Well, well, well. That’s the trigger word in everyone’s mouth today. “We’re out of water again!” “Would you run out to the well-house?” “How do I flip the switch?” “Is it still not pumping?” Somewhere between the sand-filter and the tap our pump seems to have given up the ghost. Each time we try to resurrect it with artificial resuscitation, it drags for a few minutes, unable to build up pressure and then drops to death levels again. We might be content to let it pass in peace, were it not that we still have need of it here in this mortal vale.
“Pull up a chair,” Josiah ordered, waving a nut driver at me. Obediently I dragged a metal folding chair underneath the florescent light fixture and climbed up. “Uh. I still can’t reach it.” As I returned with the six-foot ladder, I heard Josiah yelp. “Didn’t you turn off the breaker?” I demanded, as he ruefully screwed wire nuts back over the exposed ends. “Well, no,” he admitted. “I can’t figure out which breaker it’s on.” I snickered. This house is like some people—on the outside it looks beautiful, but inside it has some serious issues: water problems, terrible wiring, lack of insulation, leaky windows. First it needs some repairs, then it needs some maintenance. I dug out my mental file folder with Tabby’s conversation yesterday—our frustration at how we have to keep recapturing the same thoughts, the same sins, the same weaknesses to surrender to Yahweh. Well. Of course. I don’t put a log on the fire and expect to be warm forever. Or fix a leaky faucet and grow enraged if it starts dripping again. Or wash a shirt and assume it will be clean forever. Well, perhaps I do. But I shouldn’t. Do nothing to a house and it will crumble and deteriorate. Do nothing to a heart and it will do the same.
Lizzy grinned from ear to ear from the time she walked in the doorway behind Eileen and Analiese, through a soupy supper and water-deprived dishes, to the time she climbed back into the SUV for the ride home. She says she’s excited to come spend a day with me each week. Obviously, she doesn’t know me. Me? Well, I’m pretty much terrified. Not because Lizzy’s frightening. She seems like a super sweet fifteen-year-old. And Eileen is strong and opinionated, but kind. “Praise God,” stops up the flow of her conversation frequently, especially as she shared her testimony of God’s work in her life. But, well, sheesh. What in the world am I getting myself into? My eyes would have been as big as saucers by the time they left, had not my eyelids been gaining weight more quickly than a Sumo wrestler. I sit here, reminding myself, “Hush. Just take it one moment at a time. Oh yeah…and lean on Yahweh. Heavily.” But…What do Lizzy and Eileen really expect? What if they are disappointed? Well. What if the polar ice caps melt and flood the whole earth? Oh wait. Didn’t God make a promise about that? Just like everything else—God’s got it covered, under control.
Lord, Thou hung the world in space,
And charted every time and place.
Thou hast never walked away
But over all hast still held sway.
Though Thou let our passions drive us
Thou sent rainbows to remind us
Someday every heart and soul
Will know that Thou art in control.