They shall know you by what you say

The Rev. and I are attempting home improvements. Given that demolition is infinitely easier than the act of creation (if you need an example, read Genesis), The Rev. and I are hesitant to begin too much destruction, because we don't like to live in any more sin and squalor than necessary. Believe me, I create enough sin and squalor for the both of us. Ask my mother-in-law about my housekeeping skills.

With the extra hour of sunlight and the scent of spring in the air, The Rev. has been itching to get outside and demolish nature to make way for pavers, a water feature, a bird bath, and blah blah blah. If I had my way and I had the money, I would pay someone to do it. However, since we live in California and neither of us are pulling in the big money, we are entering do-it-yourself city. That's fine. I've made peace with that. Just make the decisions and tell me what to do to make it happen. I really don't need to know about pavers. My head is full of enough useless information as it is and because I am human and by nature sinful, the sin and squalor hasn't bothered me that much. Hey, sanctification is an ongoing process. You have to drown your old Adam everyday, not just when you feel like it.

The wifely side of me, the side of me that understands my husband's long hours and his dedication to his profession, sees this as an opportunity to bond. Perhaps I would even dig deep and get poetic and say that as we work together to create this new home together, we are also strengthening our bonds as husband and wife as we share in this creative process.

Let me break it down for you--I got dragged to Home Depot last night to look at plants. Green things that on more than one occasion I have killed because of neglect. And looking at the price tags on some of those dwarf fruit trees, I was torn between getting in touch with creation and not wanting the hassle of taking care of something that has to be picked, pruned, and sprayed for infestations. I like the idea of fruit trees, but I really like the idyllic idea of fruit trees. Trees that are straight out of an orange juice commercial, no bug infestations or rats in sight. The Rev., however, played his ace. He pointed out a black mission fig tree and said, "There's your fig tree, honey." He knows how to get me, that man. I love figs and when we moved to California, I told The Rev. I wanted a fig tree in my yard. Not only because I love their taste, but because there was a fig tree on my grandmother's farm and many of my formative, primary year memories are of that farm. If I close my eyes at this very minute, I can see that fig tree, laden with fruit, right next to the door of the corrugated steel barn that held my grandfather's shop equipment.

The Rev. and I were still talking about it today, and his final comment to me on the fig tree was, "And honey, we can always sew the leaves together for clothes." I think I better start working on my sanctification, because I need to be ready when God comes through in the cool of the evening.