Old Door = Lots of Work

As we were scraping the paint off of a door, one question came up over and over.  “Why don’t we just buy a new door?”  New doors are pretty and come in all kinds of colors and stains.  And this one was a lot of work.

If we would have bought a new door, here’s what we would have missed:

·         The chance to be used to bring out the inner beauty of the current door

·         The laughter and frustration that goes into scraping away the layers

·         The joy of seeing spots where the wood started to show through as we used chemicals and tools to get through 60 years of paint

·         The original character of the door to shine through

As we were reading the story of the adulterous woman (John 7:53-8:11), I was struck by the fact that God doesn’t throw us away and start over. 

He chooses to make us new. 

He is willing to keep scraping away until our inner beauty—who He created us to be—shines through.  Sometimes, it means using a chemical stripper that burns.  Sometimes, it’s surrounding us with a team of people scraping, laughing and commiserating together. Sometimes it goes quickly; other times, it seems like forever.

While I can’t relate to the adulterous woman in her exact sin, I can see myself being thrown in front of people—being called out publicly—for other things I’ve done.  How thankful I am that my God loves me enough to not stone me or throw me away and start over.

Lamentations 3:22-23

“Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail.  They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness.”

Layers of Paint

We scraped paint yesterday.

Old paint--some with several layers. Some that was new paint--overspray from the siding on the house. The paint was off of windows at a house in San Antonio. Not just any house, but one that was bought recently by Blood N Fire with the intention of turning it into a safe house for those coming out of sex trafficking.

As I was scraping, I couldn't help but see that the layers of paint were similar to the women who will call this house "home" for a short time. Some layers were easy to scrape off, but others were not. In fact, some paint got left on the windowsill with the hope that another day will make it easier to peel away. That after a rest, someone else will be a catalyst to get it off. Some of the paint was put there with good intentions--the gray looks great on the siding of the house. But even the good, when placed on an area that's rough and peeling from below--adds to the layers.

May the people who work at this house have the "right" tools to scrape away the layers of hurt and anger of the women who come. May they work diligently and not grow tired and move on to another "project" but continue to scrape away--no matter how tedious it is.

May the women who come here find Truth and peace and healing and forgiveness. MayYour face shine upon them and they see themselves as You do--new wood and not as a broken down old window.

"But the Lord said to Samuel, 'Do not consider his appearance or his height, for I have rejected him. The Lord does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart." --1 Samuel 16:7

An Anniversary We Won't Forget

It’s that crazy time of year again when I have lots of blogging thoughts, but no energy to put them on paper and arrange them until they make sense.

Two weeks ago, Brian landed in the hospital. The night I took him in, I had plans to post some fun crawfish boil pics I had and was thinking of what kind of post to do for our 12th anniversary.

Instead, I found myself sitting by his side in the E.R., as he went into congestive heart failure, couldn’t breathe and had a bp so low that it still scares me when I think about it. He went in with abdomen pain and ended up having a severe allergic reaction to the dye they used for his ct scan.

The seriousness of it all really didn’t hit me until this past week. It took him almost 2 weeks to get back to the normal Brian I know who tickles our girls and hits me on the butt with a towel. The thought of losing him makes me want to curl up in a ball. Dramatic, I know, but it’s the truth.

The funny thing is, I never thought I would be “that kind of wife.” You know, the one who consults with her husband about every decision, constantly talks about him, calls/texts him throughout the day—just because. But I am. And I’m not apologizing for it.

As I was driving home from the hospital the next day—after spending our anniversary next to him dozing in the chair beside his bed, this song kept playing over and over in my head: When You Say Nothing At All.  I’ve always liked it, but it has new meaning now.

One of the things Brian has taught me is that words are not always necessary.

Brian's Hospital Stay--According to Caroline

Caroline explained to her teacher today that Brian was in the hospital.

Here is what she told her:

"Daddy can't wear panties at the hospital, and the shirt that he wears is open in the back so we can see his butt crack."

Guess I should think twice about how I describe things when trying to lighten the mood and help my girls to not be scared.

Things I learned in San Francisco

• There are more registered dogs in SF than children (seriously--according to our tour guide, this is true)

• For someone who hates to drive, public transportation rocks!

• There is no such thing as personal space

• It takes more than 4 days to get used to the 2 hour time change

• 9 years is too long to go before seeing a good friend again--way too long

• To be a tour guide, you gotta like talking to yourself and laughing at your own jokes

• The homeless population is staggering

• When the airline (followed by a 7 block walk) ruins your suitcase, there are several great places to buy another one  (so take your time and pick the brightest, orangiest one you an find)

• Being a tourist and taking the touristy pictures is fun

• You CAN have too many maps

• If you miss one bus, just wait—another is on the way

• Taxi drivers know how to drive defensively—VERY defensively

• Splurging on a pedicure is well worth the ½ mile walk to get there and back

• The local neighborhood dive is a great place to start and end your time

• San Francisco is a great place to celebrate 20 years of friendship

Ducks, Dates and Delightful Dummies

I've got a new favorite show.  At first, I was a little embarrassed to admit it, but I've gotten past that.  It's  so funny that if you aren't watching it, I want to convert you.  It's not a show I would have ever picked on my own.  It's one of those shows that Brian watches at night while I read a book, work on the computer or play games on my phone.

Have I built up enough suspense yet?  It's Duck Dynasty.  It makes me laugh out loud every week.  In fact, we record it so that the girls can watch it, and I laugh out loud the 2nd time I watch it, too.  Paired with Survivor, it's become our Wednesday night date night.

A few weeks ago, I was moaning about how Brian and I never took time for each other.  We've never  been great "daters"--even before we were married.  We're both home-bodies.  While I love a good steak, my hubby is the best cook I know and I would rather eat something he made, sit by the firepit or watch a movie from the Rebox than go out and spend a ton of money (guess that also means I'm cheap).

Anyway, we don't plan dates very often.  We don't tell each other how  much we adore and appreciate the other every day. We don't buy each other expensive gifts or make a big deal out of our anniversary.  When I look at facebook, or hear others talk, I start to analyze  our relationship and worry that we are too comfortable and that something is missing. 

Maybe I'm finally getting wise because the big 4-0 is right around the corner, but I've come to realize that while those things work for some people, they are really not what speaks love to me.  I've always thought they did, but as I look back on my favorite times with Brian, it's never been from one of those nights. 

It's times like last night--sitting together on the sofa, watching Duck Dynasty and Survivor, fast-forwarding through all the comercials, and having to pause it every once in a while when a kid gets out  of her bed to "tell us something important."  It's feeling like a team as we rewind the show so we don't miss any funny parts, discussing how stupid some of the survivors are, and laughing at the excuses our daughters make. It's waking up the next morning with a smile still on my face, and my heart softened toward my husband.

It's times when we are on the same page and there are no expectations.  When we are together, just "being" and not trying to orchestrate romance.  It's re-defining date night for the Royals and being okay with who we are--as long as it draws us closer. 

It's anticipating the next one and knowing, as the old song says, "there ain't no place that I'd rather be, then next to you, sitting next to me."  Especially when that place is our couch.  Watching bearded rednecks and skinny dummies.

Winning Isn't Everything (says the Loser)

Tomorrow is field day for my girls.  Caroline is excited that she gets to hula hoop, eat a popsicle and play with her friends outside for 2 hours.  Hope is dreading it. 

A few weeks ago, the 4th graders started picking teams for tug-of-war and Hope was on a team that was full of  all the strongest girls--until the next day, when another friend--who had been absent the day before--wanted to join.  Hope, feeling like the girls wanted her friend more than her, gave up her spot.  And she has agonized over it every day since. 

She joined another team of girls who she likes, but she is very concerned that she is going to lose tomorrow--and Hope, like her  mom, doesn't lose often and does not like the feelings it brings when she does.  Being the good mom that I am (ha!) I was explaining to her that winning wasn't everything and that nobody would remember who won this time next year.  But, once again, I was wrong--they all still talk about who won last year and that's why they stacked the team with all the strong and the most competitive girls in 4th grade--minus Hope.  That's what I get for trying to say the "right" thing.

I'm thankful I don't have to go head to head with my friends at tug of war anymore.  And I don't worry about people liking me as much as I used to (of course, that might be because I don't have time to hang out with all the people I like now, so if I tick a few off, it will make it easier to connect to those who are left). 

But, deep down, most of us want that really cool person to want to be our friend.  We want them to think we are funny and brag about how they hung out with us.  We want them to want us to be on their team.

This is how I felt today when I met a blogger I follow and have gleaned so much wisdom from.  I know, I know, tug of war and blogger sound totally unrelated.  And they probably are in most minds--but, as you know, I'm a bit random.

While I wasn't shunned or looked over, the way I felt about myself as I tried to approach Jenni is the same way Hope was feeling tonight  about her friends.  Teaching a 10 year old how to be secure in her identity in Christ is hard when you, as an adult, still struggle with it many days.   Even though I feel like I do grasp it much more than I ever did in the past, it's hard to put it into words that will reach my 10 year old when I'm still fumbling through it myself. 

So, I pray.  And I will be at field day and make sure I cheer her on as loudly as I can without embarrassing her.  And I will tell her how proud I am of her--whether she wins or not.  Because I am.