Wood shavings fell all around the Master Craftsman as he worked. Dust danced in the light streaming in from the window and caught in his thick beard. A smile twinkled in his eyes, and a tune hummed on his lips as he smoothed out the piece of artwork in his hand. This – this had just been a rough hunk of wood not too long ago, covered in dirt and bark. But then along came the Master’s hands, and they began cutting – sanding – rounding – smoothing – shaping. Delicate features were chiseled out, and this piece of wood soon took on a purpose, a purpose that could only come from the deep recesses of the Master’s mind. It was to make music. This would be an instrument that would soar with the music of its very Maker, crafted by one who knew the ins and outs of its very being.

The Craftsman soon finished, and laid the instrument down on his workbench. The late afternoon sunshine highlighted the film of dust still covering the instrument, revealing fingerprints from where the Master had last touched it. It still needed the refinement process, but at the moment, its raw beauty shone through, evidence of a loving mastermind.

And when he finished, though the dust be wiped off, and polish and shine applied to its body, the instrument would always bear its Maker’s fingerprints – it couldn’t help it. They were wrapped up in the very carving of that little instrument. The fingerprints were a mark of identity and ownership of that creation.

You and I, friend … we are those instruments being made in the woodshop. Can you see the Father’s fingerprints all over you? The Creator’s signature in your DNA? The Carpenter from Bethlehem planned a great masterpiece when you were put together in the womb, and the wondrous thing is, He’s not done shaping you and I yet!

This month, the calendar says “Carpenter” on it … and I think about the Carpenter’s fingerprints in my life, and I’m humbled. Humbled to think that He would take on flesh and step into a woodshop on Earth. Humbled to know that the Creator of the universe spent time carving things out of wood with his earthly father. Humbled to realize that all I have within me is a gift from that Master Craftsman and I am merely His handicraft.

Unfortunately, most of the time I do battle with this wretched thing called pride – imagining somehow that I could be responsible for the gifts He’s given me! It so subtly sets in, and before I realize it, the ugly monster has reared its head in my life, and I’ve so casually, so confidently reveled in my own accomplishments … forgetting that I would be nothing were it not for the saving grace of Christ my Lord … forgetting to see the fingerprints in my life that cost Him everything upon that cross. I try to make my own music, foolishly overlooking the fact that it will only end in a messy cacophony if not directed by the Master Conductor.

So He brings me gently to my knees. Asks me to gaze into His eyes and into His toolbox which has the power to transform my heart. And as the Master Carpenter begins the sanding and smoothing process, once again, His fingerprints become evident. My only prayer is that all may see those beautiful fingerprints in my life and not my selfish pride … that whatever gifts I’ve been given be turned back into glorious praise of our Abba. He is the only one worthy to receive our music of adoration.