Fire and Water

July 29, 2020

The first one finally broke. It was bent when I got it, but worked until I put it under a little too much strain. It was the pin that controlled the pitch of the bucket on my backhoe. Without it, the bucket just hung there, useless. I couldn’t find any replacement pins at Tractor Supply or even the local heavy equipment dealership, but the service rep suggested having the local steel fabricator cut me a piece, which I did. Ten bucks later, I was driving home with the pivot pin in hand.

Taking it to my son the knifemaker, he drilled the retaining pin holes and with help from my brother in law, I soon had the pin in place. There was just one problem—without even putting any load on it, the pin folded like a cheap suit. Back to square one. Whatever I find to make the pin from needs to be hardened steel. But there is a necessary process that has to be carried out in proper order. It has to be cut to length and drilled before hardening. Once it’s hardened, there’ll be no drilling. And it has to be the right kind of steel. I don’t know one kind from another, but my son informed me that the steel he uses for making knives isn’t going to work because it can only be surface hardened and would still be too soft for my purposes. 

The hardening process is done by fire and quenching. Most of us have seen movies where red hot steel is quenched in a bucket of water. It’s not quite that simple. Most of my son’s quenching is done in oil. Sometimes it’s done quickly, sometimes slowly, depending on the results sought. I’m not sure how we’re going to get this pin done, but I know the process and the order. It must be worked while soft, heated, then quenched—and all by someone who knows what they’re doing.

Life is like that. God shapes us, working the soul when it’s malleable. Sometimes he heats things till we feel we’re going to melt, then he starts hammering away. The blows fall heavy and fast, and the soul begins taking shape. Then comes the shock of quenching that reorganizes the molecules of the heart, aligning them with the purposes of the Blacksmith, before he grinds and polishes till we are sharp and useful. The fires of adversity are never pleasant, and the Blacksmith’s muscles bulge as the sweat trickles down his forehead. But he keeps at it until satisfied with the end result, all the while we are often complaining and praying for the fire to be extinguished, unaware that it is the fire that shapes us into the right instrument for the task at hand. The fire may be hot, and the shock of quenching may jar the soul, but it is worth it if we fully become what the Blacksmith envisions.