Watching toenails grow.....

The highlight of my sister's week was a ride in the ambulance transporting her to a new hospital. She took pictures along the way, posting them to facebook, so we could all see how she spent her summer vacation. This summer vacation appears to be made up of scenes from looking inward, rather than outward. She had thought she would get a whole hour of freedom from IVs and medical jargon and medical staff. She had thought she would be allowed an hour drive to her new digs with her husband in their own little car. But I think the nurse overheard them plotting a trip through the McDonald's drive- through on their way to the new hospital. (Amy has had only ice chips for 2 weeks or so now. Her pancreas cannot process anything but that at this point.) So she was stuffed into an ambulance instead where she snapped pictures of the scenery along the way, and her toes.... toes she has spent weeks lying in bed contemplating.

This hospital is better acquainted with the procedures that may be necessary. It affords her at least new ceiling tiles to count. She is in too much discomfort and on too many pain pills to be able to read, or watch TV long. Visits are tiring, and she doesn't really feel up to them. The hours drag on as the doctors wait to determine that the pancreatic pseudocyst has hardened enough to drain. From what I could glean from the little research I did, it really is better to wait for the portions of the pancreas that die in pancreatitis to fully differentiate themselves from the healthy pancreas cells. This apparently does happen if the surgeon waits a few weeks, and the patient outcome is far better. But the waiting is not fun. Of course, it rarely is....not when the waiting includes deprivation.

I am flying out in a week and a half. At that point she should be done with her operation, home recuperating and I will come and be her slave for a few days. After going on a month in the hospital with a brief interlude between the two visits there, it is likely she has some chores that I could help with. Of course she told me not to come, to stay home and deal with the wedding plans of my son in a month. But all my obligations for that are almost done. I just had to finish the wedding painting which took an unfortunate turn yesterday.

I had sent photos of it to Matt and his lovely bride to be, Karissa, asking them for final critique. I wanted it to be perfect in their eyes. No one else's really matter. After writing down all their suggestions I had a two page list. Nothing was too major, but any one who has ever painted knows that if you change one thing on a painting, it sets off a creative domino effect. Slowly, every thing else has to change to support that one change. At one point yesterday, Asherel walked by and saw me lying on the floor pounding my head against the rug.

"How's the painting coming?" she called in.
"Don't look!" I cried, "Please don't come in!!!!"
She of course came in. And laughed. I had to laugh too. At that point, Matt looked just like a chipmunk. I had removed his lips to shorten his nose which I suddenly realized was a shade too long, and his teeth a little too crooked, and had not yet returned lips to his face. However, two massive Beaver-like front teeth gleamed unobstructed from any semblance of a human mouth.
"I've ruined it," I told Asherel. Nine months of painting down the drain.
Still chuckling, she walked away.
I felt almost as bereft as Amy.

So I went back to work. I worked all day on it, about 9 hours straight. Karissa had thought Matt looked fine before I had made the changes. It was Matt that had suggested the changes. So I sent them both the revised portrait. Karissa's mom, who was roped into consultation, thought perhaps I should ignore their suggestions as she felt it might have captured more of Matt's essence before. Matt however loved the revised Matt, and had one more tiny suggestion.
"Forget it," I wrote back, "I am done."

So the painting is finished, and for the record, I will never ever ever ever do another wedding portrait. And for the record, Amy will never ever ever ever have another ice chip after this ordeal is over.

I suspect looking back on both events, both of us will find the humor, the lessons learned, the silver lining. Retrospect is God's gift to the patient.

Deuteronomy 8: 2-3
² Remember how the LORD your God led you all the way in the wilderness these forty years, to humble and test you in order to know what was in your heart, whether or not you would keep his commands. ³ He humbled you, causing you to hunger and then feeding you with manna, which neither you nor your ancestors had known, to teach you that man does not live on bread alone but on every word that comes from the mouth of the LORD.

Hopeful Petals

The dogs were sniffing at their usual spot when I noticed the small purple petal. Crocus! My daffodils were beginning to show green buds but none had opened yet. But here the crocus were now defying the certain return of frost and cold to brave raising their tender petals to the open air. We stood and marveled at the crocus for a little while.

God is such a good artist, I thought, with a tinge of jealousy. My own wedding portrait art work at home was not going so well. I had begun to paint in my son Matt's face and something was going very wrong with the mouth. I had obliterated it once already, but it was still not right. After many hours, I painted over it with a wash of flesh color and put away my brushes for the day. Karissa, the bride is almost done, and Matt's tux is painted in with a wash that gives an idea of the final color. They are a lovely couple, except for the groom without a mouth.

But the more I thought about it, the more I thought maybe that is the way man and woman should have been created. Man without mouth. "Just do what I say, no back talk, and no one gets hurt," should be in the wedding vows somewhere.
Alas, that is not the way God seems to have envisioned what the world should be. Not only does He give both the bride and groom a mouth, but He expects them to use it responsibly.

This is a tall order, especially if one hopes to be married for a lifetime. Honestly, I know I would have more success if I just hadn't been given a mouth to misuse in the first place. I am not second guessing God. I know He who brought forth the gentle crocus when the bitter cold was still raging around the corner knows best. He knows exactly how to bring a most unlikely hope in the midst of the winters of our lives. Perhaps that is why He longs and desires for marriage to last a lifetime.... it will take that long to paint in the mouth properly.

Psalm 141:3
  ³ Set a guard over my mouth, LORD;
   keep watch over the door of my lips.

Psalm 19:14
 ¹⁴ May these words of my mouth and this meditation of my heart
   be pleasing in your sight,
   LORD, my Rock and my Redeemer.

Psalm 17:3
  ³ Though you probe my heart,
   though you examine me at night and test me,
you will find that I have planned no evil;
   my mouth has not transgressed.

Turning Junk into Treasure

I decided to sacrifice for my son- rather then keep the cabinet and shelf unit I found on the curbside years ago and have used as a book and game shelf, I selflessly decided to hand these valuable recycled trash on to him. They are constructed of the finest pasteboard with a simulated wood grain, found only in the most discerning homes, and Matt is moving into a huge unfurnished apartment.

"I am an artist," I told myself, "I will transform these."
My friend Andi stopped by as I was busily painting the units. I had only one coat painted on, and the particle board was still showing through. Naturally, she could likely not see the beauty I was envisioning.
"What do you plan to do with them?" she asked, nonchalantly, but I could detect in her carefully guarded tone a touch of horror.
Plan? I am not following a "plan". I am in the throes of inspiration, spontaneous creative genius will pour from my fingers directly to the old cabinet.
"I don't know," I answered, "Do you have any ideas?"
"Well, what look are you going for?" she asked, as though the look of 20 year old rejected garbage was not adequate in and of itself.
"Well it is a historic, majestic, magnificent home," I answered, "I would like the piece to reflect that."
Andi blinked at me. I believe she was speechless with the magnitude of my aspirations.

She did convince me that I could not just paint the outer trim but had to paint the inside as well.
As I blobbed some paint on the brass hinges, I hoped she didn't notice, but she did.
"I can wipe those off later," I said, as though blobbing the paint was exactly what I meant to do.
"I think you need to take the doors off and paint them separately, then put them back on," she suggested.
"Take them off?!" I screeched. Not if I intended to be done by dinner, I was thinking.
"This will not be a 20 minute job," warned Andi.
She left to her errands and I did not take the doors off, but decided the brass hinges looked better with white paint on them anyway.
By the second coat of paint, the unit was looking almost lovely. I left the shelves fake wood grain, but painted the back wall of the inside white as well. By the time they had dried, and I had placed the pristine white cabinet unit on top of the gleaming shelf unit, I no longer wanted to give it to Matt. If I painted a delicate floral trim in Wedgwood blue, I felt I would have a museum ready piece, as long as one didn't peer too closely at the right bottom side where mice had chewed away a half circle of splintering board. A plant could sit nicely at that corner. However, I will give it to Matt though at this point it is one of the nicer pieces in my home.....

I only wished I had done this years ago. Transformation is never easy, always involves work, and often sacrifice. Our sermon at church yesterday was that we could never transform ourselves, so we could stop that endless futile struggle. Transformation is of the spirit, and by the spirit; the spirit of the Lord. The pastor was careful to point out that he was not saying we should give up obeying God, reading and studying scripture, gathering together as believers to support and encourage each other..... but it did mean that we didn't have the power to turn particle board into oak. Only God could do that.... and He did it through the love and sacrifice of Jesus on our behalf. Through His brushstrokes, our flaws are not only covered but metamorphosed, and He doesn't need a plant to hide the holes. This is encouraging news, because I still have a dresser and a computer hutch to transform, and am already exhausted.

2 Corinthians 3:17-18 (New International Version)

¹⁷Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. ¹⁸And we, who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lord's glory, are being transformed into his likeness with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit.