Don't push away His hands

Ok, so Joseph, Jesus' earthly dad, was a carpenter. I imagine he taught Jesus a thing or two about carpentry. In fact, a lot of people, including me, believe that carpentry is what Jesus did before the whole disaster aversion at a certain wedding. Now, imagine that you're his apprentice in carpentry. He's working on his magnum opus, and he wants your help with it, even though you've just started the job.
At first, you tell him no, and sit to watch him work. Eventually you get comfortable enough around him that you ask for a side project to work on, and he assigns one to you. Maybe it's putting together a chair, or sanding the inside of a bowl, or putting finish on the corners of a cabinet so he can take care of the bigger parts later. Eventually, you feel like you're "ready" to help him with this masterpiece he has been so meticulously working on. It's a single piece of hardwood, cedar or oak, you think, about 4 inches thick, and about 20 feet square. It must have come from an absolutely ancient tree, to be this big. He's got it propped up on saw horses, taking up the vast majority of the space in the shop. You can't tell what it's supposed to be yet, because all he's done so far is start a slightly curved groove about 18 inches long into it about 10 inches from what you call the "bottom," the edge closest to the door. When you approach him, he smiles eagerly and hands you the planing tool he's been using. He points to the groove he's already started, and you set the blade into it, placing your hands on the two handles of the tool. He nods at you, and you push forward as hard as you dare--and nothing happens. So you push a little harder, still with no result. So, you scrunch your face and set your jaw and push your whole weight into the tool, and it moves about a foot, digging about half an inch into the wood, but not in the same direction as the groove. You gasp and drop the tool and cover your face in shame, but he just smiles and nods, picking up the tool, and sets it back in the groove. He invites you back over to the piece, but you tell him no.

He walks over to you and hugs you tightly until you calm down, and leads you back over to the tool, and places your hands back on the handles, but in a different position than you had originally tried. He leaves his hands over yours, and starts to gently guide the blade forward, into his proper groove, and right past your erroneous one. A curl of wood slips over the blade and pops out onto the board as you and he both lift the blade at the end of the stroke. You look up at him, smiling, and he smiles back, and sets the tool back down for another pass. You continue this way for a while, making a little progress toward and slightly around the corner, and you start to feel like you have the hang of it, so you push his hands away, and try it again yourself.

One pass is almost perfect, a little wobbly, but in the groove. The next, though, is as much of a disaster as your very first, but in the opposite direction. Whereas your first goof went toward the middle of the board, this one goes toward the edge, just as deep. You throw the planer toward the middle of the board and storm to the corner, fuming and crying, your fists balled, pressing on either side of your head. You let out a short scream of frustration and stomp back over to the board and roughly grab the tool and give it another go, making sure not to exert any pressure in the direction you just went. As a result, this one veers off toward the inside, like the first, and you just bow your head, squeezing the handles as tight as you can, teeth clenched, tears dripping off your nose and into the gouge you just made.

During this, he has stood just to your side, hands in his pockets (we'll pretend he has them), watching you patiently throughout your outburst. He places a hand on your back and rubs it back and forth softly a few times, then sets his hands back on yours and lifts the tool back over to the main groove and sets it down, and waits for you to compose yourself and set your stance to try again.

This pattern repeats all the way around the enormous board, of him guiding your hands, you gaining some confidence in your own abilities and gouging out tangents to his groove, some deeper and longer than others, and him bringing you back to his original groove. When at last you make it back around to the beginning, the surface of the board scarred from your attempts and tantrums and outbursts of throwing the tool or anything metal you can get your hands on toward the board, you step back, exhausted. Jesus just wipes his brow, and picks up a hammer and chisel, and leans over to work. You try to watch him, but you're too tired, and collapse into a chair you had put together earlier, and sink into sleep.

When you wake up, it's early morning, and the sun is coming almost straight through the door, bathing the enormous piece of wood in its cool, soft light. As you rub the sleep from your eyes, you glance over at it, wondering how much work Jesus had to do in order to remove the evidence of your repeated failures. You figure he let you make it all the way around in order to not waste time fixing them as they happened. But as your eyes focus, you start to see shadows on the board, and not just the even circle of the main groove. You stand up and gasp at what is before you. In the night, Jesus has placed a blanket over you, and it drops to the floor, completely unnoticed.

While you slept, Jesus had gone around the piece, finessing with the chisel around the times you marred the plank, pointing the ends, deepening one side, and turning the whole piece in to a relief carving of his crown of thorns. Each gouge of yours has become a thorn, coming out of his main groove. Each time you threw a hammer, a chisel, a drill, or a knife, has become a drop of blood. And in the center of the crown, he had carved Isaiah 53:5: "But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on him, and by his wounds we are healed."

I may not have it all figured out, but I do say what I think. If you have any questions about faith in Jesus, don't hesitate to email me. It's my job to help you out. Have an idea for me? Let me know in the comments! If you see any spelling/grammatical errors, PLEASE let me know in a comment. I expect others to use correct English, so I should too. Twitter:@GetItReallyReal Please subscribe and/or share.