Against the baby’s skin his work-rough fingertips, coarse grained as his stock-in-trade sandpaper, chaffed the child. His tiny boy stared at the sturdy fingers, at the lips muttering,
“⸺bless the work of my hands…Oh blessed are you, safe from harm ⸺” he lifted the boy higher “⸺Oh blessed are you, safe from harm. You will shape the world…follow in my footsteps… a carpenter, creator of beautiful things. Of useful things. For good. For peace.”
He placed the baby down softly; there was work to do.
Today he had to build a cross for a condemned man.
“⸺bless the work of my hands…Oh blessed are you, safe from harm ⸺” he lifted the boy higher “⸺Oh blessed are you, safe from harm. You will shape the world…follow in my footsteps… a carpenter, creator of beautiful things. Of useful things. For good. For peace.”
He placed the baby down softly; there was work to do.
Today he had to build a cross for a condemned man.
