Always

You catch my face between your palms like a whirlwind of forceful spray. There is no javelin sharper than the way you see through me.

I am not bruised or cut.

I heard you whispering my name, while I played in the weeds and blew dandelion dust. Your hands spilled over with decadent blooms of Grace. I could have buried my face in those blooms. 

So sweet.

I made choices and wondered if my questions merited favor; if I should have asked at all.
Are they too big,
or petty,
or pretend?

While I played in the dandelions, was I still your little girl?

 The pulse of the One holding my face proclaims,

"Always."

"But the Lord God helps me; therefore I have not been disgraced; therefore I have set my face like a flint, and I know that I shall not be put to shame." Isaiah 50:7

Until next time,
The Carpenter's Daughter

Steadfast Love

Steadfast love and faithfulness meet; 

righteousness and peace kiss each other.

Faithfulness springs up from the ground,

and righteousness looks down from the sky.

Yes, the Lord will give what is good,

and our land will yield its increase.

Righteousness will go before him

and make his footsteps a way.

Psalm 85:10-13

Until next time,

The Carpenter's Daughter

Finding the Hallowed in the Hollow

There is a hollowness in chronic illness.
 This place where I have fallen. There are seemingly no ladders to the top.

On occasion, unknowing eyes dare to peek in, often mistaking this girl for a stowaway...

one who runs from life.
From friends.

It's entirely possible that I am solely tormented by my own guilt of neglect towards friends and family. Maybe they truly feel it. Maybe I imagine they do.
 Either way, it haunts, and it hurts.
I love them so.

Do they truly know it?

This is not the shivery hideout of uncaring solitude.
 It's where ones, like myself, feebly gather their wits about them, sitting hard on the cold cavern floor...

toes curled; back against the wall.

Just breathing...

...face bowed to knees sodden with prayers.

It's hard to get up. There are moments when lying down is my strongest point. Stretched out thin, worn, and weak.

When dreams come, they beckon light, warmth, and strength to fill the cavern's mouth. A yawn of dawning freedom. One pledge of youthful swaying upon the grass tops...

...flowers entwined in ringlets. Freckles on a sun kissed nose.

I wake to find my finger tracing the damp veins of the cavern floor.
So many valleys and turns.

I don't know how to get out of this place.
I just know that when I unclench my fists, palms open...

surrendering...

He holds my hands in the shadows, 
hallowing the hollow places...

and that is enough.

 "Thou art my hiding place; thou shalt preserve me from trouble; thou shalt compass me about with songs of deliverance. Selah."

(Psalm 32:7) 

This post is in honor of my friend, Craig, who reminded me that I am not alone. 

Night Light

I have stood in Despair's closet, staring into the precipice of Doubt. I have cried for His affection. Before I could measure the affliction of my own heart, He swooped me up, placing kisses on my cheek.

My King, my Maker, my Daddy. 

He hears the pad-pad of my foot steps, crossing Night's cold floor.  In the darkness of my own delusions, I trace my hand on the curve of the wall, each step careful. I don't want to trip, or stumble in blindness. I have to make it to my Father's room in time...

...before the nightmares catch up.

He is the Night Light ever burning. 

The One Quietude that envelopes me like a soft blanket, lulling me back to sleep.

Yawning hushful praises, I remember that I was never alone in the first place.

(Lamentations 2:19a).
“Arise, cry out in the night, as the watches of the night begin; pour out your heart like water in the presence of the Lord”

Catching Breaths

Can our breath be caught? 

Surely, there are moments that interrupt the hectic, bringing hurried breaths to the submission of surrender.

A letting go of control. 

Breath on frosty glass captures warmth, and for a moment cold gives in to heat.

A baby's cry stops a mother's sigh of sleep, catching instinct in her throat.

We blow out birthday candles, entwining breathy prayers of hope into smoky swirls.

What happens in these moments of caught breath?

We listen more,

see more,

touch more,

feel, smell, savor, learn, dream, wonder, hope,

and live

with heightened reflection on what is essential and precious.

Like one in love, we pluck the petals of  

loves me & loves-me-nots.

If in our final moment,

God has caught our breath:

"He loves me,"

comes with the plucking of that last petal.

"Let everything that has breath praise the LORD! 

Praise the LORD!"

(Psalm 150:6)

Unveiled Face

Only in Heaven's breath...

...are there wings for the soul to take flight...

...in the freedom of His grace.

"And we all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another. For this comes from the Lord who is the Spirit."

(2 Corinthians 3:18)

The Work of His Hands

I wonder why He keeps handing me tools?

I am in no way equipped for this.

 

I just stand here, dazed,
wondering if my smaller hands are even capable of holding onto the curved handle.

His hands are so much bigger...

...stronger.

I have absolutely no experience, aside from making messes.

As the wood curls and twists...

...I feel His heart embrace mine...

...blowing away the splintered fragments.

He inlays His fibers within my soul.

He invites me to work by His side, so

 I accept the tools, clumsy and cold in my hands.

I wait for His gentle direction.

He shows me the art of smoothing out roughness, forming something uniquely me...

...and all Him.

Somethings must be curled up and blown away.

It is how the Carpenter carves Himself into His Creation.

To be workable, I must be willing to pick up the tools,
despite uncertainty, clumsiness,
or risk.

The work handle only grows warm when the hand is on it, and the job is being done.

He blows dust from the table.

I trace the faded colors left behind from lessons past.
The stains of what was.
The promise of what is to come.

Someday, my feeble attempts will be smoothed out, and the work will be finished.

I wait with quiet wonder at what lies ahead.

The projects will not cease until He puts the tools away.

He works on me.
I work with Him.

What joy it is
to be fashioned by the Master! May all the world know they have been crafted by those hands.

There is not one breathing who isn't seen, or heard, or known.
 Or precious in His eyes.

 While we (His children) are being sanded and smoothed,

He is inviting us to help Him mend the broken woodwork of humanity.

We are called to love Him first.
Then we are compelled to love in return.

There are plenty of tools.
Will you join us in the workshop?

What Catches My Eye

What catches my eye? Where do I see Him?

In veils of mist.

The Artist wets His brush, dazzling the sky

with lilacs I cannot fathom. 

I wonder what colors await me at Home.
What prisms in the palate of Creation have eyes never beheld?

For now, I gaze and wonder.

There is song in the movement.

I breathe in the sweetness of His purity. 

I feel softness catching me.

~Holy Spirit~

I free fall into translucent poetry.

His beauty engulfs the horizon. I feel hope approaching.

There is tangible grandeur.

A palate of Power.

My Father laughs with me as I daydream.

I spot the familiar shapes of childhood.

He tells me a story.

I giggle.

It's our moment.

When storms approach, 

He commands the threatening winds. 

He is my Security. 

I may feel the rain, but...

...I hope...

...despite the colder clouds, which chill the skin, and chap the heart.

Without rain, life withers. Strength collapses.

Holy One, sweet Father,

breathe upon my wayward clouds of discontentment, pain...

...frailty.

Encompass me.

You build towers of 

strength from weak places.

A fortress of Grace.

The hopes You set in my heart will not fade into a vapor.

You hold the sky, and all that is within it.

You hold me.

Your Light explodes into brilliant rays of Sovereignty.

It is no wonder that You speak the loudest without words.

I look up to the sky and see gifts of Glory.

My Father is an artist.

The Author

Life's Poet.

Though He can be seen in the sky,

The sky is not His limit.

No limits for Eternity.

Until next time,

The Carpenter's Daughter

"I have swept away your offenses like a cloud, your sins like the morning mist. Return to me, for I have redeemed you."

Isaiah 44:22

A June Song

Oh, how my Father sings to my soul!

I have so much to learn, yet He lovingly portions His lyrics 

to fit the symphony of my understanding.

I listen to the crescendo of the Holy Spirit's leading.

The music is deafening to my surroundings.

Distractions know not the chorus, yet my soul leans towards the music.

I close my eyes...

...and hum...

"Let the message of Christ dwell among you richly as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom through psalms, hymns, and songs from the Spirit, singing to God with gratitude in your hearts." Colossians 3:16


Until next time,
The Carpenter's Daughter

Breathe

Fear is a coward.

It crouches in the corners of Uncertainty.

It only knows fragile places,

and takes advantage of the softness therein. In doing so, it creates hardness. It breaks your knees; bones growing back stronger, only to be broken once more. You set your jaw in defiance, because Fear will no longer dominate...

...you swear it.

Then you fall again. This is where Despair ruins your footing. You can feel it pounding on your chest. It screams emptiness into Soul's cavern. You hear the echos. They bounce off the walls of Uncertainty.

But there is a Wind.

It winds its way through the crevices. You cannot breathe at first, but then you know...

...this is the first time you have breathed in a very long time. Maybe the first time ever.

Holy Spirit.

 You pant. You long. This is where the dry places are filled. This where you will find the strength to stand up, because...

...you are held by the Wind.

Everything beats on the door of your soul. Fear cowers, Despair screams, Uncertainty looks you square in the eye, but you hold your footing.

You are held.

Enveloped.

Breathe.

Breath upon breath...


Breathe.

There is singing on the other side of this. There is laughter. There will be joy in such abundance, that  Fear's storm will be stilled. It will only feel emptiness, because it's grip has been loosed. It will know total abandonment.


The Comforter has come.

You are not orphaned to Uncertainty.

You can breathe in the storm.

 

Until next time,
The Carpenter's Daughter

The Message

The Spirit of Truth

"If you love me, show it by doing what I've told you. I will talk to the Father, and he'll provide you another Friend so that you will always have someone with you. This Friend is the Spirit of Truth. The godless world can't take him in because it doesn't have eyes to see him, doesn't know what to look for. But you know him already because he has been staying with you, and will even be in you!  "I will not leave you orphaned. I'm coming back. In just a little while the world will no longer see me, but you're going to see me because I am alive and you're about to come alive. At that moment you will know absolutely that I'm in my Father, and you're in me, and I'm in you." John 14:16-18


"In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express. And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints in accordance with God's will"
Romans 8:26-27 (NIV)

"And I will pray the Father, and he shall give you another Comforter, that he may abide with you for ever; even the Spirit of truth; whom the world cannot receive, because it seeth him not, neither knoweth him: but ye know him; for he dwelleth with you, and shall be in you. I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you."
John 14:16-18 (KJV)

I Wonder...

He sits on the porch, hammering away. Nails, clumsily digging their way into the heart of the wood.

"Look, Mom. I did this without nailing my hands, or my feet!"


I wonder...

Did Mary hear those words? Did she hear six-year-old Jesus say the very words that I just heard? Did she shudder to think that nails would scar those precious hands and feet? What would she have said to her little guy, hunched proudly over his project...

...working just like his earthly dad?

Beaming with pride, and innocence.

Did she look into his eyes and say, "Good job, Buddy!"

Did she tear up, or hold her eyes steady...

...reassuring.

This mom wonders...

Thank you, Daddy, for taking those nails for me. I never have to wonder where my security is fastened.

Instead,

I wonder...

...in the majesty of Your GRACE.

Luke 2:19
"But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart."

Isaiah 53:5
"But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed."

Until Next Time,

The Carpenter's Daughter

Father's Day Dance

 In every promise, I sway to the rhythm of Your mercies.

I sing praises into the canyon of Your Grace.

I know that, without fail, You are with me.

And I marvel at every footstep that I chase.

I want to dance in Your footsteps, Daddy.

I want to know every line on Your face.

Please, may I stand on Your toes, Daddy?

Though I stumble and fall, let me keep up the pace.

You alone know the steps, and the music.

I listen; try to learn every beat.

Please continue to give Light to the dance floor.

Waltz me right off of my tip-toes; my feet.

I want to dance in Your footsteps, Daddy.

I want to know every line on Your face.

Please, may I stand on Your toes, Daddy?

Though I stumble and fall, let me keep up the pace.

When the music slows down, and you know the words I can't speak.

Let the curve of your Arm hold me tightly, and sweet.

Together we dance, You and I, cheek to cheek.

Because it's not my words that matter...

...but the beat...

...of Your heart.

I want to dance in Your footsteps, Daddy.

I want to know every line on Your face.

Please, may I stand on Your toes, Daddy?

Though I stumble and fall, let me keep up the pace.

"'For in him we live and move and have our being.' As some of your own poets have said, 'We are his offspring.'"

Acts 17:28

I love you, Daddy,
The Carpenter's Daughter

Home

I cling, knuckles white, to the familiar. I pray feverishly that nothing snatches it away. I like stability, and sequential design.

Order.

In my house, one concern is carefully held up by the mortar of familiarity.

And so, the house is built.

As long as nothing changes, my house seems strong. No open windows. No drafts, or rain, or unforeseen pestilence.

I sit in my house, and wonder...

...how can it be so cold, with the windows clinging tightly to their frames?

I long for Home.

This is where I know I want to be. Not in a house. Not confined to one view, from a single window. I want to see more.


I must be broken...

 ...to see the beauty that lies before me.

Though, at times, I may be completely exposed to the elements, I am fully secure in the shadow of His wing.

This is where I find my Home.

"He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart." (Psalm 91:4)

"As for God, his way is perfect; the word of the LORD is flawless. He is a shield for all who take refuge in him." (2 Samuel 22:31)


Until next time,

The Carpenter's Daughter

The One the Tomb Could Not Hold

Utterly detestable was I, as He looked down from the Cross into my eyes of betrayal.

Yet He still offered His forgiveness. He still laid down His life, willing to take the chance that I would turn and spit in His face. Rejection. Knowing that I had cast lots; crushed the thorns into His flesh.

I am a thief, a liar. I am not worthy to receive one drop of blood from His brow...


...yet, He covered me.

The stone was rolled away, so that I could see. I was not strong enough to roll away the sin; it's power so great I was entombed. Wrapped in strips of death. Filthy rags.

Not Him. The cloth that had wrapped His body was neatly folded. Abandoned by LIFE. Death could not bury the Everlasting.

I stood at the door of the tomb, crying. I knew that death had me in its grip. I had known the power it held over me. I knew I was next...

...and I could not roll any stones away on my own.

He replaced my rags with a robe of Grace. I am no longer staring into a tomb, but into the Eyes of Eternal Life. Into the eyes of my Father. My Abba...Daddy.

Covered in His blood, I have inherited a home. Instead of the entombment of stone, and death...

...I now stand on the Rock of Life.

Inside me is the Holy Spirit.

Behind me is the Cross.

Beside me is my sweet Savior.

Before me is the Light of Heaven.

Where do you stand?

I pray it's not looking down into the tomb, but looking up, gazing into the eyes Peace. He is The Protector. The Advocate. The One who offered forgiveness before we even knew we needed it. There is rest waiting for your weary soul. If you don't know where to go for Easter, go to the Lamb who was slaughtered in our place. The Shepherd who is drawing you to His side.

The One the tomb could not hold.

And he said to them, "Do not be alarmed. You seek Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has risen; he is not here. See the place where they laid him." (Mark 16:6)


Until next time,
The Carpenter's Daughter

P.S. I don't usually close with anything except Scripture, but the following quote is so beautiful, I just had to share:


"Nails were not enough to hold God-and-man nailed and fastened on the Cross, had not love held Him there."
~Catherine of Siena

What Compels Me

Flowers call me to smell them.

I am drawn into the motion of a windmill. Stars inspire me to dream. I devour books; hungry to learn. A new recipe takes me on a journey.

What compels me?

When I look at artwork, I am like Alice in Wonderland. I fall in. My mind writes a story. I lived in the painting.

What inspires me?

Hummingbirds float dreamily. I wonder if they tire. They are sweet. They drink sweetness. Wings beating, hearts pumping. Beautiful.

Sickness is always near. I crawl through days. I soar through others. Darkness wants to swallow me, but I focus on Light. I am drawn to the heartbeat of my Savior. I rest in His rhythm.

How do I fall?

I have given Greed more than her fair share. She steals joy, while promising security. My hand holds my belongings. "Mine, mine, mine!"

My Savior prompts; I have no choice but to listen. I may resist for a time...

...but He compels me to give. Painful redemption. No peace until my hand is back into my Father's, and He leads me.

Devotion, self-denial, love for others...

...I am not compelled...

...on my own.

His love draws me in. The Holy Spirit blows out the dust. I am left breathless, holding on. Power. Strength. Mercy.

When my heart is focused on Him, I can look at the stars and dream.



The flowers bend their heads in prayer...

...they smell sweet.

"Christ's love compels us." (2 Corinthians 5:14)


Until next time,
The Carpenter's Daughter

Bird Song (Haiku for Sunshine)

Encouragement rings

Little bird sings life to me

Sweet song warms like sun

 Proverbs 27:9
"The heartfelt counsel of a friend is as sweet as perfume and incense."


Until next time,
The Carpenter's Daughter 

To My Readers

Dearest friends,

Thank you so much for stopping by the Carpenter's Shop. If you have left me comments, and/or read my work, I am so honored. Thank you for taking the time to express your thoughts. I have tried to reply to each one of you, but it seems that my "Reply" button is not working. I will be looking in to this. In the meantime, please know that I do read all of your comments. May you be richly blessed, as you have so blessed me.

Until next time,

The Carpenter's Daughter

Proverbs 27:17
As iron sharpens iron, so a friend sharpens a friend.

STOP

In the workshop, I do the same exact thing every day. I smell the same smells, touch the same materials, build the same projects, eat the same meal...at the same bench...

...and I wonder...

...does it matter?

Does it matter if I work feverishly towards the same goal, daily, with little result? One step forward, two steps back? Would anyone notice if I cut corners and used glue instead of nails?

In the saw dust, my Father's steps are beside me. I know that through every project He has been there guiding me. But I grow tired, and weak. I don't like the way my back aches, how exhausted I feel when the job is only halfway done. I really wish He would just finish it for me. He already knows how to do it...

...why must I always have to practice, practice, practice?

Splinters are annoying. I never learn, so I keep getting them. I forget to sand off the edges. I don't listen to my Father's words. I think I can smooth it out later; rush...

...yet, always...splinters.

I hold out my hand. He sees the flecks embedded in my flesh. I flinch, because I know what comes next...

...pain. Yet, He is so gentle.

We talk. We converse while the splinters are being pulled, and He asks, no PLEADS for me to come to Him BEFORE I am pricked, bruised, and injured. He loves our conversations, yet I choose to sit in solitude...

...because I rush.

Yet He just IS. Unmoving.

I move. I hurry. I count minutes.Work, work, work!

STOP

I close my eyes, and a soft wind sweeps through the cracks in the walls, and I feel it. The wood pile is warm in the sun, and I smell it...sweet. A bird trills, and I can almost feel the power of its wings. The back gate is whacking against the crooked fence, dancing to Summer. Sunflowers bend their heads, as I turn my attention to the window. Bees are buzzing, in search for honey. They are going about their business, not bothered by the confines of time. I reach for my lunch...

...and sit...

...and taste it.

...because I stopped.

My stool is next to my Father's. We work side-by-side. Right now, we are not working...

...we are talking. And laughter fills the workshop.

1 Thessalonians 5:16-18
"Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus."

Philippians 4:6
"Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God."

 Psalm 46:10 (b)
"Be still, and know that I am God."

Until next time,


The Carpenter's Daughter

Welcome to the Carpenter's Shop (originally posted June 2010)

Welcome!

My name is Layla Payton, and I am: "The Carpenter’s Daughter." This is my very first post, and I would like to start out by telling you why I call myself this. Actually, I would like to point you to the following song. This is where I found the inspiration for my blog title (I can still remember singing it in Sunday school/VBS):

HE’S STILL WORKING ON ME
By: Joel Hemphill

CHORUS:
He’s still working on me to make me what I ought to be.
It took Him just a week to make the moon and stars,
The sun and the earth and Jupiter and Mars.
How loving and patient He must be, He’s still working on me.
1. There really ought to be a sign upon the heart,
Don’t judge her yet, there’s an unfinished part.
But I’ll be perfect just according to His plan
Fashioned by the Master’s loving hands.
CHORUS:
He’s still working on me to make me what I ought to be.
It took Him just a week to make the moon and stars,
The sun and the earth and Jupiter and Mars.
How loving and patient He must be, He’s still working on me.
2. In the mirror of His Word reflections that I see
Make me wonder why He never gave up on me.
He loves me as I am and helps me when I pray
Remember He’s the Potter, I’m the clay.

This is the verse that keeps my eyes on the One who will never leave me, or let me down:

“Being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.”  ~Philippians 1:6~

I feel that this simple post will be enough for today. Please let the song and the verse sink into your hearts. We are all called to be fashioned by the Master’s loving hands. What an honor. What a source of joy.


Until next time,

The Carpenter’s Daughter

The LOUDEST Quiet

Standing on the cold rocks in a river bed, I feel the chill of swirling waters. They sound as if they are talking to me...but it's His voice I hear.

My Father has a way of speaking in the strangest of places. Sometimes in stillness, sometimes in the vast caverns of devastation, and sometimes in the multitude of business...but He always speaks. The thing is...am I listening? Am I listening for HIS voice, or paying more attention to the other sounds spilling out around me?

I bend over to pick up a piece of broken glass. It sparkles like a jewel, and I wonder what it was before it was broken. Can it be useful again? I skip it across the water, and then wonder if I just tossed away something important, which is silly. What can you do with a piece of broken glass anyway? If I pocketed it, I would surely cut my finger. Or, I'd find it in the washer, snagging my favorite sweater. Yeah, who needs brokenness?

Wait...

...listening...

I wonder how much water it takes to fill up this space? How much coolness does it take to soothe the hot rocks, and nourish the plants? A fish swims near, making little sounds with his tail. Unimportant sounds. I wonder how many times a day he swishes his tail, and heaves his feathery gills? A dragonfly takes cover...he's privy to the fish...he heard the "unimportant sounds." I guess those sounds were pretty important to the dragonfly. I wonder...

..did my Father plan EVERY swish of the fish's tail? EVERY buzz of the dragonfly's wing? Those little sounds, most of which would never be heard by anyone but Him...

...are important to Him, because every sound of creation cries out His Name!

"HOSANNA! GLORY IN THE HIGHEST!"

I've walked about six feet along the winding water-path. Something stings my toe.

Glass.

And then I feel the cut. The consequence of a careless step.

All things are made new. Nothing is wasted or forgotten. Nothing sits unnoticed by the Author of the Universe...so I just wait...

...for healing.

You cannot be healed until you are broken. Until you are broken, you cannot sit still and listen. I sit on a big rock, hold my toe, and listen.

It takes time for the bleeding to stop, but in that space of time, I hear my Father speak. The sound of His words are sweet. Soul medicine. Things I would not have heard if I had been skipping rocks, or splashing in the mud. No, it's the LOUDEST quiet...

...unmistakable Voice..

...worth every cut and scrape. And when my careless steps are put back on solid ground, I know that it was I who threw the glass in my own path. The Healer had the clean, clear Water at the ready...

...washing all wounds, and carving a letter of Grace into the flesh.

And my soul leaps like the little fish, making sounds that are important to my Creator.

But he said, "If they kept quiet, the stones would do it for them, shouting praise." (Luke 19:40) ~The Message

^"The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.

He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake." (Psalm 23:1-3)

"In his hand is the life of every creature and the breath of all mankind." (Job 12:10)

"A man’s heart plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps." (Proverbs 16:9)


"Incline your ear, and come to me; hear, that your soul may live ..." (Isaiah 55:3)

Until next time,

The Carpenter's Daughter