Monthly Archives: July 2011

That stinks!

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Several weeks ago during a driving rain, a leak-spot appeared on an upstairs ceiling. Since the ceiling had recently been painted pristine white, the near-black stain was an eyesore. Finally, after many more rains and no new stains, it was time to paint over it.

First it had to be sealed. Among the toxic supplies in my basement was a product called B.I.N, something we’ve used in the past with 100% success. Billed as the “ultimate stain blocker,” the B.I.N did exactly as it promised.

As I was scraping off my foam brush on the edge of the can, suddenly it separated from its wooden handle and plopped into the B.I.N. Instinctively I grabbed it with my hand before it disappeared beneath the surface, making a terrible mess.

Luckily the can had been sitting on a protected surface, so no damage was done. Cleaning off my hand, however, was another matter. Standing at the basement utility sink, I started with soap and water but quickly realized B.I.N. was tougher than that.

So it was into the world of smelly toxins. I like using strong-smelling stuff since it gives my mostly-dormant nose something to do. Scrubbing first with paint thinner (didn’t work), I followed with turpentine (intense smell but also failed).

Reaching to the back of the shelf I found mineral spirits and naphtha. (Still nothing.) The upstairs medicine cabinet offered a few more options, so I scrubbed my hand with nail polish remover, peroxide and rubbing alcohol (to no avail).

Ironically, B.I.N. got rid of a ceiling stain but birthed a fresh stain on me. Deciding it would just have to wear off, I hammered the can shut and put it away, which is when I decided to read the label. Sure enough, help was right there in print: ammonia.

It worked like a charm, but when I put the bottle to my nose for one last sniff, even without much sensitivity, my nose said, “That stinks!”

A basement isn’t the only place where life can stink. Negatives come to all of us now and then, and bad news doesn’t discriminate.

For example, I remember the first time it occurred to me I was about to become a widow. Prior to that I’d only used that word in reference to Mom or elderly aunties. I knew only two widows my own age and hadn’t spent any time pondering widowhood for myself.

Then Nate got sick, and reality hit. Even though I was consumed with what each day would bring for him, the fall-out of his illness was going to mean widowhood for me. Every bit of it was hard to swallow. Or should I say hard to smell. It stunk.

But life’s stinky stuff is our best chance to smell good to God. We can rivet our attention on him rather than on our circumstances, and in some mysterious way, that morphs into a rich aroma for him.

And his sense of smell is flawless.

“Our lives are a Christ-like fragrance rising up to God… To those who are perishing, we are a dreadful smell of death and doom. But to those who are being saved, we are a life-giving perfume.” (2 Corinthians 2:15,16)

Mood Lighting

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Since Nate died, 89 Sundays have come and gone. Many have been difficult or at least a dip in my week, and I’ve learned to brace for them. Last Sunday was about a “3” on the sadness scale, not too bad, but as I worked in the basement during the afternoon, I kept all the lights on and the music upbeat.

After rearranging the storage closet and putting away the Christmas lights (7 months late), I noticed the sun setting through the small, high windows and felt myself slipping. It hadn’t helped I’d stumbled across Nate’s funeral book and also a framed drawing he’d made in kindergarten. So I stopped, sat down with the picture in my lap, and asked God what to do next.

I’ve learned that after asking, it’s important to listen, to pay attention to my next thought. And for me, coming from him, it was this: “Hang some Christmas lights.”

“Really?” I said. “I just packed them all away.”

“Really.”

Heading toward the closet, I looked for a good place to string them and decided on the main beam stretching from one end of the basement to the other. A zig-zag pattern would be festive, and small nails wouldn’t bother the thick wood.

Two hours and 67 nails later, the basement was transformed, and God, always faithful, had lifted me from a gloomy place.

Wednesday an electrician will come to revamp the electrical box in my basement. “I’ll have to shut down power to the whole house,” he said,  “so please know everything’s going to be dead all day. And since your basement will be too dark to work in, do you think a neighbor would lend you power through an extension cord?”

Since I have award-winning neighbors, I quickly said, “Yes”, and he was gone. But I stood in my twinkle-lit basement looking at the newly hung lights and thanked God for his idea. Lights are nice for all of us. They allow us to work but also give a boost as needed.

Light also keeps us from doubting what we know to be true, particularly in reference to God’s promises. It’s during the dark of night we toss and turn, worry and churn over things we can believe him for, during the day. We check the windows for dawn, watch the clock, and feel much better when the sky lightens.

God knows that. He’s the originator of light, and before he made it, everything was dark all the time (though God sees perfectly in the dark). Making light (before making the sun and moon) must have been tricky, because either it’s light or it’s dark. But leave it to God to figure out a way to divide the two and still have both.

I appreciate his lights and also my man-made Christmas lights. By the way, although I didn’t measure or count anything in advance, when I got to the end of the basement beam, I also got to the end of the lights. God had planned it perfectly.

“God separated the light from the darkness.” (Genesis 1:4)

All Choked Up

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It’s a good thing I’m not allergic to dust. As I’ve been cleaning my basement, gags and chest coughs have punctuated the effort.

After weeks of upstairs ripping, pounding and hammering on the floors, dust and sawdust downstairs has settled on every item, including miles of pipes and electrical lines running between basement ceiling rafters.

But my rag bag and I are gradually making our way through the debris, cleaning but also gathering piles of give-away, throw-away, put-away. I’ve been impressed by the pervasiveness of fine dust, which doesn’t limit itself to top-coating but works its way inside boxes and bags, too, necessitating a more sophisticated level of cleaning than I had hoped to do.

After three days of dust-removal, my thoughts have wandered through the many Bible stories in which dust played a part, beginning of course with God’s forming of the very first human being. That momentous occasion was dust’s finest hour. Shortly after that God told the serpent he’d have to crawl around in the dust on a permanent basis. With all the dust-crawling I’ve done, I can relate.

For the most part, dust has been a negative. Think about when Moses was up on Mt. Sinai having a miraculous encounter with God. His impatient followers were down below worshipping their newly-created golden idol. When Moses saw that, he taught them a powerful lesson by grinding the gold into dust, scattering it on their drinking water and forcing them to drink it. Impressive.

Another time God turned acres of dust into lice as a plague against his enemies, which must have been effective.

Scripture also uses a dust-picture to help us understand the smallness of the universe compared to his greatness.

We also find scriptural people sitting in dust or throwing it on their heads while mourning over sin.

And we’re all familiar with God’s description of what happens to our bodies after we die: they “return to dust.”

As I worked in the basement with dust-bunnies and cobwebs laced through my hair and clothes, I thought of my favorite dusty Bible story. The narrative says Jesus was busy debunking the shallow wisdom of the Pharisees as they stood ready, rocks-in-hand, to stone a prostitute. Jesus did something mysterious and wonderful. He squatted down and wrote a message in the dust.

What was it? Maybe a note to the woman: “Get ready for a big surprise.” Maybe a message to his watching Father: “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Maybe a simple, “Love covers sin.” Some day I hope to find out.

In the mean time, dealing with the dust in our lives can grow into a full time job as we clean up…

…both the sinful parts and the basements.

“Remember your Creator now… before the silver cord of life snaps and the golden bowl is broken. For then the dust will return to the earth, and the spirit will return to God who gave it.” (Ecclesiastes 12:6,7)

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