Pass me the brush

It’s done!!  We were able to get the caution strip painted by the Daycare/Preschool’s new parking area BEFORE the doors opened on Monday morning.  We had already had a couple of people trip up on the overhanging lip to the sidewalk, so this really needed to be done.

Others in the church had helped lay the concrete.  They had also researched and provided what was needed for the paint job. I guess I was the erstwhile crew-chief for this part, so I got there early to sweep and tape, when another church member showed up to help.  As he started on one end and I on the other, I yelled down to him that I had never painted concrete before, so if he had any suggestions…

“Just start painting!”

Hmmm..I liked that.  Do the best you can with what you have and keep the main directive in mind, i.e., prevent injury with a warning stripe before the kids come on Monday. 

And we had some pretty good help, I want you to know!

Okay, so it wasn’t perfect, but it’s not like we were asked to do brain surgery.  There may need to be a few touch ups later.  But mission accomplished, and actually quite well, if I do say so myself!

Nehemiah also had a task that laid heavily on his heart—rebuild the protective wall around Jerusalem. Importantly, he also had a clear directive from God AND confirmation to match the weight of the task before him AND he had done his research, which was actually ongoing, as the narrative continues.  (Slightly more than painting a church caution strip.)

Once construction started, there was immediate backlash:

Sanballat was very angry when he learned that we were rebuilding the wall. He flew into a rage and mocked the Jews, saying in front of his friends and the Samarian army officers, “What does this bunch of poor, feeble Jews think they’re doing? Do they think they can build the wall in a single day by just offering a few sacrifices?  Do they actually think they can make something of stones from a rubbish heap— and charred ones at that?”

I find this to be such a perfect picture of how our enemy, our truest enemy that is—Satan, reacts when we begin the task God has given us to do.  Note, however, it is (1) a directive from God, and (2) it has been confirmed to the level of the task’s weight, and (3) the pre-project research had been done (“counting the cost” and all that). 

Then I just have to start “painting”.  God is more than able to touch up a few strokes of misplaced color along the way.

Nehemiah 4:1,2 Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2015 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.

Where’s my brush?

As I write this, I’m waiting for a phone call.  Our church recently completed pouring concrete for a much-needed upgrade on the parking spaces by the daycare facility.  They were asking for help and so, although Bob and I have absolutely no experience in these things, we showed up to see what we could do, which was as expected—very little.  So I provided food for the workers for a few days. 

Now some painting needs to be done, a yellow caution strip to prevent tripping over the little step-up to the sidewalk.  Again, I’ve never painted on concrete, but put a brush in my hand and tell me where and I might actually make a small contribution!  (Or a mess, or both…)

“That’s entertainment!” (not…)

Just bought a Roku at the beginning of summer.  You need to understand that such a plunge into entertainment technology is a significant step for this retiree.  I grew up with four or five channels on a TV of which you had to walk across the room and manually turn a knob to “surf”. 

Bob is well please with the sports coverage, as well as the savings from “cutting the cable”.  Being a big movie buff, he’s also enjoying the multiple choices and genres in those offerings as well.  Which means, as he is well aware, that for us to watch a movie together, it has be what he now calls “a Dawn movie”.  Basically, that means it must have a puppies and butterflies ending. 

Don’t give me angst and call it entertainment—I have enough of that in real life.

Inventory

Inventory is not necessarily one of my favorite pastimes.  I tend to be a bit (okay, a lot) more spontaneous (oh alright, haphazard) in my organizational skill set than my husband, Bob.  In the past 39 years, that much is evident.

Nonetheless, now that retirement has arrived, the massive purging process at our homestead will soon begin (yeah, right.)  At least, that’s the plan.

Starry-eyed

My culture is one of American idols.  By that I mean Americans are prone to having heroes.  Just look at the resurgence of the Marvel and DC franchises on the silver screen, and the explosion of comicons and cosplay.  (I had to look up what cosplay was—that’s the adult version of what you used to do as a kid by clothes-pinning one of Mom’s towels around your neck and pretending you were Superman.)

Fire in the hole!

I have never, thank God, had my house catch on fire.  I can only imagine, and prefer not to.  When we had our kitchen redone, the contractor found loose, live wires in the walls, which meant a complete gut-and-redo.  And again, thanking God that in the twenty-seven years we have lived in this old house, it has not gone up in flames with us in it!

But have you ever considered what you would run to get on your way out the door…?  Only that which is most important to you.

It’s here somewhere

Bob and I have an ongoing joke between us: when he can’t find something, it’s my fault.  You know, I’ve put it somewhere, his shoes, his biking shorts, whatever.  I love it when he finds something that would not even have my fingerprints on it if checked. 

He likes to leave things laying around in certain places, and I like to scoop them up and put them somewhere when cleaning house (which is rare).  He is meticulous, shoes always side by side with the shoestrings tucked neatly inside.  I’m doing well to find my shoes.  He says I have “places for everything and everything in its places”.

And we’re still married after all these years.

It’s not about the bird seed

We live in a world of cause and effect.  If I put birdseed in the bird feeders, the birds will come, right?  And if they don’t come, well, that’s a disappointment.  After all, I don’t put seed that I’ve paid good money for (and protect from the mice in the garage, I might add) so I can sit on my patio and look at the seed.

Let’s be honest.  This is how we do much of life.  I know I have certain expectations—probably too many and some that are w-a-a-a-y too entitled compared with the rest of the global population.  But if I pay for something, I expect to get what was advertised.  If I exercise and eat healthy, I expect the scale to bow to my expectations.  (Okay, so it’s not a perfect analogy…)

Hummers unite! (or starve, whichever.)

I finally have hummingbirds as regular neighbors.  Finally!  I love these little guys, so much so I have three feeders specifically designed for them hanging in my garden, (by my patio, so I can watch them, of course.)  Each feeder has a different type of feeding port.  I even went on the internet to find out how to make my own “nectar”.  I also make a bit of sticky mess, but it’s well worth the effort.

Then there’s the ants, who also like the nectar, naturally.  I talked with my dad about options to keep them at bay: adhesive paper on the pole, insecticide spray, a homemade “ant moat”.  Gruesome from the ant’s point of view, but I want to protect the food meant for the hummers.