It's Easter

 It's Easter. 

The holiday always makes me think of my father.  He has been with Jesus for ten years now.  I picture him quietly and humbly working beside Jesus.

Dad was a quiet man. Very opinionated. He was uncomfortable in crowds or around people.  He worshipped my mother and provided well for her. He was always a good husband and very close to his wife, but unfortunately, not close to his children.  

He grew up an only child and frankly I believe that he was unaware of what it was to be a father. His belief was that he was there to love and provide for his wife. The family came second.  I don't say this to be disrespectful; just an acceptance of his personality.

Dad was a believer. He did woodwork as a hobby. He wanted to share his faith, yet verbal witnessing was not possible for the shy man.  Dad began creating crosses.  All of the sets were the same, three crosses on a terraced platform.  He was very meticulous with his woodworking and created a large number of sets giving them to whomever he met.  The crosses were given to his doctors, pastors, friends, neighbors, attorneys, and anyone he came in contact with.  I began asking him to make sets for me and I handed them out in the same way.

Whether believers or not, recipients were in awe of his craftsmanship.

In the year 2000, I wrote an Easter poem in memory of the season and my father's witness.

Please enjoy.

The Crosses
 
He carefully hews each piece of wood,
With precision, care and love
Knowing that the talent is not his
But is a gift from God above.
 
So lovingly he sands each piece,
Not even a splinter raised.
Then stains the wood with gentle color,
All the while giving God praise.
 
He handles the wood with care.
Putting each piece carefully in its place.
And then the finishing touches,
All to share God’s wonderful Grace.
 
The few that receive these works of art,
Compliment the crafter with praise.
“Such lovely handiwork” they comment,
While at the crosses they intently gaze.
 
Quick to stop their shallow praise,
He humbly tells these souls,
“The crosses are my witness to others
Of God’s amazing Grace.”
 
For you see, these crosses represent
A miracle of long ago.
When God sent his only son to die,
A symbol of love for all to behold.

These crosses represent eternal life,
Free to each and every one.
All one must do is to open his heart
And accept the love of God’s Son.
 
 
One must wonder about the craftsman,
Who hewed the cross of Calvary?
Did he know that the cross he made
Would bear such suffering?
 
Did he carefully hew each piece of wood
With tender love and care?
Did he sand it smooth?
No splinters raised anywhere?
 
Did he realize that the color of stain,
Would be that of crimson red?
Did he know that it would show the traces
Of the blood that God’s son shed?
 
Was he as careful as the craftsman,
That makes the crosses today?
The man who humbly carves these symbols
That show lost sinners the way?
 
Was he tenderhearted and loving?
Like the skillful artisan of today.
When he saw God’s son hanging on the cross
Did he hang his head and pray?
 
I don’t know the man of long ago,
But he was a part of God’s master plan.
But I know the craftsman that makes the crosses today,
For I am proud he is my dad
 
He carefully hews each piece of wood.
With great precision and love.
Knowing that the talent he has,
Is a precious gift from God above.