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the workshop

I wish there was a way to explain the absolutely joy I find in watching this dream come to life. You'd think I'd have words readily available for this kind of thing, but I don't.

To appreciate joy you first have to know fear, and I think together, in the trenches, we've known fear. Well, we've known the "unknown" and, brother, that is scary enough.

A year(ish) ago he said, "Babe, this is going to be something. I can see it." I didn't see it. Had no concept of what he meant. But I believed him that he could see it. And that had to be enough.

Hands off the wheel. Staying in my own lane. Or trying to.

Four months later, "Babe, this is a thing. It's going to be something. I know it is." And I believed him that it was a thing. I still didn't see it. But I saw him, and I believed in him. And it trickled in, little things here. Little things there.  Work still beckons, and real life demands attention.  Sometimes--at all times--the universe rewards belief. Not always along a preferred path, but it rewards just the same.  

I can still see him at that old saw mill, doors thrown open. Just as I can see him now in the lights of the workshop he has created for himself.  It was a cold night. Not cold like tonight, but colder than we were used to at the time. A damp night, like the ones fall treats us to when it's trying to settle in.  A yellow beacon in the gathering dark. No matter what has come before or since, it stood like a cathedral to him, or as close to one as he would ever come. 

He didn't need me. That was a moment for him and his maker. A gift. But that wasn't my story. I was in the backseat of that one. So I never told it. 

Six months later again, and it is still a thing. Little things here and little things there have became tabletops and countertops, cutting boards and benches, fireplace mantles and floating shelves. Still learning, always learning. And thank God for that because his is a creative mind that always needs the fuel of discovery.

This guy He's my favorite story to tell.


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