Place for Rest

This new place we live in is slowly getting put together. We still have two - half baths, but today we may get at least one whole one put just right. I fixed loose tile in the tub two days ago, and now that the grout has cured I can seal the edges with silicone caulk. I cannot tell you how cool it feels to understand what I just said! I'm learning about paint techniques from books we checked out at the local library, and we are still hanging clothes on the clothesline. The dryer works, but it is so nice not to have it going all the time and the clothesline makes me feel like a southern woman from the fifties.

Eventually all of this slowed down life will come to an end and the hectic days of school and work will tumble back with force. But for now, we are taking joy in sleeping til the sun wakes us up and spending our afternoons with each other since we are the only people we know in this town. I didn't think the week following the move would be a time I call rest, but indeed it is. And for this quiet time of productivity I am happy.

We are blessed.

Settling In

Well. It's official. We are Rock Hill residents. We miss Columbia for lots of reasons, but one big one is because our old home had working toilets. And proper hook up for our washer. And our dryer. Here in the home we have chosen to renovate, we have one working toilet, four working sinks, and one working shower. Unfortunately the toilet and the shower are not in the same rooms. We have two - half baths because neither one is completely functioning. We have a toilet currently sitting in a box in the hallway because the floor underneath it was rotten. Which is why it wobbled. The air conditioner and the washer and dryer have been fixed, thanks partly to handy men and partly to us. Paint is peeling from just about every doorway and window, and since the house was built in 1940, it is probably lead paint. The wallpaper adherred to the plaster a good fifty years ago, so that will need to be painted over. It certainly isn't coming off the walls without the plaster attached, and I don't do plaster work, so over it the paint will go.

In other words, we previously lived in a palace. Now, well, not so much. But on the bright side, our new place is a fabulous bungalow with ten foot ceilings, picture molding in every room, a hallway wide enough for a desk, original bathroom tile, and a sidewalk out front that leads to the local college in one direction and to the sports fields and park in the other direction. All the closets are cedar lined (not big enough for half our clothes, but still). And we have plans. So yeah!

Beginning restoration

These are our last times in our Columbia house. That I know of. My friend, Cindy, moved back to the neighborhood when her house didn't sell and her husband found a job here again. My friend, Jennifer, prays the Lord uses me in my new place and then uses Michael to open a branch of his law firm back in Columbia. I pray for lots of things. Those things. And for a new beginning if those are not to be. For restoration, mainly.

We are redoing a house in Rock Hill. Our new place. It was built in 1940. Never been sold before now. Still technically not sold, being that we have a year to rent and decide whether or not to go through with the sale. The grandchildren of the original owners are the heirs. And they don't need it. They love it; but not in a "I want to restore this place" kind of way.

Nope. That's how I love it. I look at that peeling paint and old mildewed curtains and hidden hardwood floors, and I think, "What potential!" I see beauty gone stale in this house. A place once loved, but unable to be maintained. And, so, friends and family have come from afar to help me get started in restoring this home. We peeled the layers away. Cindy came back and removed curtain rods. I have cleaned dust and grime from corners. It is once again proud. Worn, outdated, but not sagging in dirt. Stripped and clean. Ready for restoration.

We left a little bit of carpet; didn't quite finish taking down wallpaper. Those remaining fragments will hold on for awhile. Til we have time to deal with them. Until we have time to expose what's underneath. Probably cracked plaster. In need of repair.

Aren't we all just a bit like my new house? Built a long time ago, by a craftsman that took great pride in what His eyes could see His hands had made. Slowly neglected by the owner because of lots of reasons, most valid. Age taking it's toll, not on the foundation, but on the layers and dirt and build up of stuff over the years. Clutter added to our days. Soul searching required to find the beauty, to peel away some layers, to clean us up ready for the restoration.

It is hard work that demolition process. Sweaty, dirty, muscle tiring work. Physical.

It's going to take tender patience to put back what once stood proud back at the beginning. Back at the birth. Of this house.

Hangnails

I have picked at this hangnail on my pointer finger of my good hand for the past day or so now. It aches when I touch it, the spot tender from my trying to bite at it with my teeth. It showed up yesterday after I spent my day doing hard labor next to a cherished friend. We ripped carpet and shower doors and heavy drapery out of my new home. We dripped sweat immediately, this being July and South Carolina and all. The labor felt good. Bone weary good. The hangnail proved to be a minor distraction. Again, just something to chew on while I thought of other things.

Today, I went back to the house again on my own. Yesterday, as we ripped out carpet and exposed old floor, peeling away layers of living, Cindy warned me to leave that last layer of linoleum in the kitchen well enough alone. Accept it as imperfect and put a rug over the small raw spot in front of the stove. Peeling it up would prove tedious and sticky, being that it is glued down. Glued to raw hardwood. And just like that hangnail, I picked up that small little corner piece of unglued linoleum. Picked just a bit. Over. And over again. Until I found underneath a big, monstrous, canvas of exposed raw wood and patches of old floor. It looks to the passerby to be a disaster in progress. But I just had to peel away that last old layer. Had to. Expose.

Makes me think of our sin. Hangnails to pick at. To rip up. To expose. Leaves us raw and naked and full of possibility in our restoration.

Filling up that dumpster sure feels good. Gotta tell you, it's worth the cost we're paying to have it hauled away.

Our house

Hello to all. I am not writing nearly enough lately, and for that I can explain. I am home for the summer with both of my children. And I am starting the packing process in order to be able to move. And we had to arrange both the house we are moving to and advertise for renters that will take over ours. And Michael is still driving three hours every day to and from work. And he's going to take a fourth (yes, fourth) bar exam one month from now. (We have only lived in SC, but Michael keeps working for multistate firms.) And my kids are home, wondering what fun I have planned for them each and every day as their entertainment director. But I already mentioned them....



So, here's our plan.




Michael - work and study. Otherwise my jobs are useless.




Me - Pack house, feed children, prepare home in Rock Hill, and move.




Kids - Keep a positive attitude and realize that we really do love them and we are trying to do what's best, even if it is incredibly boring and they are going to have to move away from their friends.



That said, what I am trying to do is get back to a routine. In all the hurried life of late, I have given up on praying and reading each morning and having dinner cooked at a reasonable time each evening. We ate at nine thirty last night. There are nights where my kids aren't even hungry anymore because it's bedtime and their bodies want sleep more than food. We are getting frustrated with each other. Michael is stressed out beyond explanation over asking his family to move - again - for the hope of this being the job that settles us. And a lot of it depending on whether or not he can pass this big test while networking in small town America all at once and up until now driving three hours a day to do all that. Yet. There's good.

My kids have built champion forts because they have time and supplies. Boxes stack to the ceiling in minutes and new toys make imagination exciting again. Old friends that we missed all school year are showing up and taking my kids and offering them love and fun and support. The last two or three days I have craved my morning time, and I have taken it, and those days have been good. Blessed by the break. We got the house I wanted (I love it - the rest of them are withholding their vote til I prove how great it can be) and there are sweet college students waiting in Rock Hill to help me get it ready for my family. Michael's new firm is giving him the enitre month off for him to study. No other firm has ever givien him this much time. We are not doing this on our own. All along the way, God is providing sweet friends and family to make this time more than bearable, enjoyable. And for all that I am thankful.

So, in the end, our plan is as I stated in the beginning, but I am adding back to that plan my morning time so that I may remember to tell God thank you and give Him the rest of each day. And I am going to attempt a stopping time in the chaos so that my children don't fall asleep in their dinner plates.

Pray for us!

(We move for good July 14th.)

Abide in Me

That was Sunday's sermon - Abide in Me.

And that's what my friend said she was trying desperately to do today when I talked with her on the phone - Abide. In Him.

And that's what I am doing too, because otherwise I would have had fifteen plus some more panic attacks already today.

I drove on the interstate.
I looked at rental homes. For us to live in for awhile.
I talked to four realtors. No. Sorry. Five.
I found out the people that looked at buying our house don't want it.
I found out another person may want to rent it for a short while.
I like that person. A whole lot.
I talked with my insurance agent.
I like her a whole lot too.
I explained it all to my dad. (Thank you, Dad.)
I talked with God. All. day. long. (Thank you, God.)

Here's the deal. I know we are moving to Rock Hill by August 1st because I have stated it out loud to my kids. And they needed a date. A date for when they could stop cleaning their playroom and living in a museum and saying goodbye to people only to see them again. And again.

I asked God for a date and then declared one. I hope He's on board with that.

Truth. I keep demanding a simple when and where from God. And I keep researching endless possibilities to answer those very same questions. What I am having an awful hard time with is the stopping and abiding part. I mean, for goodness sake, I set a date, God! Can't He see that I am in a hurry? Yet, all my tempting Him has not provided me with answers or comfort. So. I am left to abide in Him.

Just Him.

No date.

No address.

Just Him.

And for tonight, I have to tell you, it feels good to let Him take all that for awhile.

Swimming

On Saturday, I went to Aiken. Michael and I felt like we had gone home. Like we were visiting family, and our house was still just down the street. Aiken is, in reality, a day trip on the interstate. But Saturday we were there, at our friend's house where lots of summer parties happen, where my own son's birthday party once occurred, and I was chatting it up with the girls. And I was watching a little boy, James, jump into the water, go underneath the surface, and swim to the ladder. Over and over and over again. No vest. No swimmies. Just James. I told Jennifer, my friend and little James's momma, just how impressed I was with his swimming skills. And this is what she said:

"Thanks. Jesus taught him."

And I said:

"Who's Jesus?"

Jennifer (smiling slyly) - What? Patty, you don't know who Jesus is?

Me - Yes, I know who THE Jesus is. But what tangible being does James associate with Jesus?

And so Jennifer explained. One day last summer when James was even smaller than he is now, he and the big kids played together in the baby pool during that dreaded time called adult swim. When the whistle blew, and the big kids abandoned the baby pool, James stayed to play in his safe shallow water. And Jennifer turned her chair to watch the big kids, but so she could keep James in her vision. James splashed and splashed, going in circles. Finally, he came up to his momma and announced that he now knew how to swim. For real. When Jennifer questioned him, James explained that Jesus taught him. THE Jesus had taught little James how to swim. Then he proceeded to go under the water and swim across the baby pool. After that, he got in the big pool. No vest. No swimmies. Just James from that day forward.

The funniest part is that a few days later, James decided that since Jesus had taught him to swim, and he was now like Jesus, he figured he could probably also walk on water. Unfortunately, that test didn't go like James expected. But still, he trustingly jumps into the water falling beneath the surface and swims just as Jesus taught him to do.

Makes me wonder what waters I could dive beneath if only I had the same trusting faith in Christ as my teacher as James. No vest. No swimmies. Just me.