The Scent of Wood

The Scent of the Wood

Learning a trade from a
father was essential. A tradition of following in a father’s footsteps. And so
this young man obeys by mimicking the work of his father’s hands.
In the humble beginning of
his apprenticeship, he is learning from his father to carve out the design of
the wood, to slide his hands across the wood and feel the grain, and to carry
stacks of wood.
Still a young lad and
learning his trade, he needs the direction of his father’s callused hands to
guide his unskilled hands, which now need a little rest.
Stepping away from the
carpenter’s bench, he walks outside the shop to take a break from his work and
stretch his back.
Standing in the warm, noon
sun, he picks at another of the daily splinters in his hands, as the rhythm of
the hammer pounds in the background. Extending his arms toward the sky, he says
a prayer of thanksgiving to God the Father.
He breathes in fresh air
to rid his nostrils of sawdust. First shaking his head to dislodge more sawdust
tangled in his hair, he then removes his sandals and shakes out the wood
shavings.
As the sun’s warmth
soothes his aching muscles, he wonders when he first loved the savory aroma of
wood. From the stories his father has told him, he decides the first whiffs
seeped into his memory from the wooden trough at his birth.
When that dreadful day of
agony came, did it revive all those scented memories of His childhood? All
harbingers of torment upon a wooden cross.
What did those harbingers herald? 
  • Stepping aside from His
    carpenter’s life meant stepping into His glorified life.
  • The sawdust that clung to
    His hair now exchanged for a crown of thorns encircling His head.
  • Stretching His sore back
    could never compare to the excruciating pain from the flesh-revealing stripes
    received from a scourging.
  • The removing of His
    sandals to rid them of sawdust; now removing them reveals His feet for nine
    inch nails.
  • The wood He once carried
    on His shoulders was exchanged for a cross-beam along the Via Dolorosa.
  • His hands, once suffering
    splinters from sliding them across the grain of the wood, now feeling the pain
    of puncture from the shards of the wooden cross-beam.
  • The hammer that pounded in
    the background now pounds in rhythmic timbre upon the nail heads, piercing His
    hands.
  • The memory-scent of the
    wood, embedded in His nostrils, infuses His soul as the punctured wood releases
    that familiar fragrance.
  • The fresh air He so easily
    breathed in, now barely makes it into His nostrils as He struggles to breathe.
  • His muscles that ached
    from work now throb from the pain of crucifixion, which no soothing sun can
    ever relieve.
  • His arms extended once
    again…in prayer to His Father.

Following His heavenly
Father’s guidance, this young Man obeyed…unto death.
And the scent of the wood was released from
obedience. A sweet aroma to the Father.
Easter blessings, Lynn
Lynn Mosher loves to dig into God’s Word and treasure hunts for golden nuggets along the road Home. Lynn lives with her hubby (since 1966) in their Kentucky nest, emptied now of three kidlets and embracing three giggly grand-chicklets. Her greatest passion is to share those nuggets in her devotionals and inspirational stories, fulfilling God’s call on her life to encourage others and glorify the Lord. Lynn writes monthly for several sites and bi-weekly at her online residence, Heading Home