Nestled upon a rather large stretch of beach on the Atlantic Coastline sat a beautiful house. Its precious two story frame, covered in elegant windows faced the white sandy beach with a sort of false confidence. The house was painted to near perfection and all indications pointed to its construction being flawless. Every window was placed with a purpose, every door positioned right, every porch had a meaning, and every angle correctly set so the sun would cast immaculate shadows. It was and is the envy of all the other houses on that particular strip of beach. Although they would not openly admit such a thing, but their jealous exteriors were extremely easy to perceive.
The interior was just as perfect, actually it was even more beautiful. The layout was grand, as if it demanded the minds of a thousand architects. The walls led in an elegant fashion passing souls in and out of spacious, luxurious rooms. Expensive furniture and fixtures adorned every square inch, items so rare they cannot be purchased any store. The paint coordinated and pleased all moods, allowing for smiles every second, every day. No other house compared, no house would ever compare.
One day, a day that was no more special than other, a humble, modest carpenter traveled across the sands toward the house. No one knows why he was walking such a path that day, but none the less his footprints do not lie. The carpenter had a way about himself, not particularly great at any skill attributed to the typical handyman. However, his work was of the most important kind and often went unnoticed with the sting that only comes with a lack of appreciation. Most would tell you the carpenter is naive, foolish if you will, but he knew what was going on, he knew to well what was going on. The carpenter often wished the phrase, “ignorance is bliss” would drape itself upon him. He was not that lucky, or maybe he was that lucky. Fortunately and especially for this house, he understood his duty was more important that any gratitude. So, he continued to travel the lands, letting an unseen force guide the path of his worn feet.
He was taken aback by the angelic qualities found inside the house. Such work he had never seen before or at least in such a complete form. Glimpses and pieces, yes he had seen before, but never put together in such a way as this. The carpenter had to take his time exploring the inside for there were so many crowded around. Some were conversing, other relaxing, and a great many were dancing. Those who were dancing had audacious looks in their eyes, which went well with the sparkle of their wine glasses. It took the carpenter several hours to fully enjoy every aspect of the house. At times he was almost pushed out the door, for the partying nearly drove him to start his travels once again. But such a house is so rare; it was worth enduring such trivial annoyances to experience this house.
After several walkthroughs, the house came to accept the presence of the carpenter. Even though he was indeed an oddity among the other inhabitants, he found a warm spot in the house’s heart, that no one else would find. Naturally being a man of skill with timber and tools, he could not help but notice certain specifics that composed the house. As noted before, the outside and interior were constructed with near perfection. But the carpenter noticed some things that few had the courage speak on. The foundation of the house was made of materials so foreign to all man, but not strange to the carpenter. The carpenter had never actually seen this type of thing before, but he knew of it. He knew such items could only have come from a heavenly source. A power greater than all, derived from a power even greater. The house’s base to the trained soul made the rest of its features merely average amongst the pursuit of perfection. With all that being said, the carpenter noticed something else not necessarily unusual. The beams, the cement, the nails, and the construction itself were constructed poorly. It was a wonder how the house was standing, much less able to hold the vast number of occupants that danced upon its floors. The house had everything except the proper craftsmanship, which could only be sought from the earthly realms it sat upon.
The carpenter sat down inside the house, wiped his hardy brow, and set his mind to the task at hand. He would patiently put together the foundation as it needed. This adventure would not be easy, but it was not meant to be, nor did he expect it to be. No rewards, no value, and no promises were made in exchange for the carpenters’ services. This at times sat well with the carpenter, and at others it disgruntled him greatly. But a calling bigger then himself continued to drive his passion, so he smiled on. The house as to be expected fought back against the carpenter, but it reluctantly opened its doors with great relief to his skillful hands. The occupants inside, and outside fought hard to drive him away because he threatened their selfish way of life. A few were glad of his presence for he made moves, they were to timid to even think upon. The carpenter worked all day, all night, and made prestigious headway toward creating a foundation the house deserved.
The carpenter still resides in the house to this very day. It is not known whether he will stay there forever, or if his time is quickly coming to a glorious end. The house itself shifts back and forth from the old to the new. Regardless of the confusion, the perfect foundation was completed and ironically stays a work in progress for both. This story has no end, and will never have an end. For there will always be a house and there will always be a carpenter.
James Michael Davis
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