The son of a carpenter

There was once a maker of fine furniture. He was known far and wide for his unique style and excellent craftsmanship. Because the quality of the furniture was unmatched a great many orders were placed. This kept the man busy all day and sometimes into the night.

He had a son, who he had raised with the hope he would one day inherit his work. But as the son got older he grew more bitter at his father for never giving him what he felt he deserved. The son stopped working in his fathers workshop and became more and more demanding of his fathers resources to be spent on his own pleasures. The son filled himself with every pleasure he could buy.

One day the father, seeing the self destructive nature of his son, cut him off from his wealth. The son left his fathers house in search of the food and drink he craved. For a time the son was able to find the things he craved. But, after some time the cravings grew more intense and friend after friend began turning the son away.

One night as the son wandered down the street he came upon his fathers workshop empty and closed for the night. This son became bitter and filled with rage saying my father has done this to me. So, the son broke into his fathers furniture shop and began pounding on and driving nails into all of his fathers finished work

The son made quite a noise swearing and carrying on as he worked over the furniture. When he exhausted himself he collapsed onto the ground. Looking up he saw his father had been watching him for some time. The father was weeping.

The son said "That's right father, weep for your precious furniture."

"I am weeping for you my son, not this furniture. All this is nothing more than wood and metal. But, you my son are flesh of my flesh, and bone of my bone. The Son wept with his father and finally forgave him.

The next morning the son came to his fathers shop and was amazed to find it clean and orderly. Most of the damage he had caused had been repaired. But, upon closer inspection the marks in the fine wood were still present.

The father was fast asleep propped up against a desk with a can of wood stain and a brush in his hands. He had been up all night repairing the furniture.

For a long time the son stood and watched his father. When the father awoke the son started "father I am sorry..." But, his father interrupted him, "Son I can never 'fix' these pieces of furniture. The damage you caused will always be present, it will always mark these things, just as it marks you and I. However just because they bear these scars does not mean they are wasted. In fact it gives many of them a new caricature. In many ways they are more authentic and valuable than they were before."

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Commentary

Was the father working so much to provide the son with a better life?

Was the son grateful for the fathers work?

What void was the son trying to fill?

Would the son have had that void to fill if the father had slowed down and spent more time with him?

Do we expect to be healed of our scars or does having them make us more valuable?