Living in Chaos

I thought it was a great idea.

I had been saving for a long time

so I could pay with cash. I even got a bonus this year at Christmas. I was ready.

I scheduled the plumber, the tile guys, the electrician, and the carpenter. They should finish my master bath remodel in a week and a half, max.

The work wasn’t extensive, just updates like new tile, lighting and mirrors, and a small expansion of a very small shower. A piece of cake.

I sat with Mom at the hospital, checking emails to take my mind off the event, and praying as Dad’s knee replacement surgery commenced. All went well and within five days he was ready to come home.

To my house.

 My house with the continual stream of workers. 

My house with the hammering and saws. 

My house with the single functional bathroom.

Not one of my better organizational moments. It never occurred to me that the work would not be finished yet. Me, who always warns my clients of delays. Me, who knows nothing ever gets completed on schedule.

I don’t know why I assumed my house would be any different. Or that the weather would cooperate in February. Does a “little” ice storm have to stop everything?

So I brought my Dad, walker, 24 inch leg brace, and all, to a house of chaos with one small, narrow bathroom.  Not what I would ever intend for him. But not a word of complaint did I hear.

Only gratefulness.

Even though he had to turn his walker sideways to enter.

 Even though the small hall bath counter was littered with my make-up 

and my husband’s toiletries.

 Even though the one towel bar overflowed with our four towels 

and separate washcloths.

Feeling cramped, inconvienced and a little sad that I couldn’t be a better host for my parents,

I had a slap in the face of perspective. 

One of the blogs I follow by Ann Voskamp posted pictures of her recent trip to Guatemala City– to The Dump. Abject poverty barely describes this horrific place.

Forty acres of garbage covers the land and fills a ravine with it’s rancid waste. It is one of the largest in the country.

 

Most startling is the fact that 30,000 squatters live in tent-like structures surrounding the toxic perimiter.

The fetid stench is overpowering.

No toilets, no running water, daily they scavenge the refuse looking for personal items and food to help them survive. Hundreds of greedy vultures circle overhead.

On a really good day, they might luck upon some unscathed items they can sell for a few coins in the open market.

Many of these scavengers are children.

Suddenly my one small bath seems more like a huge blessing than an inconvienece. I have lights and water at the flick of my wrist. I can take a shower anytime I want, and bask in the steamy hot stream. What does it matter if we have to take turns or reach over each other?

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Psalms 147:7 Sing to the Lord with grateful praise…

-When is the last time you had a slap in the face of perspective?

-Thank God for ten blessings right now.