When I grew up, a man was judged by his pocket knife.  Every man I knew carried one.  I heard old-timers say, “I’m not dressed until my knife is in my pocket.”  Heaven forbid that you had a dull knife.  I remember men shaving hair off their arms to show the sharpness of the blade.  If you allowed your knife to rust, you might as well pack your bags and move to the city. 

We used our knives more in those days.  There were always hay bales to cut, feedbags to open, splinters to dig out, and oranges to peel.  It was a point of pride to be able to peel an orange in one continuous spiral.  All the boys carried pocket knives to school.  You never knew when you might need to carve your initials into a desk or pair your initials with a cute girl on a tree.   

Times changed.  Schools started outlawing pocket knives as weapons of mass destruction.  I knew if I ever used my knife to cut someone at school, my teacher would whip me, my principal would whip me, and then when I got home, my Mama would whip what was left.  

Carrying a knife on a plane was outlawed.  I wondered about that.  If a terrorist had a knife and a country-boy had a knife, my money is on the country-boy.   

I started spending more time behind a desk and less time on the ranch.  I carried my knife on the weekends when I was doing chores in the yard, but I was running out of room in my pockets.  I was carrying more keys, my wallet carried credit cards and business cards, and my cell phone took up a lot of space.  I never was into skinny jeans, but it is hard to slide a pocket knife into pockets that gap a quarter-inch.   

I made a trip to the ranch to work cows not too long ago and knew I would need my pocket knife in the pens.  I made sure I sharpened it.  I did not want my cowboy credentials to be called into question.  We were castrating calves and earmarking them.  Let me explain: when you turn a bull into a steer, you cut a small piece of the calf’s ear.  You do this to distinguish steers and heifers out in the pasture.   

When the first calf came through, I was standing at the front of the chute.  Somebody hollered, “Who is earmarking?”  I have done a lot in the pens, but there was always someone else to do the earmarking.  But I was there, my knife was sharp, and it was my time.  I stepped up and said, “I’ll do it.” 

I used my weight to pin back the head of the calf, grabbed his ear, and started to make my cut.  Either my knife was not as sharp as I thought, or this calf had extra tough ears.  Instead of slicing, I had to start sawing.  I got the earmarked.  It was not pretty.  I braced myself.  I knew the criticism was coming. 

My brother Steve was the first to holler, “I thought you said you had a sharp knife.”  Hollering something like that at the pens is like calling in a pack of dogs on a wild hog.  Several insults were hurled in my direction. Samantha, a sweet young woman of sixteen, said, “Mr. Clay, I would grade that cut a D-.”  That hurt.  My cousin Sid said, “Step aside, Uncle Clay, let me show you how it is done.” 

Sid had a special tool, a V-shaped piece of metal with a razor blade on each side.  He marked the next calf perfectly, then handed me the tool with a wink and said, “Try this.”   

My marking improved considerably.  Sweet Samantha rated my next ear a C+.  After five calves, I worked my way up to an A-.  Not a bad learning curve.  Like so many things in life, it is a matter of having the right tools.

The next day, my brother took me to the feed store, saying, “We are going to get you a good knife.”  We avoided the $300 collector’s knives.  Instead, we got a good working knife, one that fits more comfortably in my pocket, and a stone to keep it sharp.  I think my brother was looking out for me, or maybe he did not want to be embarrassed by his little brother and his dull knife again.

 A verse in the Book of Hebrews says, “For the word of God is alive and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart.”  A sword is just a bigger knife.  God has a sharp knife of truth, and he uses it to peel back the layers of your soul.  It is so easy to fool ourselves and place lie upon lie.  But our Heavenly Father knows the truth will set you free.  That is why he wants you to face the truth about your motives, your thinking, and your emotions.  Make a regular, brave request: “Heavenly Father, show me the truth about myself.” 

A sharp knife makes a cleaner, less painful cut.  You will be glad your Heavenly Father has a good, sharp knife.