Paint and Mozart

Paint is one of the cheapest decorating tools in the world. You can buy expensive furniture, accessories, wall hangings, curtains, built-ins....but the fastest and cheapest tool in any decorating arsenal is a can of paint.

 I love paint. It smells good. It is beautiful and smooth, a promise of new things. It has the ability to renew and resurrect the old. Obviously, it cannot do these things by just sitting meekly in its can. It requires me to come in with an arsenal of equipment... a variety of patching and spackling materials, various grits of sandpaper, a trusty ladder, brushes, roller cages, lots of floor coverings, rags, caulk and caulk gun, paint pans, 5-in-1 tools, water, my ipod, possibly my scaffolding. That's the short list. 

I don't know why, perhaps its my internal rebellious nature, but on nearly every single paint job I have ever done (which is a long list now), I cry at some point. Maybe it's when I find  my fluffy body stuck at an insane angle in the corner of a kitchen ceiling or it could be when I am done and crying in relief..... it doesn't matter whether it's an artistic endeavor or a plain ole paint job, somewhere in there I get the feeling that I just can't do this. I cry and want heaven to hurry up and get here. Then suddenly, after much work and travail, it's done and I can go home. I'm really happy with the results, usually, and just stand again in wonder as to how these things happen. 

 I have to believe in God. He makes things happen that I can't explain and that I cannot actually do myself. And now that things are much more difficult than when I was younger, I am even more amazed at what He does through us humans. I don't know whether Mozart believed in God or not....but he didn't think that stuff up all by himself. It just flowed out of him and he didn't even know why. I see this kind of behavior all over the planet. My husband, Ken, for example, has no artistic bones whatsoever. Or salesman bones. But he can take any situation, analyze it, see what is wrong with it, figure out his options and tools, organize it, slice and dice it, and get it all fixed. He could take 200 kids and run the world. He has the ability to understand who is best for a job and manage to get them to get busy doing it. This just flows out of him. He doesn't have to work at it. In fact, I get mad at him because it seems so effortless. When we were homeschooling and Ken was working with Lucent and had about 6 weeks of vacation a year, sometimes he would take time off if I needed rest or recuperation from back issues. He'd have the kids settled at their work after breakfast, dishes were done, laundry was tossing in the dryer, and meals were on time. House was humming quietly, neat and tidy, and school was finished in a timely manner. I wish there was a pill you could take to get those kinds of results, but no, they are a gift from God. I worked at acquiring those kinds of results, and got better over time.... but my art/music/flowery stuff just flowed out with little effort.

That is God! He gives us all gifts, some of service, some of mercy, some of organization, some of flowering up the world, some of making oatmeal....some exciting, some plain, but we all have things that are just who He made us to be. It's pretty amazing. Somehow this all fits together and makes the world go 'round. Don't despair at your neighbor's gifts -- rejoice in them and God's diverse way of tossing the salad.

Meanwhile, I'm dreaming about a can of blush-colored paint that's just waiting on me in the bathroom.

Woman Interrupted.....

Most of my days are spent in an abundance of activities. I keep thinking things are going to slow down or that I'll find some serenity in there, but there is precious little of that. If I do find a few days strung together with no real "purpose," I am bad about frittering the time away and then suddenly am hit with another onslaught of work or must-do's that keep the tornado moving. When my children were small, I thought that surely things would get normal someday. After years of those kinds of thoughts, I now know that there is no normal, we are not normal, and normal is really a stupid amalgam of an idea that doesn't exist. 

Anyway, last week was certainly a blur. All the things that I thought I needed to do did not happen. I kept getting interrupted! Just about the time I was about to climb on my ladder or sit down and write or draw, the phone would ring or the door would knock. It was amazing how providentially hindered I was by these events. I got quite frustrated, because I had goals in mind for my days and the week. One of my children was taking up large amounts of my brain as I worried about something amiss in their life. Then another of my children settled back there in another corner of my brain, then another. Then there were friends and old friends who needed a word (but really just a shoulder). I needed to make money for Christmas and bills, but there just wasn't time to do it all. One day, when a friend called and needed me, I put her off to do something else that needed to be done. In a short time, I realized that the Lord was interfering with my plans and that He wanted me to spend time with her. I called her and said, "I surrender! Please come over!" What I was saying was that I give up, Lord, You've got something better for me to do. 

One of the afternoons, I stopped and walked out to the mailbox. Then I decided to NOT do what was next, which was get on my ladder. I hooked up the puppy and took a stroll around the neighborhood. As we walked, I prayed for my children and others, looked at the sweet houses and trees, said hello to numerous neighbors, smelled leaves and oil and something baking as we passed by a house; an old friend from high school stopped me in the street as she gushed over my puppy.... it was a precious hour spent in existing where I've been planted. When we got back home, I stood in the front yard and looked at our adorable house, fighting back tears.

God sends us so many things, often frustrating and patchwork bits that seem to have no rhyme or reason. I only see through a glass darkly. It's usually murky and tumultuous. I sometimes catch sight of the threads that He is weaving through everything and it is enough to make me understand, at least for a moment, that the maker of DNA, my eyes, nose, and the mulch under my feet loves me. I am His child, snotty-nosed and all.