwdriver, and adjustable wrench. Haywire was also helpful. For most situations that would get you by, at least temporarily.

Repairs were more easily accomplished with ratchet sets and appropriate wrenches. In our tiny farm shop, Julius Bembry could fix just about anything with a torch and welder. I don’t have those talents, which leads to a related point. The best tools are only as effective as a person’s ability to use them.  

Carpentry is another area that came to mind while writing this. My earliest recollections of a carpenter are of I. B. Barnes, a friend of our family and many others. He was a senior citizen during my childhood but still busy. He worked alone, so we’d lend a hand when he was doing something for us and needed unskilled labor.

Mr. B. had an electric skill saw and drill, but used a hammer for nailing. I’m not sure if nail guns had been invented. Like all carpenters of that era, he kept a pencil perched over one ear and used a wooden ruler with folding sections.

He was a pleasant man with a perpetual smile, soft spoken and easy to like. An early memory that has stayed with me is of him putting away his extension cord. Rather than wrapping it around his hand and elbow, as I was prone to do, he’d patiently make small interlocking loops.

When he needed the cord again, he’d slowly pull on one end and the loops would readily fall out. It was a simple process, but left an impression on the young boy watching. I realized he was making sure his equipment would be in order when needed.

Dealing with steroid-laced tape prompted Mike to consider a much broader lesson too, the importance of having the right tools for life. There are multiple angles worth exploring, but I’ll just touch on one with eternal implications – faith.

In Ephesians 6:11-16 Paul said, “Put on the whole armor of God.” Countless theologians have elaborated on the areas he mentioned, so I’ll just add one observation. It’s tempting to ignore the word “whole” and choose what suits us. If we’re missing any pieces of armor, however, our set is incomplete.

Love is perhaps the most essential element of faith. Jesus said the only thing needed to keep the entire law was to love God and love others. To reach our Christian potential, our toolbox has to be overflowing with love. It’s not optional.

King David in Psalms 51:10 mentions another vital aspect of faith. “Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me.” I didn’t know until my father’s funeral in 2007 that he regularly incorporated that scripture into his prayers. As I was writing this column, that verse reminded me that vibrant faith is incompatible with an unclean heart. It’s like having a chink in our armor.        

I don’t have any new revelations, nothing that’s not been said by others. But here’s what I am confident is true. If we want to have the right tools for life, the best place to begin is by having the right tools for faith. And I know without asking, there’s a pickleball player in Tifton who feels the same way.