The Carpenter's Daughter (34 page)

Strange. I’d been me all along. Over the summer, I really hadn’t changed that much. All of the searching, and I’d been there the whole time. That day, however, I
felt
different.

The sound of a vehicle slowing down on the highway snagged my attention, and I watched Jesse’s truck pull in behind mine. He knew. Warmth stirred in my chest as I caught his profile before he parked. He was some kind of looker, that roofer. And he could puddle my heart with one heated glance.

But I was complete. Even in my anguish through the night, not knowing how this complicated thing with Jesse and my dad and me would work out, I’d felt it. I’d be okay. I’d live. Not just survive, but
live
.

Jesus loved me. I was not alone. God gave me wings so I could fly.

“Hey, Sapphira.” Jesse’s soft call drew a smile to my lips. “You okay?”

I turned slowly, letting my vision cast over the rest of the acreage. The dream continued to unfold in my mind.

I laughed, free and truly happy.

“Yes.” I met his gaze. “I’m good.”

Everything was still messed up, but we’d work on it. Life with Jesse wasn’t clear, but we’d take it one day at a time. And in it all, I’d be good.

I knew who I was, and the Carpenter’s daughter was exactly who I wanted to be.

Sarah

Morning light eased over the horizon, soft and warm with the orange and pinks of a Nebraska sunrise. The cup of coffee I’d set to brew gurgled finally, and I wrapped my hand around the mug, letting the warmth seep into my palm. Moving to the granite bar-height countertop we’d installed a month before, I wrapped my free arm around my shoulder and buried my nose into the T-shirt I’d slept in.

His. Smelled like Jesse. I smiled and inhaled again.

My laptop sat closed on the counter. With my smile still pulling on my mouth, I opened the screen. After a quick slide of my finger, I had my latest file open. Cottonwood Farm. The house was a two story—a four square. Simple in design, but had been neglected. Not anymore. I had plans. I’d show our newest clients later that morning.

I’d never dreamed of loving life like this. Hadn’t known it was possible.

It wasn’t just the job. Not Jesse either. Both were good, but they weren’t the heart of it.

Who am I?
The driving question that had haunted me just over two years before. Now it had been answered. All of those things I had used to fill in the blanks faded away. The carpenter’s daughter, a girl abandoned, the daughter of a woman who had died in shame… All of these things had been a part of my life, but they were not the complete picture. Even being Jesse’s wife wasn’t the whole of me. Strip all of that away, and I was simply Sarah.

That made me smile all the way down to my soul, because as simply Sarah, I was the daughter of the King. That was amazing.

Footsteps scuffed softly against the floor behind me, and then strong arms encircled my waist.

“What are you doing in the dark?” Jesse nuzzled my neck and then tucked me close against his bare chest.

I wasn’t sure it was called snuggling when you pushed your back up close to your husband’s chest, but that was what I thought of it as. He kissed a spot beside my ear.

“The sun’s not up yet, silly girl.” One hand moved from my waist and tipped the computer screen so that he could see it. “Dreaming, are we?”

I tilted my head so that I could see his silhouette. “Thinking.”

“They’re not the same?”

“Not today.”

He moved to capture my chin. Soft light seeped through the east window as the sun broke free from the night.

Jesse studied me, then tipped his face until his nose brushed against mine. “Keep thinking whatever it is you’re thinking. It makes you glow.”

I felt his cheeks rise as he smiled before he brushed my mouth with his lips.

“I was thinking that I am loved.”

He turned me flush to him and pulled me close again. “You are. So much.”

Rest there, my soul. That is enough.

THE END

***

Did you enjoy
The Carpenter’s Daughter
? I’d be so grateful if you’d take a moment and write a review. Simply go
here
, and tell the world what you think. Thank you!

We meet here at the end, and I am fiddling with words to express my gratitude. I am still floored that anyone would want to read what I write, and am amazed that God allows me to learn through the vehicle of story. He knows me so well.

This was my third published novel, and to be honest, the one that I struggled the most to write. I quit on it twice. I rewrote the end several times. I stalled. I debated…maybe this one wasn’t one for the books. Why? Because it really hit me deep. Who doesn’t wonder, at some point or another—and usually more than once—who the heck am I?

So, thank you for taking this journey with me, because for me, it was deeply personal. As I struggle in a season of redefinition—one that has happened before, and I’m sure will happen again—I have come to this:

Jesus loves me. That is enough.

My earnest prayer is that you will come to that same place as well. Maybe now, as you’ve walked with Sarah, or later, when you reach your own crisis of faith.

In the end nothing could be more precious.

Praise God.

With my heart and love,

Jen

PS—for those in construction, if I miffed the real deal, as I probably did, I ask for your grace. You’re amazing. I wish I could do what you do.

Jennifer Rodewald is passionate about the Word of God and the powerful vehicle of story. The draw to fiction has tugged hard on her heart since childhood, and when she began pursuing writing, she set on stories that pointed to the grace of God.

Jen lives and writes in a lovely speck of a town where she watches with amazement while her children grow up way too fast, gardens, and marvels at God’s mighty hand in everyday life. Four kids and her own personal superman make her home in southwestern Nebraska delightfully chaotic.

She would love to hear from you! Please visit her at www.authorjenrodewald.com or connect on Facebook at
www.facebook.com/authorjenrodewald
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