Intertwined Hearts: A Scrap Wood Carving That Finally Found Its Home by Jared Harding Wilson

By Jared Harding Wilson

It’s a small piece of pine—roughly 6 inches long, 4 inches tall, ¾-inch thick—cut from a scrap that once lived in my shed. Two hearts, carved from the same block, edges shaped with a Dremel and sanded progressively to 800 grit. The grain runs unbroken through both shapes, a quiet line that says they belong together. No stain, no paint. Just the natural wood, polished to a glass-smooth finish that reflects light like still water. There’s beautiful grain lines where the hearts overlap and a few faint swirl marks from the early sanding drums—evidence of real hands, real time. I left them. They’re part of the story.

I started this years ago, back when carving was my way to unwind. I’d sketch ideas on napkins or the back of receipts: knots, leaves, symbols. One day I grabbed a leftover cutoff from a shelf project—soft pine, free, forgiving—and drew the design in pencil. Two hearts, interlocking. Simple. Strong. I cut the outline with a jigsaw, following the line as close as I dared. Then I used a Dremel with a small carving bit to rough out the channels between the hearts. After that, it was all sandpaper—until the surface felt like polished stone. That was as far as I got. I didn’t know who it was for. Life got busy. The piece went into a drawer, then a box, then the back of a shelf. It waited.

September 14, 2019

I’d been planning Harry Potter movie nights for weeks. The plan: one film per gathering, all at my place to start, with a themed activity at intermission. First up: Sorcerer’s Stone. I made cookie dough— separated into different bowls with different color options. Set out lots of sprinkles, gold dragées, black icing, green sugar, and toppings and frostings. Told everyone to come in costume.

I went as Harry: I have brown hair and green eyes; easy. I wore my Potter-esque metal framed glasses, and my Gryffindor red and gold tie along with my wizarding robes. All set. We had multiple Hermiones, a Sirius Black, Ron, Tonks, among others. We were about to get started when the doorbell rang. My friend walked in with someone new—a woman he’d known since high school in Texas that he introduced me to over the phone before coming, (something about her voice felt connecting). Last-minute invite. She smiled, said hi, and within minutes was part of the group. I found out quickly that she loves the books and the films along with literature and film in general. Halfway through the movie we all went into the kitchen to start making Harry Potter themed sugar cookies. She shaped her cookie with delicate wings and a dusting of edible gold for a highly creative and accurate golden snitch. Mine was supposed to be a basilisk. It looked like a sad, lumpy garden hose. We laughed. A lot.

Later, I asked my friend if they were dating. “Just friends,” he said. I got her contact information before the end of our night one of our Harry Potter marathon event and later got the courage to ask her out on a date. Four days later—September 19—was the night of our first date. A warm place, MOZZ pizza in cute little downtown Provo with a movie afterwards. Fun.

Two and a half years later, we knelt across an altar in the Provo City Center Temple, dressed in white, surrounded by family and close friends. We were sealed—not just married, but bound together for eternity through priesthood authority. In The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, a temple sealing means your marriage continues beyond death. And through proxy ordinances, we perform the same work for ancestors—baptisms, endowments, sealings—so families divided by time or death can be reunited.

President Russell M. Nelson said:

“The temple is the object of our worship and the source of our spiritual power. It is the place where we make covenants that bind us to God and to one another.”

That’s what this carving is: one piece, two lives, one eternal promise.

For me, this union was the pinnacle of a massive life reboot. Years earlier, I’d walked through the ashes of a previous marriage, grappling with the wreckage of an unhealthy existence. Nights blurred into therapy sessions, spiritual soul-searching, and the hard, holy work of rebuilding from the inside out. I learned to choose joy over isolation, health over habits that held me back. It wasn’t easy—years of unlearning, forgiving, and growing, still growing—but it led me here: to a woman who sees all of me—past scars, present quirks, future dreams—and loves without reservation. Her family embraced me too, wrapping me in grace I didn’t know I deserved. Through her, I’m a better man every day. She inspires the choices that keep me steady, reminding me that love isn’t just felt; it’s chosen, nurtured, lived.

Sometime after we started dating but before the proposal, I pulled the carving from storage. Dusted it off. Finished it.

I used the Dremel again—this time with a finer bit—to clean up the inner curves. Then more sandpaper: 320 → 400 → 600 → 800 grit, until the wood felt like glass under my thumb. Drilled two tiny holes—one in each heart—and threaded natural genuine leather cord through, with knotting. Added two small silver hearts with fine filigree and small decorative red wooden dowels on the outer edges, like quiet symbols of commitment. Then I sealed it.

I used The Real Milk Paint™ – Clear Carnauba Wax —a blend of natural oils and carnauba wax. No smell, no yellowing. Apply with a lint-free cloth, let it sit 10 minutes, buff lightly. Second coat the next day. It gives a durable, satin sheen that protects without hiding the wood. The 800-grit polish lets the wax sink in evenly, creating a soft, warm glow that feels alive. (If you’re finishing a small project and want something clean, natural, and food-safe, this works.)

I gave it to her one quiet evening—no fanfare, just the two of us on the couch. She turned it over, traced the cord, smiled. It became hers.

Wood Carving Tips (Power Tool + High-Grit Edition):

1.  Start with scrap wood — Pine, basswood, poplar. Soft, cheap, forgiving.

2.  Sketch in pencil — Light lines. Erase mistakes. Use a template if you want symmetry.

3.  Cut the outline with a jigsaw — Fine blade, slow speed. Clamp the wood. Let the tool do the work.

4.  Rough carve with a Dremel — Start with a coarse bit. Wear a mask—pine dust is fine.

5.  Shape with sanding drums — 60 or 80-grit to start. Work in passes. Keep the tool moving.

6.  Smooth by hand — 120 → 180 → 220 → 320 → 400 → 600 → 800 grit. Fold sandpaper for curves. Use a sanding block or dowel for control.

7.  Finish naturally — Wax, oil, or nothing. The Real Milk Paint™ – Clear Carnauba Wax is reworkable—if you nick it later, just buff in more. Check out RealMilkPaint.com for awesome natural options.

8.  Work in stages — Rough, refine, polish. Don’t rush. This piece sat unfinished for years. That’s okay.

9.  Embrace the marks — A swirl from the drum? A slight flat spot? It’s texture. It’s real.

This carving sat half-done because it didn’t have a purpose. Then it did. Now it hangs in our bedroom—a quiet reminder that some things are worth the wait.

Got a project hiding in a box? Pull it out. Might be waiting for the right moment. What projects have you worked on lately? Any fun carving ideas you’d like to try? Comment below!

Photographs are Jared Harding Wilson’s. All rights reserved.