Burlwood

What do you know about burlwood?

You've probably seen it in luxury vehicles and hand-hewn crafts.

It's rich, one-of-a-kind, dynamic and attractive. Basically, it's beautiful.

And I had no idea that burlwood, or technically, a burl, is a deformed growth from a tree that's been injured.

Today, I saw one get sawed off of a dime-a-dozen tree in the backyard of a New England home featured in a segment on Ask This Old House (it's the default channel on the Samsung Frame hung above the fireplace in our living room).

Honestly, the tree was pretty ugly, forgettable even, and the burl was an even uglier goiter clinging relentlessly to its helpless trunk.

We might look at ourselves in the mirror, or a gap on our resume, or the absence of $ in the bank, or a relationship that's missing and feel guilt, shame, or regret. We can feel flawed.

Maybe like the burl we actually ARE flawed.

What if you looked at that flaw anew, lopped it off and sanded it down, shaped it into an object of beauty, and shared it with the world?

Take for example neglect and loneliness I experienced during my childhood. My sort of original injury, if you will.

That injury is not the burl. I had plenty of misdirected energy and missteps as I tried to heal that injury; many knots in the burl. And I also developed values of compassion, rebellion, and experimentation; perhaps the grains and tones between the knots.

I gotta say - you chop that thing off the tree, grind it down and make a bowl out of it and you could catch a pretty penny for it at a craft fair. Or maybe stick it in the dash of a Mercedes. Pretty attractive stuff once it's brought out into the light.

How might the beholder of your beautiful flaw be changed by it? How might you be changed by sharing it?