I’ve been really swamped with work lately, between my Galty new proletarian job and the remnants of my web development business. That will ease up next week and I’ll be writing regularly again.
In the meantime, the construction on my home addition continues apace. We’ll spend a good deal of the weekend shingling. I’ve noticed that this is the only construction going on anywhere in the neighborhood. The Gulf Coast economy is still suffering from Obama’s permitorium. The fact that it’s unofficial isn’t making the pain of it any less – in fact I’d say the unofficial nature of it adds insult to injury.
If nothing else, construction has cured me of any lingering vanity I retained at age 43. There was a time, not so very long ago, when I would not so much have gone to the grocery store without being presentably dressed, with my hair at least decently groomed and my face made up. Now it’s not quite full-on POWM territory, but I can see that on the horizon. Well, this is just a season we’re in. I keep telling myself that, at least. When it’s all over, I think I’ll go do something girly like have a spa day.
The winnowing process imposed on us by the construction has been… instructive. Where does the time and money go? Every decision is a crucial one these days. And our prayer and devotional lives have suffered. The parable of building our house on the sand comes to mind, especially since the concrete foundation literally was poured onto the sand. (Sand is the customary fill under houses around here.)
Does it count as devotional time if I sing “Blessed Be Your Name” to myself while I work on the roof? And yet I know God’s not keeping a scoresheet of my ratio of devotional to non-devotional minutes of the day. To the contrary, every single minute is to be lived for God’s glory and that’s a standard I will never, can never, meet. Thank God for grace and mercy, and for the construction project He is undergoing in me – one infinitely harder than a simple mother-in-law suite.