Coffee and Catholic Woodwork: My Journey
You know, there’s something to be said about the smell of sawdust mixed with fresh coffee in the morning. It’s pretty much what my weekends look like. I live in a small town outside of Chicago, and when I’m not working my nine-to-five, you can find me in the garage with my tools scattered around. Most people have their hobbies, but for me, woodwork – especially Catholic woodwork – has become a real passion.
Now, I’ve been at it for a few years, and let me tell you, it hasn’t all been smooth sailing. There have been mistakes, misjudgments, and more than a few moments where I just stared at a project, wondering if I’d lost my mind. One of those moments sticks out in my mind, like when you have too much coffee and can’t fall asleep.
The Lopsided Cross
It all started when I decided to make a wooden cross for my parish. The old one had seen better days, and honestly, my pastor was looking for something that didn’t look like it belonged in the back of the shed. I thought, how hard could it be? It was just four pieces of wood!
Oh boy, was I in for a lesson. I picked up some pine from the local hardware store. You know the smell? Sweet and a little resinous? I love it. But here’s the thing about pine—it’s not the easiest wood to work with for detailed stuff. I also brought home some beautiful oak, which is a whole other story—so strong and classy.
Anyway, I measured everything out, probably about ten times, because, you know, my dad always said, “Measure twice, cut once.” I was feeling all pumped, just me and an old jigsaw I found in my garage that did the job, but not without a bit of a fight.
So there I was, buzzing away with that thing, and let me tell you, you don’t appreciate a jigsaw until you’re trying to make precise cuts. I ended up with two pieces that looked kinda like a cross—if you squinted really hard. But when I went to put them together, I realized I should’ve paid a bit more attention to the angles. The whole thing was lopsided, and it looked more like a broken twig than a holy symbol.
Almost Giving Up
I nearly tossed that piece of wood in the fire pit out back. I mean, was this really worth it? I almost gave up when I saw the little knots in the wood—surprises that just popped up like unwelcome guests. I had to sand those down, and let me tell you, my fingers were raw by the end of it. All I could think was, “What do I know about crafting a cross?”
But then something clicked. I stared at the mess of wood in front of me and decided that it had a story. I thought about all those people who had their hands on the original cross, the love and grace that went into it. So I picked up my sander again, cranked up some good ol’ Neil Young on the radio, felt the rhythm, and went back to work.
I ended up doing a combination of oak and pine. It wasn’t perfect, but it had character, and it took me beyond the lopsided mess I’d initially created. The oak was more forgiving – easier to shape, and it turned out so beautiful once stained. I went with a deep walnut finish because, well, it looked classy.
The Moment of Truth
So, after all that sweating and a few more cuts, I finally assembled the pieces and stood back to admire my work. There’s something magical about that moment, you know? The afternoon sun was filtering in through the garage window, and it felt like that piece of wood had a purpose.
I’m not gonna lie; I even smiled a bit. It actually looked good! I affixed a simple hanging mechanism on the back and let it dry. The proud moment came when I brought it to church the following Sunday. The looks on parishioners’ faces—some were surprised, others just genuinely touched.
That’s when I realized, even though the journey had its bumps, the finished product was worth every miscalculation, every blister, and every moment I almost gave up. It was more than just wood; it became a part of the community.
Lessons Learned
Now, I’m no expert woodworker, and I’m definitely not trying to sell myself as one. But I learned that perfection isn’t what makes a piece stand out; it’s the intention and heart put into it. I wish someone had told me earlier that the journey is just as important as the destination.
And the best part? I’ve since taken on more projects – furniture for friends, smaller crosses, even some nativity pieces for Christmas. Every time I step into that garage, the smell of wood combined with the sound of my tools feels like home.
So, if you’re thinking about diving into woodwork, especially Catholic-inspired pieces, just go for it. Don’t fret about being perfect. Roll with the imperfections and embrace the learning curve. Maybe you’ll pour yourself another cup of coffee, and it’ll all suddenly make sense, just like it did for me.
