“You must see through my eyes, Hannah. Not the imperfections, but the true reality. You must see through the mirror that is the eyes of your creator.”
He takes the wood from the water and takes a towel and gently dries the wood and I see that the fire scars are no longer visible. He holds the piece of wood up to me.
“Now what do you see?”
“Nothing but a piece of wood that you have cleaned.”
He smiles with a low laugh. “It’s okay. Let me work on it a bit and then you will see the life that is hidden within,” he says and picks up a small carving knife.
“Come with me and let’s talk in the garden.”
I follow him through the room and out into a veranda that lies under the shade of several large oaks and surrounded by beautiful flowers. He sits on one bench, and I sit on the other across from him. He immediately leans over the wood and begins to shave oȅ portions of the bark with the knife. I sit uncomfortably with my hands in my lap, not knowing what to do or say. For a few minutes he carves on the wood as if I am not even present and then without looking up, he says, “You have a story to tell child. So, tell me. Tell me everything.”
“Where do I start?” I ask.
“It’s usually good to start at the very beginning.”
“You must see through my eyes, Hannah. Not the imperfections, but the true reality. You must see through the mirror that is the eyes of your creator.”
He takes the wood from the water and takes a towel and gently dries the wood and I see that the fire scars are no longer visible. He holds the piece of wood up to me.
“Now what do you see?”
“Nothing but a piece of wood that you have cleaned.”
He smiles with a low laugh. “It’s okay. Let me work on it a bit and then you will see the life that is hidden within,” he says and picks up a small carving knife.
“Come with me and let’s talk in the garden.”
I follow him through the room and out into a veranda that lies under the shade of several large oaks and surrounded by beautiful flowers. He sits on one bench, and I sit on the other across from him. He immediately leans over the wood and begins to shave oȅ portions of the bark with the knife. I sit uncomfortably with my hands in my lap, not knowing what to do or say. For a few minutes he carves on the wood as if I am not even present and then without looking up, he says, “You have a story to tell child. So, tell me. Tell me everything.”
“Where do I start?” I ask.
“It’s usually good to start at the very beginning.”
