Praise

Craftmanship

In a world now shaped by lines of code and machine-learned patterns, a quiet revolution hums in the background—AI. It's no longer science fiction or Silicon Valley secret sauce. It's here, in our browsers, our inboxes, our pockets. It writes, it reasons, it even reflects. And the playing field? It’s flattening faster than ever.

With tools like ChatGPT, anyone can draft a proposal, outline a sermon, brainstorm a business plan, or even compose a poem. What once required a team of experts or years of experience now takes a well-phrased prompt and a few seconds. It's as if the gates of capability have been thrown wide open—and everyone is handed a key.

And yet, like a chisel in the hand of an artist—a Michelangelo who sees David within the marble—a tool’s power is not in its edge but in its vision. The chisel is lifeless without the hand that guides it. The masterpiece is not in the tool, but in the eye that sees what is possible and the hand that makes it so.

For example, I use AI when I work on these reflections. Not to create the thoughts, but to clarify them, suggest wording, and massage phrasing. It helps me find the words I’m reaching for—the turn of phrase just out of reach, the tone that best fits the story I’m trying to tell. It’s like having a second set of eyes on the page—one that helps me refine, not define, what I want to say.

In woodworking, you can’t just turn on a table saw and expect a masterpiece, it takes learning and respect. A router in the hands of a novice can ruin a beautiful slab of walnut. A dovetail jig—when misunderstood—turns precision into frustration. These tools are not inherently magical. They multiply the intention and skill of the one who holds them.

So it is with AI.

These tools don’t make us obsolete. But not learning them might. When innovation gallops forward like a stallion in full stride, standing still is the same as falling behind. If we treat these tools with suspicion or apathy, we risk becoming craftsmen in a world of machines, holding chisels while others operate laser cutters.

The danger isn't just being replaced—it's becoming irrelevant by refusing to adapt.

And this is not only a personal warning—it’s a call to leadership. If we’ve been given the experience of years, the scars of failure, the insight of context—then we have a responsibility to bring others along. To not just use the tools ourselves, but to teach them. To demystify them. To be the older carpenter who shows the apprentice not only how to use the saw, but how to respect it.

This moment in time isn't just about productivity—it’s about legacy.

Because while AI can replicate content, it cannot replace character. It cannot teach common sense. It cannot walk with someone through the slow grind of growth or the sacredness of learning by doing. That’s our role. That’s our gift. To reach back while we step forward.

The tools are changing. The craft is evolving. But the need for wisdom, courage, and mentorship? That has never been more vital.

What do we do?

Learn the tools—explore the possible with them. Share them. Teach your team. Teach your kids. Learn out loud so others can learn with you. Because staying relevant isn’t just about surviving—it’s about making space for others to thrive.

And when the world asks, “What makes you different from the machine?”—show them your scars, your stories, your steady hand. Show them your heart.

Because AI may change the craft—but it will never replace the craftsman.