When you choose to not drive…
and leave your car at the side of the road,
the snowplow will eventually come by…
to ensure that you go nowhere.
I owe you the truth: I truly do love my job. I work in an old building, parts of which were built in 1917 (above), 1926, and 1958. Sometimes, the places where those parts come together have a bit of oddity– like the juncture of various roofs that recently sprung a leak:
Click on pics to embiggen
My husband was the one who manufactured this awesome drainage system in the midst of a heavy rainstorm. The water had been coming in at the rate of 2 gallons an hour.
The good news is that once everything dried up after that storm, the guys investigated the problem, the leaky seam was sealed, things are being dried out and we will soon have a “new” bathroom.
We have a couple of handy men who voluntarily keep us in working order. I love it when they show up each Tuesday, even if I feel foolish when I walk by a room, glance in, and suddenly squawk, “There’s water on the floor! Water on the floor!” (This was last week and completely unrelated to the roof or drainage system.) If they hadn’t been there, I would have been the one looking for a mop and bucket. Instead, I was the one sheepishly going back to my desk and they were the ones mopping up the mess.
And of course, there are some beautiful stained glass windows.
I’m not quite sure if it is because I have asked God to help me to become more compassionate that I am given opportunities to practice compassion, or if it is because I am desiring to be more like Jesus in the area of compassion that I am more likely to notice opportunities to practice compassion. It’s hard to tell… but either way, I really failed today.
It was a big, noticeable failure. With witnesses.
It doesn’t matter that I was right. Being right doesn’t make it acceptable.
At the time, being right was all that I [my self-righteous Self] was interested in — not mercy, not compassion.
The Scripture quoted below is one upon which I wish to base my life. Tonight it is both my confession and my hope for a better tomorrow — a tomorrow where I will try to pick up the pieces, make peace, and do better. If my humbleness makes a difference, if mercy and compassion are given and accepted, it won’t be because of me. Part of humility is knowing Who really deserves the credit.
He has shown you, O mortal, what is good.
And what does the Lord require of you?
To act justly and to love mercy
and to walk humbly with your God.
~Micah 6:8 (New International Version)
Posted to play along with Carmi’s Thematic Photographic. He’ll have a new theme up tonight.
slow and hesitant
spring arrives in baby steps
waiting to open
As it turns out, this post pairs nicely with Carmi’s Thematic Photographic this week!
Before school started in September, the four of us made a quick trip to the coast.
Carmi at Written, Inc. hosts Thematic Photographic. See more on the water here.
I owe SnakeMaster (my 13yo son) a treat. He found the the perfect place for our umbrella-style clothesline dryer: the metal-capped “hole” for the cylindrical post. It was under the portable fireplace. (Apparently, we prefer to allow the portable fireplace to rust in place.)
Yes, we have lived here for more than a year. I’ve managed to get the summer laundry dry by spacing out the loads and using a single clothesline stretched across the backyard. It’s actually my preferred method for drying most of our laundry, but there are some unmentionables that I’d prefer to not have on display for the man next door. Hanging them on the inner lines of the umbrella-style clothesline, surrounded by t-shirts or pillowcases on the outer lines, makes me feel like I am a little less on display. It’s all about how I choose to air my
dirty clean laundry. 😉
So I’m grateful for clotheslines that we installed and clotheslines (and a certain hole in the ground) that came with the house and the boy who found that “hole.”
There’s plenty to be thankful for in this season of transition. Sometimes you don’t have to look any further than your own backyard — especially if you have a husband who gardens. (I’m lucky that way.♥)
The end of summer means the end of fresh rhubarb. I think I can get one more pie out of these pink beauties.
Autumn around here means that the chopping block has seen a lot of action. The ground is covered with wood chips and the shed is filling up with logs that have been cut to fit the wood stove. I’m thankful for my husband; he has made sure that we will be warm this winter.