Yearly Archives: 2010

Home Improvement – Part II

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The thought of painting all the navy walls in our house beige was mind-boggling, overwhelming and unthinkable. It bothered me most because in my deepest heart, I didn’t think it would matter. Years of trying had convinced me nothing could get our old farm house sold, and to embark on an arduous work project for no good reason left me drained at the thought.

But… I knew I’d be in my paint clothes by that afternoon.

While Nate and I were raising our seven children, both of us felt it was more important to teach character than habits. One of my personal quests as a mom was to insist they keep their commitments. If they signed up for a baseball team, they should be at every practice and game. If they took on an art class, they should never miss a session. If they exchanged names with a pen pal, they should answer every letter. And my hassling them about school attendance was legendary. (Vomiting-in-progress was the only valid excuse.)

Now Nate and I had both made a commitment to persevere in getting the house sold, and I was wavering. Sitting in the living room that morning detesting the thought of all that painting, I was doing the opposite of what I’d taught our kids.

Although I would rather have done anything else that day, I dragged myself to Home Depot and bought the paint, unpacked the tarps and brushes, began moving furniture and started taping edges. My mood was dark, and I wondered how many days or even weeks it would take before everything was back in order.

Just then someone pulled into the driveway: my sister Mary. When she saw the situation she lit up like a child making a birthday wish. “Oh,” she said. “I just love to paint! Can I help?”

Although her life is busy with a capital “B”, she carved out four straight days to paint with me, bringing her “favorite brush” and a heapin’ helpin’ of enthusiasm, enough for both of us. Gradually my navy house morphed into a beige one, and the neutral color began to grow on me. As the rooms brightened, so did my perspective.

Could the realtor’s advice have been correct? Would the understated walls allow potential buyers to see their own furniture in our rooms?

Eventually, tired of stepping over the never-ending mess, Nate suggested we get a professional painter to help, and quickly after that, the job was finished. It had taken five weeks of doing virtually nothing else, but in the end I had to agree. The whole place had had a face lift, and with Mary’s help, I was back on track toward perseverance.

After the brushes had been cleaned, the tarps folded and the extra paint stored in the basement, I sat back in my living room chair to ponder one weighty question:

Would the house  sell now?

(…to be continued)

“Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.” (James 1:4)

Home Improvement – Part I

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Remembering back to the four long, frustrating years it took us to sell our house in the Chicago area, I’m thankful not to be living in it still. Although we’d listed our six bedroom farm home at the peak of the real estate bubble, a free-fall started immediately thereafter, and as the economy toppled, so did our house value. We watched it plummet to nearly half its original listing price and wondered if it would sell at all.

I recall one anxious morning in vivid detail. The kids had gone to school, so I gathered my Bible, notebook, pen and coffee for an hour of conversation with the Lord. The realtor had been over the day before, walking through the house in an effort to determine how to make it more saleable, and I’d been nervous about what she was going to say.

We’d already torn out old basement shelves, put up Perma-seal walls, installed a new drainage system and painted the floor. All the bedrooms had received new carpeting, and other carpets had been cleaned. I’d put up new curtains, bought new spreads and throw pillows for the beds and eliminated clutter in every room. The exterior doormats were new, as were the kitchen throw rugs.

We’d replaced the old furnace and added a third central air conditioning unit. I’d emptied the crawl space completely and also the attic. We’d repaired irregularities in the garage floor and re-tarred the driveway.  I’d removed one third of everything in every cabinet, drawer and closet.

All three bathrooms had received new tub and sink hardware, and we’d had all the grout between the ceramic tiles on walls and floors professionally re-dyed. The largest bathroom had gotten a complete makeover. All three had received new towels and rugs.

The laundry room had been given a new energy-efficient, front-loading wash machine with matching dryer and a new countertop over both of them. Lastly (and most expensively), we’d wrapped the house in white vinyl siding and painted the shutters, after which I’d pruned all the landscaping.

That morning as I sat in a sunny corner of the living room, our realtor’s advice from the day before pounded in my head like a migraine headache: “Paint every room beige… paint every room beige.”

Was she kidding?

I loved my dramatic navy paint, touches of which were in all the rooms. Besides, our house was squeaky-clean and completely in order, something that hadn’t happened in 35 years. Could paint possibly make any difference?

I’d prayed about the house sale a thousand times over. How hard would it have been for God to send just one buyer? But it turned out he wasn’t as interested in a closing date as in something else: our character. Without our realizing it, he’d enrolled us in his School of Perseverance. Never mind that Nate and I had worked the better part of four years to get the house sold and felt we’d done enough. Perseverance is a quality God highly esteems, and he apparently thought we didn’t have enough of it.

Although it was early morning in my navy blue living room, my spirit began to sag as if it was well past midnight.

(…to be continued)

“You need to persevere so that when you have done the will of God, you will receive what he has promised.” (Hebrews 10:36)

Beef with Broccoli

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Nate knew of my disinterest in cooking. After we’d been married a few years, he said, “If I ever make a lot of money, I’ll hire a cook for you. What kind would you like?”

Without pausing, I said, “A Chinese cook.”

That’s still true. Beef with broccoli outdoes filet mignon in my book any day. Over the years I tried my hand at following Chinese recipes with mid-level success, but generally it’s more fun (and more delicious) to order take-out. We had our favorite restaurant back in the Chicago suburbs and have found a wonderful one here in Michigan, the China Cafe.

Nate’s last restaurant meal was there, three days before we learned of his cancer. Mary, Bervin and the two of us had gone out just for the fun of it, and Nate had eaten every bit of his shrimp with lobster sauce, astounding us all. His appetite had waned by then, and normally he wouldn’t have touched 75% of his dinner. This robust eating was a testimony to his love of Chinese food, and the three of us look back fondly on that night.

Tonight Mary and I decided to split an order of beef with broccoli from the China Cafe while we watched an episode of our beloved “Father Knows Best.” It was my turn to pick up the food, and when I did, our favorite little waitress was solicitous of my welfare. “How you doing now,” she said, leaning toward me. We talked for ten minutes, and she wanted to know about each of our kids, where they were located and how each was faring. She repeatedly said, “I’m sorry,” and when I referred to Nate as “Mr. Shrimp with Lobster Sauce,” she remembered.

Her life isn’t easy, working non-stop at a restaurant. Her husband is the cook, and by the time the two of them close up, clean up and drive the 30 minutes home, it must be nearly 1:00 AM. She probably isn’t asleep until shortly before her two year old son is waking up. But she became animated with joy in answering my questions about him, describing how busy and energetic he is. Surely she struggles with having to be away from him most of the hours of every day.

She’s also a stepmother to her husband’s first son, a high school senior she’s trying to help with college applications. I admire what she and her husband have accomplished in a country that isn’t their own. They work hard and keep their restaurant open for business even when diners are few, like tonight (one table-full). She is the biblical definition of perseverance coupled with good cheer.

Helen could easily justify a sour attitude, taking orders from people all day and being on her feet until they hurt. Although I’m old enough to be her mother (and practically her grandmother), I’m learning from her fine example. I like her a great deal and would love to know her better.

Maybe if I eat enough beef with broccoli, I will.

“All the days of the oppressed are wretched, but the cheerful heart has a continual feast.” (Proverbs 15:15)