I love the smell of fresh sawdust, wood glue, and metal residue on my hands left from the steel nails after I’ve been building. My daddy was a carpenter, and a lot of summer days were spent all day on a job site with him. Anything on the ground was fair game and he would let me borrow his favorite hammer and use as many nails as were needed – I made doll furniture for myself and my friends.

I thought a 16-penny nail got its name from how many strikes it took to drive it, an idea soon dispelled as I watched my dad take one good swoop downward with his hammer and just like that that nail head was flush with the wood.

Occasionally he would walk up and ask, “Whatcha making there” and I would report, “It was going to be a couch, but now I think it’s just going to be a chair.” The next scouring around the site for scraps would produce a piece of wood long enough for a couch – amazed, I always thought it was God supplying my needs, but now I think it was my daddy being loving to his young carpenter daughter.

“I never met a man I loved more than my daddy, until now.”

He never let me climb up the tall ladders past my height, but he could traverse a 20 foot one using three rungs. And once on top, he looked like a walking horse prancing in a parade, and he was as surefooted as a cat running across those rafters – I loved watching him gallop from one eve of the house to the other.

Lunch was served out of a metal lunchbox and gallon jug of water, and coffee for him in an old metal thermos. He always had coffee. And he always had that sweet smell of the cream and sugar on his lips when he kissed me on the cheek. I drink my coffee black, but I love the smell of cream and sugared coffee when someone has it. Having sandwiches out of plastic baggies, with my daddy, out there in the woods on the tailgate of his old black ford, was like being on a date in a fancy steak restaurant with the most famous person you ever knew. I don’t remember having chips too often, but we always, always had fruit and whatever delicious left over dessert from the night before. The conversation was minimal but when he spoke, I was enthralled. He had the neatest stories about the war (he was in WWII) and he was always gracious to answer house building questions, if you timed it right – during lunch was always a good time for conversation. Even his voice was so pleasing to me. I never met a man I loved more than my daddy, until now.

He had carpenters’ hands, or farmers’ hands, or irrigators’ hands, whatever you want to call them – they were working hands – rough and calloused and chapped. I will never forget his hands. One of my fondest memories of times spent with my daddy was sitting on an old couch on the front porch watching the lightning storms. I’ve never been afraid of storms, maybe that’s why. Just speaking of it takes me to that special place in my heart; precious time spent sitting as close as I could get, not out of fear of the storm, but because I loved feeling the warmth of his body. And I could smell the sweetened coffee from his breath when he spoke, while I hung on to his every word. He was a smoker, but even the smell of the tobacco burning had a sweetness to me. When his hands were free of holding a coffee cup or cigarette, he would hold mine and his rough large hands smelled like the carpentry tools to me, and I would pull them up to my face to drench my senses in the smell – I loved it.

He’s been gone almost fifty years now, but if he walked in the room I would know it – even with my eyes closed. There is no one else like him, ever. Even now I long for a moment with him.

I believe that’s how God wants us to know Him, that even with our eyes closed, if He walked in a room, we would know it – we should know it. But not just that. I believe He wants us to have the sweetest memories of our times spent with Him so much so that it draws us into His arms night after night. And I believe He wants us to long for more.

At the church I am currently attending, Sunday nights are devoted to prayer. I love that. I was timid about going to the altar because it was my first visit, and I was already weeping at my seat. I knew once I hit my knees to the floor, well…. but oh, how I longed to! The tears were in a steady flow down my cheeks now as I sat in the pew praying while everyone else was praying in their own way. Suddenly I was overcome with a desire and longing to feel Him, be with Him, hear Him – my Lord. I had my Bible on my lap unopened and I just gently patted it. I casually opened it to no specific passage. I felt the cool of the page as I rubbed my hand across it and took note of the ink markings and highlights there, from some previous study. A gentle smile swept across my lips, and I felt the sweetest peace and warmth rush over me – like I had just sat down on that old couch and snuggled right up next to my daddy. I became keenly aware in that very moment, of just how much in love with Jesus I am. It was not a love at first sight, I’m so excited like when we first come to the Lord feeling. Now, it is a deep, confirming, ever growing, faithfully devoted, loving affirmation. One that has taken almost nine years to recognize and the better part of sixty-two to cultivate. He confirmed for me why I am still alone. After almost eight years of being alone, some days have become absolutely unbearable. Quite often of late I find myself grieving again for my lost marriage, lost husband and my own home. I do not know yet what this means, if I must stay single or not – but I have a Peaceful understanding now, that it really does not matter – either way – as long as I hang on to my Jesus!

To smell the sweet honey as we speak with Him,

“How sweet are thy words unto my taste! yea, sweeter than honey to my mouth!” — Psalm 119:103

To feel the coolness of the water at His touch,

“But whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life.” — John 4:14

And sense the warmth of the Holy Spirit as we walk beside Him,

“Cast me not away from thy presence; and take not thy holy spirit from me.” — Psalm 51:11