Fences and the Appeal of God

This all started a month or so ago, when, while enjoying lunch with a co-worker, he asked how does God appeal to you? Not in the way you find a steak appealing or that great deal on a new car/camera/giant box of diapers, but in the way in which you are invited into something with Him. Michael, this co-worker (he's actually more of a boss, but a great man of God as well, hence this conversation) said he had spent a lot of time ruminating on John 1 and the way in which Jesus begins to call the disciples, and how each one gets a different appeal. The first two he spends the day with, the second he gives a name, the third he tells him what to do, the fourth he promises to show him amazing things.
So I've spent a lot of time on this: How does God appeal to me?
I have always said, music and mountains are how that appeal comes to me, but that's just a couple ways. I discovered a new one that I've always kind of known about, carpentry. See, I've been building a fence this weekend, by myself for the most part, which is good, because I am the only one who hears it when I say something in anger I shouldn't. Which is often, more often that I am comfortable with.
Anyway, as I put together this fence, I began to feel a kinship with Jesus, a carpenter's son. He built things with his hands, cut them to fit, pieced them together, solved the problems that arose. In fact, after popping the I-pod in my ears, I really discovered I found more peace, and less angry explosions over the ever stripping drill bit. I began to enjoy myself and feel God's presence. I prayed a bit more.
All this to say, maybe God doesn't just appeal to us in one way, but in many, if we're only willing to see it.