She was just a small girl when they became friends. She was a seven year old pistol. Full of life and love. And mischief. He was a simple carpenter with gentle, deep eyes. She loved His laugh and the strength of His arms that held her when she was afraid, comforted her when she was sad and swung her around when she was so happy she couldn’t sit still. Sometimes He cried. She didn’t always know why and she hoped she would never make him sad.
As the little girl grew He taught her many things. As a carpenter He was highly skilled at building things. As an artist He was a master. But His best creations seemed to be what He could do with people. It seemed He could fix anyone that was broken. He took the shattered, rugged, raw edges of people’s lives and turned them into beautiful mosaics and masterpieces. Extreme pain would melt into unspeakable joy. She watched it happen with her very own eyes. This was the sweet carpenter that she got to spend every day with and watch as He perfomed His magic in and around her. Her very best friend.
She loved to grab His hand and turn it over to see her name written on His palm. Right by that rugged scar… And that rough, strong, warm hand would hold her small hand and she felt very safe and very loved. Hand in hand they would walk. They hiked up mountains. They ran through meadows. They splashed in puddles. They walked and galloped and skipped. Sometimes her feet would get tired. And He would pick her up and carry her. At times on His shoulders so she could see where they were going. Other times against His chest so she could hear His heart and rest. And His rugged, scarred hand would stroke her hair as He whispered in her ear, “I love you.”
They talked about everything. He would tell amazing things about His Father and the many people He had met and touched and loved. Sometimes this made her smile out loud. Sometimes it made her mad. And many times it made her cry. But she loved to listen to all that He shared with her. And this tender carpenter loved to hear her tales, too. She could talk to Him about anything. About her day, her dreams, her mistakes, her pain. Her happiest and saddest moments and everything in between.
The change in weather never stopped them from their journey. On sunny days He would twirl her around and their giggles would fill the air. When the gentle rain would fall they would stick out their tongues to catcht the refreshing drops. Eventually, she would get chilled and begin to shiver and He would hold her close to keep her warm. There were stormy days, too. Dark days with thunder and lightning. Scary days. But His sweet grip only tightened around her trembling hand. She was safe and loved.
And when the storm would pass they would sing. Oh, how they would sing! With His strong and able hands He built her a swing. This was her favorite place to sing her favorite songs. She would jump on and He would push her. Tossing back her head she would sing of her love for Him. And together they would harmonize in songs of love for His Father. A Father so incredibly loving that He found a way for them to become friends. These were the days when she could not contain all the joy inside her.
Each day He would read to her from His favorite Book. The Book that He and His Father had written together. It was filled with stories of adventure and drama. Love and hate. War and peace. Passion and romance. Instruction and encouragement. Faith and hope. She had heard the words from this Book all her life. And yet they seemed to come alive in a new way every time He read them to her. And as she would sit hugging her knees to her chest, she would listen and learn from Him, because it was this book that contained the directions for the rest of the journey ahead.
Though she would never be His equal, they shared many things in common. They loved deeply. They enjoyed words and hugs. And they both loved to express creativity. Some days He would paint beautiful blue skies with wonderful puffy clouds in every shape imaginable. They would lie in wildflower meadows (also His creation) and she would try to guess what shapes the clouds were formed to look like. This always made the carpenter laugh because, of course, there was no right answer. It all depended on who was looking at them. When she was in a creative mood, He would join in, inspiring her and giving her ideas that completely delighted her very soul. And together they would create new things out of old. Restoration. Her favorite hobby. And His specialty.
There were days when the journey had been particularly difficult. Though exhausted, she would want to keep going. She was a doer and not very good at sitting still. But the carpenter recognized the need for sweet rest and would pull her to Himself. They would find the closest tree and He would lean against it and draw her into His lap. She would want to chat. But He would put His finger to her lips and remind her that this was their quiet time. A time to just be together and breathe in the glory and peace of just being.
Such an amazing path shared with the Best Friend a girl could ever have. And it would seem that her heart would always be content. But there were times that she was distracted by the beauty around her. When the creation would take her attention from the Creator. Her antsy feet would sometimes be frustrated with His relaxed pace. And her passion would get the best of her. Her hand would squirm free of His loving grasp and she would either run ahead or veer off the path they were on to find her own adventure.
One such day, they were walking together quietly. She was enjoying the beauty of all that the carpenter’s Father had created for them. The path ahead of them nearly took her breath away. It was a lush, green forest with the smells and sounds she loved most. Branches cracking under their feet. Birds singing. Crickets chirping. The sound of a gentle babbling brook. And the glorious smell of green. She was overcome. She let go of her precious carpenter’s hand and wandered throughout this wonderland on her own. She heard Him calling her name and she called back that she wouldn’t be gone long, knowing that He would be there when she returned.
And then she saw it. A beautiful flower brilliant in color in this sea of green. A color she had not seen before. It seemed to be all colors at once. And its beauty and sweet fragrance drew her in. She could barely hear her most precious friend whose voice was now fading in her ears. She knelt down to admire the flower. And as she did she became consumed by it, and seemed to forget the path and her faithful companion. She reached down to pick the flower. She knew that it belonged in the forest, but she could not imagine walking away from it. And as she held it in her hand, she didn’t see the blood and dirt on her hands or the empty stem left behind. She stared for a time not feeling the warning thorns that burrowed into her hands. And she danced and sang with her flower that day.
But as always happens, the day came to a close and darkness began to set in. The beautiful forest became eerie and frightening. The sounds became scary and she realized how far she had wandered from the path and from her sweet friend whose hands held her close and made her feel safe. For the first time she realized the pain of what she was holding on to so tightly but couldn’t seem to let go. Her eyes welled with tears as she saw the blood dripping from her hands and realized that she had taken a thing of beauty from its rightful place. And fear and agony gripped her heart. She was cold and afraid and felt dirty and ashamed. She fell to her knees and screamed out the name of her carpenter friend. She knew she did not deserve His love and forgiveness and yet she knew He was the only one who could find and rescue her.
She wept with all that was in her. Gut wrenching cries that portrayed her broken heart. And then there was a familiar gentle touch on her shoulder. She could not look up into His face. But He knelt down beside her and took her dirty, tear stained face in His hands and gently kissed her on the forehead. He looked through her with those penetrating, knowing and intensely loving eyes. Tears were streaming down His face, too. The knowledge that she had made Him sad was almost more than she could bear. But then He reached out for her small hands, still gripping the flower, still dripping with blood, and He took the flower from her. He put her hands to His face. And she could feel His tears and see her blood and dirt as it marked His cheeks and mingled with those tears. She knew that this was a love like no other. The love of her sweet, simple carpenter. And she buried her head in his chest and He let her cry there as He rubbed her weary back and stroked her tangled hair. Still shaking, she begged him to let her return the flower to where it belonged, to make right what she had done wrong. But He assured her that He had already taken care of it and that its beauty would be fully restored. And He held out His hands to show her. Those familiar scars that she had heard so many stories about and touched every day of her life since they had met. Scars that told of healing and forgiveness and deep love. Her name still written on His palm. And He gently led her to the babbling brook to look at her reflection. She was amazed. The dirt and blood stains and tangles were gone. It seemed impossible. But this carpenter had again created something new. And those precious hands picked her up and swung her around, lifting her onto His shoulders to carry her back to the path where they would continue this glorious journey hand in hand. And they laughed and they sang at the top of their lungs…the carpenter and his girl…
