I’m a do-it-yourselfer—though admittedly not always with professional results. Early on, my primarily motivation was money: I had none.
In my twenties, with the help of some friends, I wrangled together a 32’ Ford hotrod using sheer determination, busted knuckles and a mutilated household budget. With my buddies’ help I taught myself each necessary skill. But when it was time for upholstery… well, I’d exhausted my list of friends and skills.
Asking around, I learned there was a custom upholsterer in our little town. And so, on the hotrod’s maiden voyage, I drove without an interior toward Tug’s Upholstery Shop. In my youthful optimism, I fantasized that Tug would welcome the opportunity to teach me how to sew my own upholstery. I imagined him looking like Giuseppe, Pinocchio’s creator, whistling in his leather apron as he lovingly stitched life into newly restored classics. I envisioned Tug’s shop as a spa for collector cars where the old world craftsman diapered sleek classics in supple leathers and exotic fabrics. And I was certain he would welcome the opportunity to teach me how to do my own upholstery.
My enthusiasm began to wobble when I arrived in Tug’s neighborhood. Fighting the wheel, I bounced down a forsaken back-street, dodging crater size potholes where there was once an alley. It was a long-neglected, turn of the century neighborhood whose alleys proffered no welcome. Weeds towered over sagging fences that were no longer able to corral the battered garbage cans that vomited empty liquor bottles and pizza boxes onto the alleyway.
Suddenly the distraction of disarray faded and something shiny caught my eye. The very last sunlight of the evening ricocheted off the rim of a wire wheel and my courage was restored. Peering forward over the steering wheel, I could just make out the rear quarter of an classic British sports car.
I slowed to a crawl and I strained to look into the dimly lit, single car garage. Had it not been for the heat of that August night, I would have never found the shop. But there it was, doors propped open searching for a breeze, and I knew I had found Tug’s Upholstery Shop!
Skidding to a stop, I stirred the shift lever until I found reverse and backed the coupe into a tiny grass inlet to the side of the claustrophobic alley.
Half-spent rolls of dusty fabric leaned into one another like drunken friends at last call. Vinyls and velvets hung randomly from makeshift overhead racks, their remnant ends draping down like Spanish moss in a Louisiana Bayou. Squinting into the tomb-like garage, I recognized a sewing table snuggled under the low hanging racks. A single incandescent bulb glowed through a curtain of fabric shards. Years of unmanaged fabric remnants and discarded foam formed stalagmites that tapered up toward the rafters.
Hopping from the coupe, I strode unannounced into the cluttered shop, certain Tug would welcome this clever kid in his hotrod Ford.
Shirtless and sweaty, Tug had wedged himself irretrievably under the dash of the MG. Grunting and cursing, he squirmed to attach carpet into the foot wells of the tiny sports car—clearly a compact job better suited for a compact person.
Growling and blowing sweat, he labored to extricate himself from the tiny car’s cabin. Pushing off his knees he stood, turned and glared at me—and I knew immediately I was an unwelcomed intruder.
“What do you want?” Tug barked angrily.
“I… was hoping… I mean, I thought you might be able to help me,” I stammered, but my voice, like my courage, faded to nothing.
Let me cut to the chase. Turns out, Tug wasn’t interested in being my mentor. In fact, he told me to get the (expletive deleted) out of his shop and never come back.
Nowadays, I have an app that opens each morning to a Scripture verse. Today it read,
“This is God’s Message, the God who made earth, made it livable and lasting, known everywhere as God: ‘Call to me and I will answer you. I’ll tell you marvelous and wondrous things that you could never figure out on your own.’ Jeremiah 33:2-3
I did learn to upholster. But more importantly I’ve learned to begin each project by asking for the Lord’s help and wisdom. He is the ultimate do-it-yourselfer and loves to mentor through the Scriptures and our prayers.
Read Ron’s column, Simple Faith, each Saturday on the Faith Page (page 3) of the Lancaster Eagle Gazette, or visit www.lancastereaglegazette.com.