The Yardstick

The yardstick was always in the closet at the bottom of the stairs.
I remember it had the name of a hardware store on the front.
It had its own special corner of the closet where it rested against the wall.
It was used for measuring and nothing more.

I knew that some children were disciplined with a yardstick.
The yardstick in my house growing up was simply to measure my height.
Since a 36 inch yardstick was too large to keep in a drawer, the closet would have to do.
The yardstick came in handy for longer measurements.

Since I was adopted, I could not say how I got so tall.
There was the year right before eighth grade when I really grew.
The yardstick was definitely taken out then.
My mother never marked my height on a door frame.

I had been to houses where each child’s height was marked on a door.
Their name was written next to the measurement.
People stayed in houses longer than they stay in houses now.
A coat of paint would cover those marks for the next owner.

The markings on the wall could be a problem in families with many children.
Comparisons were bound to happen as one child measured his height against another.
Young children do not seem to think about age difference.
They just see that so-and-so is taller than they are.

When my daughters and I were in Tennessee we went to the historic town of Leipers Fork.
We stopped at Puckett’s, which is a little grocery store in the center of the village.
Puckett’s is famous for hosting live, local music and serving Southern food.
We stopped in quite a few of the quaint shops on the main street.

We parked our car on the side of the road and began to walk down the street.
One of my daughters suggested we walk on the grass to stay off the road.
We no sooner got on the grass that same daughter warned us to be careful of the holes.
She no sooner said those words, my foot went down into a hole filled with muddy rainwater.

I was fine but covered with mud up to my calf.
Thankfully I was wearing my waterproof KEEN sandals.
However, I needed to find a place to wash off.
We walked to this charming little store and my youngest daughter went inside.

She came out and told me that I could go in there to get cleaned up.
By now, in the southern heat, the mud was dry.
I walked into the lovely antique shop on my tip toes trying not to dirty the wooden floors.
I went into a small bathroom and cleaned up making sure there was no mud anywhere I walked.

We went across the street to an antique store called, Serenite Maison.
I had spoken to someone in that shop years before when I was looking for an antique chair.
It was a chair made by a man named, Dick Poyner.
Dick Poyner was a former slave who bought his freedom by making chairs.

Dick Poyner attended a small Baptist church in Leipers Fork.
I was calling antique shops at the time to try to find one of Poyner’s chairs.
The chairs used to be easy to find because not many people knew Poyner’s story.
The antique shop helped me years before to find the man who knew about the chairs.

I went into the store and told the woman about my phone call all those years ago.
She had told me about a man, a former teacher, who had written a book.
His book about Williamson County featured a section on Dick Poyner.
A few years from that initial phone call, he was able to find a Dick Poyner chair for me.

This sweet woman told me how to find the old Baptist church.
I knew that Dick Poyner was well loved and was actually buried in a white cemetery.
I wanted to find his headstone since it had his name and one of his chairs etched in the stone.
My daughters and I found the church but the cemetery was not located there.

As I left the quaint antique shop, I noticed the front door.
All along the door and the door frame were lines marking various heights.
There were names next to each height line.
I was ready to ask about the markings but one name caught my eye.

I saw the name Poyner on the door.
Everything came full circle.
It was not his first name but the last name was the same.
I had so many unanswered questions.

I thought of my chair at home and the man who made it.
The man who bought his freedom by making such amazing ladder back chairs.
The man who was well loved in a white community that embraced him.
The black man who is buried in a white cemetery.

I thought of the yardstick in the closet as I was growing up.
I thought of the markings that were never placed on our doors but were there on this door.
I thought of all the people who stood up straight while a yardstick measured their growth.
The markings, some new and some not so new, are still there.

And Jesus grew in wisdom and stature, and in favor with God and men. (Luke 2:52)

What if there was a spiritual yardstick?
What if there were markings on the door that showed our spiritual growth?
What if you could look at where you were last year and compare it to this year?
What if the markings were there for many years so you could see your spiritual journey?

But grow in the grace and knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. To him be glory both now and forever! Amen. (2 Peter 3:18)

Grace does not have a yardstick.
Grace cannot be measured or else it would not be grace.
The effects of grace can be seen as it overflows to others.
The amount of grace that God lavishes on us is immeasurable.

I stepped in mud and needed to wash off.
I went into a store that helped me years ago find a man who found me a chair.
I saw a name on a door of a shop that is related to the man who bought his own freedom.
It all came full circle in that little historic village.

So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed. (John 8:36)

Click for more information on Dick Poyner