The Craftsman in the backyard

 “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him,  who  have been called according to his purpose.”

  — Rom 8፥28 (NIV)

He was in his backyard when I came to ask him why he does what he does. The smell of lavender circulated through my lungs, and the purple sky spoke of the coming of the morning. The lake sang calmly along with the wind. His backyard has beauty all over it, but my focus was on him. 

When he stayed where he was for two more days before Lazarus died, I didn't know he was going to resurrect him. I read somewhere that we are greater than the sum of our parts. I learned that we are not just our bodies, our memories, or our personalities. There is more to us that explains our identity, that part of us that defines who we are. When he resurrected him, he didn't make another Lazarus, he put his essence back into his soul. 

Way before Lazarus, the word created the infinite universe. He made the things no scientists could ever explain. When gravity, force, and energy started to build the cosmos, he sat on his throne directing them to arrange into position. 

And now time has become a concept we live by and Lazarus died. But he came down just to give him back that part of him. He left the stars hanging just to give him a second chance. People die every day, they lose the essence of their humanity. And yet he cared for Lazarus and gave him the missing piece. 

I wanted to know why he loved Lazarus so much, why he gave him another chance. So I went to his house before dawn broke to let my wrestling mind rest from the midnight battle. He was in his backyard crafting furniture. When he saw me he sat down and smiled. He took a deep breath before looking directly into my eyes. 

"Why are you scared of death?" he asked. 

Of course, he knew. He knew it was about me and not about Lazarus. I wanted a second chance, I wanted to live again. I was scared that I would be lost in history as if I was just dust being washed away. However, I didn't know why I wanted to be a hero. I was hoping he would tell me. 

"Because people die because they lived. Life is a cause of death and so with every breath I take I am running out of time, rushing toward the end. " Tears rushed over my cheeks out of nowhere. He understood me, I knew he did because he started to cry with me. But then he smirked like a lightning strike. He opened his mouth, his voice was like the sound of rushing waters. "You know, sometimes death causes life, lives even," he said. 

"I am a craftsman you see, I make a chair out of mere wood, but the tree has to be cut to be furnished into a chair just like death is a bridge to heaven," he was now looking at the trees around. "Sometimes I heal those who are sick and craft their stories into the patterns of heaven. That is what I did for Lazarus. But, I am the kind of craftsman who can use sickness itself to make something out of it, who can bring the extraordinary out ordinary. Because truly, anyone can make Jewelry out of gold, but I bring honey from a dead lion."

Photo Credit: Havilah Moges