Seph walked home with a bit more spring in his step that evening, his mind racing with extravagant thoughts of the ways he could dote on his new bride-to-be.
It is said, 'Do what you love, and you'll never work a day in your life.' This had certainly been true for Seph. He was a man who liked to work with his hands, to create things of beauty out of something rough and knotted. He was a tradesman, third generation, who had been taught his craft by his father, and he by his father before him. He was excellent at what he did, and though he spent at least ten hours a day carving and planing, becoming covered in sawdust and splinters, the results were worth it. To see the tools and furniture and buildings that were breathed into existence through his hands was nothing short of miraculous. It was his gift.
And so, even though his work was done for the day, his mind traveled to the carpentry, and what he could produce that would be worthy of his fiance.
A house, of course, that went without saying. He would build her a dwelling that the two of them could settle down in and start a family, when the time was right, and he would fill that house with furniture, but he needed something more, something special and unique, something constant and sure, an object that was, as the girl, both beautiful and trustworthy. This would be a gift, a token of his love and admiration, something, not expected or required, but freely given.
As he pondered, it dawned on him.
"That's it!"
