Poetic justice. That oft-spoken phrase, is often a fact of life. And my life, usually lived like a Greek tragedy or at least a redneck siren song, seems to see it fairly often.
I'm not bitter about this story I'm about to tell. It's just one of those things that can happen when you are self-employed. I have to say, God has been merciful to me and as far as I know, this was the only time someone did me wrong when they went to pay me for a job. I've had virtually hundreds of other jobs where I was paid. Even if it was late, I've always gotten paid what I quoted. Except this day...
This one started with a strangely-located house. It was being built close to the road, with another home almost right behind it. The neighborhood had average-to-lower priced homes. But this one was a palace, compared to the others. It was quaint, one-of-a-kind, with beautiful and unique siding. The hand-crafted front door was flanked by real gas-burning lanterns. When I first saw the house, it was not finished, but it also had to be one of the most resplendent domiciles I'd ever seen. The master bathroom was reminiscent of a Roman bath....a shower that seemed to be 20 x 6 feet, with showerheads coming out from every angle. Tile and marble with custom designs. A massive soaking tub in the middle of the room. A bank of cabinets on either side of the gargantuan territory, one slew of 'em for him, one pile of 'em for her. The bathroom alone was about the size of our first house, and certainly cost more than that little shanty did.
The job that she wanted me to do included whitewashing two giant antique doors for the master suite that she had had shipped from Paris or somewhere on another shore. I was a little nervous about it because they seemed awfully statuesque and important, you know, coming from France and all. I wasn't sure how long it would take, but I knew it wouldn't be more than a day, so I gave her my day-rate price, plus materials.
The day arrived for me to work on the doors. I brought my paints and muscles and started the job. These doors were massive, maybe eight feet high. Simply gorgeous. I was having a great time, humming away, when I heard two dogs barking and fighting in the basement. Except they weren't dogs. They were the owners of the house. I don't know that I have ever heard two people go at it that unashamedly in my entire life. I waited for a gun to go off but it never did. Some time went by. The lady came upstairs and asked me if I would also paint a medallion, way up on the ceiling of her (quite high) foyer, after I got through with the doors. I said okay and proceeded to precariously hang off the top step of my ladder to get the deed done. I cleaned up and got ready to leave. She put a check in my hand for 1/3 of what I quoted her for the doors (not even mentioning the materials or the extra medallion that I painted). She said that she didn't have any more money for me and that her husband was mad at her for hiring me in the first place (hence the fight down in the bowels of the house?) I asked her when she could pay the rest and she said there would be no "rest." That was it. Take it or leave it. Wow.
All I could think was two thoughts: well, at least she paid me something. And, man, I better not tell Ken. I quickly cashed the check and pondered the mysteries of life, money and people with eyes too big for their stomachs.
Time went by. A good deal of time. I got a call for a large faux finish job around the corner from the palace. As my daughter and I rounded the curve in the road, we saw what was left of it: a stone foundation and black soot and ashes from where it had burnt to the ground. All that splendid stuff, up in smoke. When we asked our new client about what had happened, she said that the owners had burned it down themselves and they were now in jail for arson. Oh. My. Word.
There's really not enough words for that. But suffice it to say, that foundation has been sitting there like a sad, scalded soul for many years. I very recently listed a house down the road from it and saw that someone had started rebuilding it. With the same house plan. So my guess is that they've paid their debt to society and are starting over. I don't know. I hope that somewhere over these last pages of time and through the difficulties of consequences, they found peace and that they were able to stay together. 'Cause that's some redneck Greek tragedy right there.
Monday, December 14, 2015
Sunday, December 13, 2015
The God of Christmas
We live in a media-sodden time, where we are saturated with the latest news and technology. Every kind of entertainment imaginable is at our fingertips. Tonight I'm thinking about the season we are in -- Christmas and the coming New Year. We are bombarded with twin messages of perpetual hope and terrorists blowing up cities. We see all sorts of beautiful, meaningful videos of people doing compassionate things for others. In the next, we are getting locked and loaded to prepare for the coming apocalypse and civil war.
It seems to be our nature to live like pendulums, swinging from one extreme to another. There is good, bad, ugly, and everything in between. Some decry God, because there is so much evil in the world. The next group denies the fact that man can be evil -- and says we're all just victims of varying stripes. I see people that sugar-coat themselves in cloaks of seeming goodness, and then we discover that they are living dual lives that completely oppose what they say with their mouths. Then still others that don't even try to disguise their basest instincts and simply live like wild hedonists.
When I talk to people along my way, I am frequently told that they are Christians. They go to church, they said a magic prayer when they were 8, walked an aisle. They say they're doing pretty good, so they guess God will let them in when they show up at the pearly gates. They haven't murdered anyone, they try to be a good citizen, pay their taxes, take their turn at grocery aisles.
Is this all there is?
When I read the Scriptures, this is not what I observe. I see traitors, adulterers, cheaters, frauds, murderers and some really bad folk, along with a few amazing ones. And such were some of us. God apparently doesn't discriminate about who He has included in that hallowed tome. He puts all of them in there, really embarrassing ones too. If you dig deep, though, there's reasons for it and a larger message than is usually seen at first glance. It just kills me when people pick random verses out to prove a point. You need to embrace the whole book, to really understand.
And that's what I've been thinking about, these last few weeks of holiday stress, coupled with sickness and too much work piled up. Under these circumstances, my icky self shows itself in new, delightful ways. Hurried, sick, overstretched, over-committed, under-funded, unattended house and laundry... then somebody lobs several containers of Christmas decorations on the living room rug. I can see dog hair floating through the air (she's chewing herself to pieces) and nobody's told my hormones to quit throwing gasoline on the fire. I go from sweating bullets to freezing in ten minute increments. Night and day. So what comes to the surface? All my sweet sugar thoughts of perpetual hope. Now I really am lying.
Nope. This is when I see and experience the enduring goodness of God. Because He knows what the heart, my heart, is capable of. I am a sinner. A cracked miscreant who came here yelling and screaming and still wants to default to that same modus operandi. I think I'm pretty good, until I muse upon those infamous ten commandments. In some fashion or another, I've broken most of those, if not all. So is my scale tipping just enough that my good outweighs my bad? Really? I want to think so. In the end I know that even my thoughts have cracks in them.
But this is hope: He came in the form of a sinless baby, child, man. He was God and man, all wrapped up in one. Perfection. God humbled Himself and became a man, and then gave His life as payment, redemption, for the sins of His people. So now I'm not standing in my own stead or my own limp imitation of perfection. He's standing in for me. His life, His death, His resurrection. I trusted Him when I was a child, and I'm never going to be perfect this side of heaven. I mess up, well, all the time. That doesn't excuse it. I don't live my life excusing my behavior or my sin because I've got a pass. But I do live my life now in a place of gratefulness....knowing that any good that I do, He is doing it through and in spite of, me. That's what the Christmas baby is really about.
It seems to be our nature to live like pendulums, swinging from one extreme to another. There is good, bad, ugly, and everything in between. Some decry God, because there is so much evil in the world. The next group denies the fact that man can be evil -- and says we're all just victims of varying stripes. I see people that sugar-coat themselves in cloaks of seeming goodness, and then we discover that they are living dual lives that completely oppose what they say with their mouths. Then still others that don't even try to disguise their basest instincts and simply live like wild hedonists.
When I talk to people along my way, I am frequently told that they are Christians. They go to church, they said a magic prayer when they were 8, walked an aisle. They say they're doing pretty good, so they guess God will let them in when they show up at the pearly gates. They haven't murdered anyone, they try to be a good citizen, pay their taxes, take their turn at grocery aisles.
Is this all there is?
When I read the Scriptures, this is not what I observe. I see traitors, adulterers, cheaters, frauds, murderers and some really bad folk, along with a few amazing ones. And such were some of us. God apparently doesn't discriminate about who He has included in that hallowed tome. He puts all of them in there, really embarrassing ones too. If you dig deep, though, there's reasons for it and a larger message than is usually seen at first glance. It just kills me when people pick random verses out to prove a point. You need to embrace the whole book, to really understand.
And that's what I've been thinking about, these last few weeks of holiday stress, coupled with sickness and too much work piled up. Under these circumstances, my icky self shows itself in new, delightful ways. Hurried, sick, overstretched, over-committed, under-funded, unattended house and laundry... then somebody lobs several containers of Christmas decorations on the living room rug. I can see dog hair floating through the air (she's chewing herself to pieces) and nobody's told my hormones to quit throwing gasoline on the fire. I go from sweating bullets to freezing in ten minute increments. Night and day. So what comes to the surface? All my sweet sugar thoughts of perpetual hope. Now I really am lying.
Nope. This is when I see and experience the enduring goodness of God. Because He knows what the heart, my heart, is capable of. I am a sinner. A cracked miscreant who came here yelling and screaming and still wants to default to that same modus operandi. I think I'm pretty good, until I muse upon those infamous ten commandments. In some fashion or another, I've broken most of those, if not all. So is my scale tipping just enough that my good outweighs my bad? Really? I want to think so. In the end I know that even my thoughts have cracks in them.
But this is hope: He came in the form of a sinless baby, child, man. He was God and man, all wrapped up in one. Perfection. God humbled Himself and became a man, and then gave His life as payment, redemption, for the sins of His people. So now I'm not standing in my own stead or my own limp imitation of perfection. He's standing in for me. His life, His death, His resurrection. I trusted Him when I was a child, and I'm never going to be perfect this side of heaven. I mess up, well, all the time. That doesn't excuse it. I don't live my life excusing my behavior or my sin because I've got a pass. But I do live my life now in a place of gratefulness....knowing that any good that I do, He is doing it through and in spite of, me. That's what the Christmas baby is really about.
Sunday, December 6, 2015
A Moment in Time
I have heard it said that the most important words in any visit or meeting are done in the last few minutes. I believe this might be true.
With the flurry that is the holidays, there are meetings, parties, visits.... it's a stressful, fun, hectic time. Depression often emerges. We think of our relatives who are no longer here. Poignant times that we can't re-live. Or bad times that we don't want to re-live but can't help but rewind in our mind. Then there's always the weight of finding the money to buy gifts and all the compulsory trinkets (and foods) that go along with the season. And the worst part: syncing schedules with everybody else to actually make an event happen.
One such occurrence transpired this weekend for us -- our Norton family Christmas party. It used to be a simple affair, Christmas day. Everybody brought food and gifts. And my side, the Slates, was always on Christmas Eve. But now there are multiple marriages and grandchildren that have bloomed from the tree. This year we did the Nortons way early, December 5th, so that there might be a possibility of half of us getting there. After much wrangling, it happened. My sister-in-law worked her fingers to the bone to arrange it and get most of the food there. We all arrived in our Ugly Sweaters. There were those few minutes that occur at any party, where there is some awkwardness as we reacquaint and pass around hugs and greetings. Then the food happens and everyone begins to loosen. The presents are opened, children are bouncing gleefully about. Cake and coffee later, people are shedding their sweaters and their inhibitions. The conversations begin to relax, the walls start coming down. We quit caring what anyone else thinks and start being ourselves again. There comes that special moment when joy begins seeping through the room. The place is buzzing with numerous conversations and I sense an overarching sense of gratefulness, a letting go of self and a receiving of each other. Yes, here we are. Warts, spare tires lopping over our belts, wrinkles, love handles, pimples, gray hairs, forgetfulness, babies crying, old and young all mixed together. Wasn't it yesterday that my babies were the ones needing diapers and a nap? And now I'm one of the older ones, needing a minute to readjust my joints when I first stand up.
We visit heartily for a good while, then suddenly the announcement is made that we have to clean up and leave, because another party is coming behind us. The whole gang whips the place into shape in a few minutes and then we all start hugging and kissing our goodbyes. If there's something to say, you have to say it quick. There's a general consensus of not wanting it to end. It took us a lot of planning, buying, driving, and arranging to make this happen. But in the end, it's actually only a brief window of clarity and warmth that hangs over the group. A summary of all the buzz and tinsel that conspired to get us here. Sometimes in this life, that's all we get. A brief window.
It's in these times that I try to force my ever-moving mouth closed and look around in awe at those that God put in my life. Savor it. Savor them. Let go of stupid, petty thoughts and hurts. Really hug them, no holding back. Tell them what I would tell them if I never got to see them again. I don't always do that. But I should.
In the end, much of my running about, my work and livelihood, doesn't produce those kinds of precious moments. But the fact is, I still have to work, try, produce, clean, show up, make or save money somehow...I don't have the option of just coasting or just enjoying. But if I don't stop and relish the moment and the people, stop and listen, stop and love....then all the other things don't mean a thing. Carpe diem. Seize the day.
With the flurry that is the holidays, there are meetings, parties, visits.... it's a stressful, fun, hectic time. Depression often emerges. We think of our relatives who are no longer here. Poignant times that we can't re-live. Or bad times that we don't want to re-live but can't help but rewind in our mind. Then there's always the weight of finding the money to buy gifts and all the compulsory trinkets (and foods) that go along with the season. And the worst part: syncing schedules with everybody else to actually make an event happen.
One such occurrence transpired this weekend for us -- our Norton family Christmas party. It used to be a simple affair, Christmas day. Everybody brought food and gifts. And my side, the Slates, was always on Christmas Eve. But now there are multiple marriages and grandchildren that have bloomed from the tree. This year we did the Nortons way early, December 5th, so that there might be a possibility of half of us getting there. After much wrangling, it happened. My sister-in-law worked her fingers to the bone to arrange it and get most of the food there. We all arrived in our Ugly Sweaters. There were those few minutes that occur at any party, where there is some awkwardness as we reacquaint and pass around hugs and greetings. Then the food happens and everyone begins to loosen. The presents are opened, children are bouncing gleefully about. Cake and coffee later, people are shedding their sweaters and their inhibitions. The conversations begin to relax, the walls start coming down. We quit caring what anyone else thinks and start being ourselves again. There comes that special moment when joy begins seeping through the room. The place is buzzing with numerous conversations and I sense an overarching sense of gratefulness, a letting go of self and a receiving of each other. Yes, here we are. Warts, spare tires lopping over our belts, wrinkles, love handles, pimples, gray hairs, forgetfulness, babies crying, old and young all mixed together. Wasn't it yesterday that my babies were the ones needing diapers and a nap? And now I'm one of the older ones, needing a minute to readjust my joints when I first stand up.
We visit heartily for a good while, then suddenly the announcement is made that we have to clean up and leave, because another party is coming behind us. The whole gang whips the place into shape in a few minutes and then we all start hugging and kissing our goodbyes. If there's something to say, you have to say it quick. There's a general consensus of not wanting it to end. It took us a lot of planning, buying, driving, and arranging to make this happen. But in the end, it's actually only a brief window of clarity and warmth that hangs over the group. A summary of all the buzz and tinsel that conspired to get us here. Sometimes in this life, that's all we get. A brief window.
It's in these times that I try to force my ever-moving mouth closed and look around in awe at those that God put in my life. Savor it. Savor them. Let go of stupid, petty thoughts and hurts. Really hug them, no holding back. Tell them what I would tell them if I never got to see them again. I don't always do that. But I should.
In the end, much of my running about, my work and livelihood, doesn't produce those kinds of precious moments. But the fact is, I still have to work, try, produce, clean, show up, make or save money somehow...I don't have the option of just coasting or just enjoying. But if I don't stop and relish the moment and the people, stop and listen, stop and love....then all the other things don't mean a thing. Carpe diem. Seize the day.
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