The Joy of Honest Labor - L. Tom Perry
I remember as a lad, when I was only seven years old, we were
remodeling our house and tearing out some of the walls. In those days
two-by-sixes were used as studding. To the studs was nailed the lath,
and over the lath came the plaster. When tearing out walls, the slats
and the plaster were easy to knock off, but, of course, that left the
nails in the two-by-sixes.
Each
night after the workers had finished, I had the responsibility of
gathering up the two-by-sixes and taking them out to the back lawn,
where there stood two sawhorses. There I was to make a pile of the
two-by-sixes and then, one at a time, put them on the sawhorses, and
with a crowbar remove the nails. After the nails had been pulled out of
the studs, I was told to straighten them. Finally, I threw the
straightened nails into a large green bucket and stacked the
two-by-sixes in a neat pile.
There
was so much in this project that was of value to me in my young life.
First, I was taught to be productive, to work, to be busily engaged, and
not to waste my time in idleness.
Second, as a lad doing the job my father had assigned to me, I was
taught not to waste, to conserve resources where possible. When the
nails were pulled from them, the two-by-sixes could be used again—and we
did use them.
Third,
I will never forget my consternation as I watched the workmen using new
nails as they built the walls back up and completed remodeling our
home. The pile of nails that I had straightened and put in the green
bucket grew and grew and was never used. I went to my father and said,
“Wouldn’t it be better to save the new nails and use the ones I have
straightened?” I was proud of the work I had accomplished.
My
father showed me something very important. He took a new nail and,
using an odd angle, drove it into a board. He was able to drive it
straight and true. Then he took one of the nails I had straightened so
carefully, and, using the same odd angle, hit it again and again. It
soon bent and was impossible to drive into the board. So I learned that a
used, or bent nail, is never as strong as a new one. But then why had
my father asked me to straighten those nails?
As
a boy, I never remembered receiving a satisfactory answer. It was not
until I had a son of my own that I started to understand. When my son
was about three years old, I took him out to the garden to help me weed.
I assumed that he, being low to the ground at the time, would have a
real advantage at weeding. Unfortunately for my garden, he had a
difficult time distinguishing between the weeds and the young plants.
I
then tried Lee at milking a cow we owned together with a neighbor. He
quickly developed the hand action of a fine milker, but, sadly, his aim
was not very good. Whenever I checked on him, he was always surrounded
by a white puddle, and the milk bucket was nearly empty. He would look
up at me and smile proudly, and my initial inclination to be angry would
quickly dissipate—but I was frustrated. I expected him to help me, but
he only seemed to create more work.
It
was in such moments of frustration that I remembered straightening the
nails for my father, and I began to understand. Work is something more
than the final end result. It is a discipline. We must learn to
do, and do well, before we can expect to receive tangible rewards for
our labors. My father must have known that if he focused on the outcome
of my labors, he would only become frustrated with how inadequately I
did things then. So he found tasks that were difficult and would
challenge me, to teach me the discipline of hard work. He was using the
straightened nails not to rebuild our home but to build my character.
Finally, I was instructed to stack the used two-by-sixes in a neat pile
so the workmen could use them the next day. My work was never finished
until this was done and the tools were put away.
I believe that second only to ensuring that every child receives an
understanding of the gospel of our Lord and Savior is teaching them the
joy of honest labor.
