The Clock

“Jimmy, when we meet my sister for dinner tonight, she wants to see if you can fix her clock.”

That seemed like an unusual request since I know absolutely nothing about clocks.

“It is an heirloom she inherited. It was a source of special pride for Mom and Pam accidentally knocked if off the wall and broke the case. She was wondering if you could fix it.”

Now I knew how why I had entered the story. I love woodworking and MacGyver-ing unique solutions. A cracked clock case was right up my alley.

When we got to the restaurant, Pam was already inside so my assessment had to wait until after we finished eating. Eventually, we were done and exited into the parking lot. She lifted the tailgate of her Jeep to reveal a large box. As she opened the box, a shock ran through me. It wasn’t broken, it was shattered. Some pieces were loosely attached while others seemed to have broken free completely.

“Think you can fix it?” she said.

I replied, “I can give it a shot.” and we loaded it into my car.

Back home, I set up a folding table and carefully reviewed the situation. The clock was an antique with no real markings to give an accurate estimate of its age. The damage from the drop was obvious, but it didn’t end there. The veneer had bubbled, cracked, and fallen off in places. Decorative metal accents were corroded. Wood joints that had been previously repaired now allowed light to pass through them. Some pieces were broken and missing. Countless nails had been haphazardly inserted in an effort to give some structure to the backboard that held the case together.

“Oh, well” I thought to myself. “If it is important to Pam, it is worth an effort.”

For the next several weeks, I spent an hour or so each night on my new hobby. Each assembly needed to be fully broken down into its components, requiring countless corroded nails and screws to be removed. Each glue joint was carefully broken apart and sanded smooth. Once the disassembly was finished, I began repairing some boards and fabricating others. Sheets of used sandpaper piled up in the bucket at my feet and the solvent-smell of wood putty filled the air. Various clamps, glue bottles, and hand tools overflowed the table set aside for my task.

It was slow work and gave me a lot of time to think. It was ironic that I was going to such efforts for a clock that belonged to my mother-in-law. She passed away about ten years ago, but we never got along for the twenty years before that. She always seemed to harbor resentment towards me. I endured years of snarky comments and harsh criticisms. This woman who was embraced by her neighbors and people from church never gave me a moment’s rest.

After she was gone, I was able to set my offenses aside and try to figure out why she never seemed to like me very much.

Jewel’s dad died when she was a teenager. It was traumatic for her in many ways besides the obvious loss of a parent. She was the second youngest of eight siblings in Appalachian Tennessee. Her dad was a coal miner who had succumbed to Black Lung. Her mom did the best she could to clothe and shelter herself and the army of hungry children. They were viewed as dirt poor even in a poverty-stricken community.

Jewel promised herself that she wouldn’t live that way forever. She was still young when she married Bob. He had been raised in a middle-class family that was a dream to her. After serving in the Air Force, he settled into a stable career carrying the mail for the USPS and she held a number of low-level management positions at Kmart, a doctor’s office, and the like.

She carefully selected every article of clothing and decoration for her house so that no one would remember the poor girl who couldn’t afford good shoes. She demanded that her girls learn to speak properly and get good grades so they would never have to live like she had. In her heart though, a part of her was always afraid people wouldn’t think she was good enough.

One day, her baby girl showed up with a new boyfriend. This twenty-one-year-old came from a nicer background, was graduating in engineering, and headed for graduate school. When he started work, life seemed to reward him generously, and he took it for granted that success would greet him at every door.

I don’t think Jewel was ever able to forgive me for taking so easily a lifestyle that she had fought hard to achieve. I was never astute enough to understand how big a deal it was for her. My ignorance came across as a lack of compassion, and we were at odds for twenty years.

I wish I could thank her for everything she did for Kim. I wish I could compliment her for achieving a level of success that surpassed almost everyone she grew up with. I wish I could have understood and not spent so much time frustrated with her and avoiding time together.

As I applied the last coat of polyurethane and tightened the final screw, I hoped that she was able to see the clock she had been so proud of. I’m not much of a judge in appraising value and have no idea if her clock was originally valuable or even priceless when it had shattered on the floor. Maybe it was or wasn’t, but it was a treasure to her.

My chances on this earth are gone to ask her to forgive my insensitivity. I don’t know enough about how the hereafter works to know if she can see me now or not. It doesn’t really matter. I know that she has forgiven me.

For now, the labor I pour out is a matter of respect, an effort to honor a woman who fought ferociously and loved her family the best she could. I hope that Pam is able to see the very best part of her mom in it and that one day it will provide a clue to Erin as she tries to understand the young woman her Mamaw had once been.

In the kingdom of God, a clock is never just a clock. It is a reflection of the memories and love of the people who enjoyed it.