A Momentary Lapse

            “Tomorrow morning, remember, you and Joseph are coming to church with me.  I’ll be playing in a flute ensemble.”

            “What?  Are you a guest?  Where do you go to church?”

            “The Presbyterian Church in Oak Harbor.”

            “I thought you still lived in Kansas,” Mom said as we walked into the house.   She was very surprised when I gently reminded her that I have been living with her here in Washington for three years.

The First Thing I Noticed

            The first thing I noticed was the slow cooker base—the part you are NOT supposed to immerse—half-filled with soapy bubbles and sitting in the sink.  As I bustled about to put together a slightly late lunch, I opened the cabinet door to get the multipurpose spray so I could wipe down the table.  That was when I saw the pool of water.  Two bath towels later, it was mopped up.

            I opened the dishwasher and found a full load of dirty dishes, the Cascade powder emptied from the soap trays into the machine.  A top-rack-only item was on the bottom rack, so I did a little rearranging.  Then I shut the door and started the cycle.

            At some point I spotted an armload of dirty laundry neatly rolled up on the kitchen counter, so I delivered it to the clothes hamper in the bathroom.

            And when I tried to rinse off a peach, I discovered the source of the leak:  the sink now dispenses its water rather forcefully out from the faucet base and down into the cabinet below rather than through the faucet.

            Finally, Mom and I sat down to our simple meal:  egg salad for her, peanut butter for me, fresh peach slices for us both.  I guess she was pretty busy while I was at my flute lesson.  At least now I have an excuse to get a new slow cooker.

Lavendar Joy

            Lavendar, spinach, and three tiny new potatoes:  those were Mom’s offerings laid out on the kitchen table when I returned from doing errands.  Add the three snap peas I picked, and you see what kind of garden harvest we are having this summer.

            I put the overgrown, bitter spinach leaves aside.  The potatoes went in a pot with a few larger store-bought ones.  Each of us enjoyed one pea pod, raw.  You’ll be glad to know that I supplemented this meal with a salad and a pot roast.

            The lavender, I found out when my brother came over for dinner, was a gift from friends Steve and Coletta.  That information solved the mystery—Mom assumed she had picked it, and I could not remember seeing lavender anywhere on our property.  Its lovely purple and heavenly fragrance grace my bedroom, our living room, and the kitchen. 

           

Orie

            Orie, our ancient tabby cat, disappeared.  We noticed as Mom got ready for bed last night.

            We peered into every closet door in the house.  I looked under all the furniture.  He was nowhere. 

            What happened?  I went out with the flashlight about ten p.m. to walk around the house and look under the porches.  I walked over to the shop and checked the shop office.  We never even noticed that he wasn’t around at suppertime.

            My heart-sickening theory is that he went off to die.  One afternoon earlier this week—I think it was after I got the mail—I came in the house and saw the side door was wide open.  Orie was out sniffing around on the porch at the freezer.  (He used to be an outdoor cat, but with how slow and frail he has gotten, we haven’t let him out of the house in at least six months.)  Mom was in the kitchen cutting the end plastic off her freezer treat.  It is totally possible that while I was at my life group yesterday afternoon she left a door open and he wandered out.  There is plenty of woods to get lost in.

            It’s the suddenness that shocks me.  Even though I wondered how long he could hold on as old as he is (somewhere around eighteen) and even though I’ve been so frustrated with his accidents and so tired of a litter box in the hallway, I never expected to miss him like this.  I didn’t get to say good-bye.

Centerpiece

            It used to be an eyesore.  Now it is a centerpiece.

            In the kitchen, the antique green cupboard was crammed into a too-small space.  Its previous locations—two other kitchens, a garage, a bathroom, and a basement—had done nothing to enhance its attractiveness.  The matte finish holds dust and dirt, and even Murphy’s Oil Soap tends to take shades of green paint right off the wood.

            Now in my room, the very same cupboard sits catty-corner between the window and the French doors, picking up the greens of the curtains and the macramé door hanging.  Quite simply, this piece of history has become the focal point of the entire room.  In it are my treasures:  Bibles and books, flutes and music.

            Like the cupboard, parts of my life were cumbersome.  They didn’t fit any kind of heavenly décor and were ugly reminders of a sin-ruined world.  They had stolen the shine from my soul and refused my efforts to clean them up or hide them in some forgotten closet.

            The miracle of transformation through the wonder of God’s grace—not only the redeeming of sin but also of its terrible effects--repurposed old tragedies.  They became the history for new being.  I cannot pretend they are not there, but their old, scarred surfaces now reflect God’s glory instead of my shame.

            Jesus’ specialty is taking old eyesores and changing them into masterpieces of His mercy.  He is the centerpiece of all beauty.

Restoration

            A few finishing details remain:  mats and frames for my son’s eighth grade watercolors, knick-knack shelves for small framed photos, a window valance, and the ceiling fan.  Otherwise, my room is complete.

            I like reclining on my bed and observing the tranquil order of my space.  The pinks and pale greens, the eclectic mix of furniture old and new, the lovely laminate flooring punctuated by throw rugs:  all of this lends peace to my soul.

            One night this week, my heart bursting with joy and gratitude for this hard-won transformation—not just my bedroom but my whole life since arriving on Whidbey Island three years ago—the words “house of prayer” swept through me.  Just as my personal surroundings reflect order and serenity, I want my life to reflect the same. 

            In the living of each moment, my prayer is to share through words and actions the profound love and joy that only the Prince of Peace can give.  He inhabits all the rooms of my soul, even and especially the ones that desperately need restoration.