Previous Challenge Entry (Level 1 – Beginner)
Topic: Work (07/27/06)
- TITLE: Hands Open
By Lance Wilson, Sr.
LEAVE COMMENT ON ARTICLE
SEND A PRIVATE COMMENT
ADD TO MY FAVORITES
Night after night he toiled away at the workbench sweating over this latest project.
The dark hairs on his thick forearms are lightly covered in sawdust and curled shavings from the plane he was using earlier. Gently he blew away some dust from the wood to reveal the deep, rich, grain that had come to be his trademark in all the items he created. Lovingly he stroked the edge checking for the slightest imperfection. His father had taught him well and the family business was thriving.
As he sat back on the small stool, to admire his handiwork, a twinge of melancholy suddenly came over him. This would be the last time that he would be in the shop. He looked around at the handmade tools some of which were older than he was. He remembered his fathers smile when he built his first gate and sold it to the neighbor down the road. He recalled the many times he hit his thumb or dropped a plank of wood on his sandaled feet.
The smell of cedar and poplar permeated the shop.
He could hear his mother’s laughter in his mind as she and his father sat on the bench he had made and it collapsed underneath them. He smiled at this memory. This project was finished. It was now time for him to sleep tomorrow held the promise of a new chapter in his life, one that he had been preordained for.
He slowly closed the shop door and walked toward the house still held in the clutches of melancholy yet becoming more and more resigned to his fate. He stopped at the gate of the small house and smiled at the bench that he repaired after his parents broke it.
The voice of his earthly father remained in his head yet the voice of his heavenly father reverberated in his spirit.
He opened the gate and instead of going into the house he circled around the side and knelt under the sycamore tree in the backyard and began to speak to his ‘ABBA’. There he stayed on into the night being told step by step what his new assignment would be.
Three years had passed by with the speed of a hummingbird. So much had been accomplished. So much had been sacrificed. Yet through it all he could always feel the presence of his Father, encouraging him and comforting him.
He had obtained twelve students from different backgrounds, chose them the way he would choose wood for a table or a chair. One of them betrayed him to the enemies of God, yet even this was something that his Father had said would happen. While he prayed after supper they came for him.
Now the real work began.
They did horrible things to him. Spit on him, beat him bloody, then humiliated him by removing his clothes and giving him a purple tablecloth to wear. One of them shoved a thorny crown deep into his head.
It was all he could do to keep from calling on the heavenly host. They stood ready and waiting for his call yet that wasn’t part of the job description.
This part only he and his Father were aware of. Torn and battered they made him carry a huge cross of maple through the streets. This would’ve been no problem for him he was used to carrying logs back to the shop to mill. But today he was too weak. They forced someone to help with the job when he was half way to the end of the project. He welcomed the help.
Finally, in the bright sun of the Judea sky, he had reached his goal. They laid him on the crosses’ face and one of the said gruffly, “Hands!” He blinked at him weakly. Again he yelled, “Hands . . . Open!” He slowly uncurled his fingers and felt the sharp point of the nail thrust deep into his palm. Blood dripped from the wound in his hands.
Hands that so lovingly caressed the faces of children, that rubbbed the infirmities from the bodies of so many, hands that massaged the grain through so many pieces of timber. He was lifted high into the air, his body heavy and his spirit waning. The job was nearly done. His work, as always, was one of a kind.
He closed his eyes and the rest of the story is for another time.
The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.
If you died today, are you absolutely certain that you would go to heaven? You can be right now. CLICK HERE
JOIN US at FaithWriters for Free. Grow as a Writer and Spread the Gospel.