Thursday, July 23, 2020                    (today’s lectionary)
In your light, we see light
When Marc and I work together, our energy is exponential. What we do separately is a pittance of what we do together. He says, “Sure,” to whatever I suggest. I do things I’ve postponed for hours or days, or weeks even, because he’s here to say, “Sure.” With Margaret and Myranda we built a side yard garden complete with fence to keep out the chickens. The hedge is trimmed and the yard is mowed. One project follows another in a way I can’t ever remember.
Today we finished staining and hanging a swing in the gazebo. We sat in the old refurbished swing for the first time in two months. Marc replaced the lattice roof, we cleaned and sealed all the lattice walls, put down eight bags of brown mulch and stained the 1×4 molding. It looks great.
We also hung a 35 pound framed print high on a wall of our studio and computer room. Now we have a third “window” in the room, looking out on meadow, summer trees blowing in the wind, and a river that disappears in the distance.
After that came the project I’ve avoided, replacing the kitchen faucet. I was afraid to bend myself into a pretzel under the sink. And everything would leak, of course, because I don’t know what I’m doing. I asked Marc if he wanted to try it, and he said, “Sure.”
My professional plumber buddy Mark (with a K) wasn’t available till Friday. We were on our own. So without further ado Marc bent down (in the wrong way) and reminded both of us that his neck was still healing from a fall two weeks ago. Oh, yeah.
So I said, “Here, let me get down there.” I laid down on my back (the right way to do this) and stuck my head in. No problem.
No problem?
Two evils have my people done:
They have forsaken me, the source of living waters
And they have dug their own cisterns
Broken cisterns, and they hold no water.
Yes, that’s exactly what I was afraid of. Broken water lines, water everywhere but not a drop to drink. A pulled muscle and pinched nerve. Nothing to fear but fear itself? Fear’s a big deal! And the thing is, I wouldn’t have done this work without Marc. He was God’s answer to the prayers I mostly didn’t pray. I have to admit my kinship with those folks in Jerusalem.
God, you brought me into the garden
But I came in and forgot you.
Then foolishly I asked “Where are you, Lord?”
No answer
So I went after foolish idols.
In my mind’s finite, measured darkness I forgot to pray. God answered anyway. Marc came and said, “Sure. Let’s do it.”
He handed me tools. Then by the end, when I was tired and he wasn’t, he took over. In two minutes he attached the two water hoses and all four of the lines into our reverse osmosis water filter. I was amazed. He turned on the water, and nothing leaked. The faucet is beautiful and works perfectly. Margaret is ecstatic. God bless America.
O Lord, your mercy reaches up to heaven
Your faithfulness to the mighty deep
This was a two hour joyride for me. Three difficult projects, or at least projects I dreaded, done without ado, with neither confusion, chaos or difficulty. (Except when the reverse osmosis filters and reservoir tumbled over each other and water squirted everywhere.) Marc learned how easy it is to replace a faucet, a job he expected to be complicated and difficult. I knew it SHOULD be easy, but … and it turned out great.
We have a delightful stream now from which to drink
You, my God, are the fountain of life
Valparaiso University, my university alma mater, has Lutheran roots which it continues to keep watered.
But Lord, when it turns dark I don’t always experience the darkness of your womb. Sometimes the air’s just black. Then I am afraid and wonder if the light will ever come again. I doubt myself, and I doubt you, too.
Jesus, why do you speak to me the way you do?
Because you will hardly hear with your ears. You close your eyes and forget me.
I know those are the words in Matthew 13. Are those also your words for me?
You tell me, David. Are those my words for you? Show me the money. Give me some skin.
I am so thankful, Lord, to have a taste of your honey, a glimpse of your glory. Over and over I’ve been lost, then you find me again. And when my thoughts get ahead of my prayers, as they always seem to, please forgive me. I know better.
I know better.
Blessed are your eyes because you do see (sometimes)
And your ears because they hear.
So many have longed to see and hear but did not.
We’ve no less days to sing your praise
Than when we first begun.
           (Jeremiah 2, Psalm 36, Matthew 11, Matthew 13)
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