Lessons from Tiling

I am thankful to my heavenly Father for the chance to learn how to tile over the past several months.  I have had a good teacher in my boss.  It really helps to have someone good to learn from.  Here are some basic truths learned:

1. Do it right the first time. 
Laying tile is all about perfection and speed.  Your net gain is based on the quality of your work, and how much you are able to get done.  It is often hard to know how to balance these two.  Doing it 'right' the first time ended up usually working better for me because it would keep me from costly mistakes.  For example, grouting a bathroom right takes about an hour or two.   Redoing a poorly grouted bathroom takes twice that because you have to first grind down the first job and start over.  The initial effort to do it the right way will save you the headache later on of chiseling out tile and hard thin set.

2. Two workers are better than one. 
I found that two people working together are more apt to stay on task, to do a better job, and to enjoy the task at hand.   The vast majority of tile work is monotonous, brunt work.  This goes a lot easier when you have two people working together for morale, and teamwork.  Also there is a good amount of brain work, and calculating, this also goes better with two minds to tackle tricky layouts, etc.  When tiling, it is good to have one person on his knees, spreading thinest mortar and laying the tile, and the other making thin set, bringing in boxes of tile, spacers, etc. and making necessary cuts.  The whole job can be done alone, but it is certainly quicker with two.  

3. The costlier the tile/stone, the more careful you have to be. 

The above picture is travertine, which was as advanced as I got with tiling.  I was already pretty quick with regular tile, but my boss was adamant that I had to slow way down for this delicate stone.  He was right.  Not only did it cost a lot more, but it was also much tricker to lay, and far more delicate.  I can't wait to see gold, transparent gold, roads.  I wonder how hard that stuff is to lay down. 

4. Each step done well

As you can probably tell, I am a 'process person' which means I tend to focus on the process rather than the outcome.  One thing that was very apparent to me was how much easier it was to tile when each step in the process was done 'right'.  Meaning, if the sub flooring was put down level, then it was much easier to get the tile level.  If the excess thinest was wiped off when laying the tile (while it was still wet), then grouting was a piece of cake.  The real disasters occurred when little things, like a high spot in the sub floor, or a cut that was a little off, where allowed to remain, and then caused big delays later on as we tried to compensate with more thinest, more grout, etc.  

5. Wear kneepads. 

Or you'll get camel knees.  Also don't forget to get up and walk around after being on your knees a while.

6. Worry about perfection before worrying about speed. 

My boss was also adamant on this point.  He was right.  Speed comes from a lot of time doing something.  Perfection is the sort of thing you have to focus on, especially in starting out.  If your like me, you have to remind yourself of this one, because I usually believe that I should be as fast as the fastest, and as good as the best, without any of the hard work/sweat/tears that those other guys have gone through.  Yeah right!

7. The glory of tile is enduring beauty and order. 

I might expand this to include the beauty of all construction done well.  In a universe where death and decay (read entropy) are the general rule, a little order in the chaos is comforting, even glorious, and well worth a little hard work to achieve. 

 

Noise

Quiet at last.

There was noise all day, since about four in the morning when I awoke to a peculiar smell and realized with a panic that I had left my chicken broth boiling all night. Bolting into the kitchen I discovered no longer broth, but a pot of greasy charcoal bones still trying vaguely to bubble or pop a  little. The smell was overpowering (though that's not the point of this post...but it was. And is. Still.) Since then the windows and doors were open so I could hear everyone outside. The fans were going in the kitchen and bathroom, candles were burning, and a pot of spices boiling away on the stove to get rid of the smell.

After I closed the doors again there was the noise of two violin lessons. Mercy! How soul-baring it is to teach! I would must curb my passion for technical finesse and remember I am here to inspire as well as equip. Today I "held back" (or "released", as I like to think of it) a student from the technically challenging pieces for THREE WEEKS to have her listen with a good set of earphones to one CD of Itzhak Perlman--for twenty minutes every day with no distractions! I want to inspire her with the liquid strains, soaring melodies, delicate nuances of that mysterious woodbox in the hands of the merry master--and it's not happening just by talk.And it doesn't happen by tuning in the radio now and then, or listening once through a CD while talking or working. You don't catch the magic if you can't focus!

She didn't seem thrilled with the prospect, and I wished I could make her see that this was totally for her benefit, to get her excited about playing violin, not to limit her practicing . . . Actually in the long run it's to HELP her practicing! There's no point to playing if you don't like it, and I'm helping her get to LOVE it! But it was hard to communicate that, and I just hope she "gets it" over time.

It reminded me though, of my own Teacher. There have been many times when He took me off the "regular diet" of daily activities and production (oh how I love to PRODUCE!). Usually it is something like a stomachache or just fatigue. He sits me down, hands me the headphones and says, "Try this one!". I sigh, sometimes procrastinate or complain about the pain, but eventually put them on and turn on the volume.

And there He teaches me. He shows me Life in Jesus, He shows me Forgiveness, He shows me Love. He sometimes leads me through grief or loss like Rodrigo's second movement, but always ends with peace like Bach, and somewhere in midst I hear His voice, His own true voice, with such precious tone (and sometimes so plain and matter-of-fact) it's better than any music I've heard, though probably this comes closest. Perfectly accurate, lovely, lovING, possessed of immense intelligence and knowledge . . . Sharper than a two-edged sword, dividing even between bone and marrow. There are jewels in the silence I will never notice if He does not slow me down and make me listen.

And then I get a violin student who makes me understand MY Teacher a little more. How often He must be saying to Himself, "Polly, if you'd just sit down and enjoy this--I have something beautiful to show you, I'm not doing this to bore or limit you for heaven's sake!"

So it is lovely even after a great practice time of my own, to finally pack up the viola, turn off the last fan and sit. (Even music becomes Noise too, after awhile.) Let's do it without waiting til we're exhausted!



BTW, I'm loving this lady's blog  today. :)

     This Sunday afternoon finds us working on gymnastics.  Polly is the flexible one, and can hold her foot and extend her leg out over her heard, while maintaining her balance.  Will is not as flexible but can do a controlled head stand.  We just watched a DVD of a Cirque de Soleil show, and are ready to start training to become aerialists:)

A Sunday review of the week:
     This week we saw our Father working in several ways.  How constantly loving he is!  He cares for us, and provides for us all the time.  For me (Will), I have seen his hand in the blessing of my new job.
      Over the summer, we went to volunteer for a week, and Brian asked me to lay some tile.  I didn't have a whole lot of experience laying tile, but I was excited to take on the project, and really enjoyed the work.  Well, two weeks ago, we had a rain day on the masonry construction site, and one of my workmates asked if I would like to come with him to do some tile work.  At that job, I was offered a full time position with a Chilean brother.  I didn't really know how to process it at first, since the offer came out of nowhere, but after praying about it, and working through all the known risk factors, I decided it was from the Lord.  So I quit my old job and started laying tile full time last Monday.      
     It's only been a week so far, but I have already been able to quickly start picking up the details of the job, and really enjoy it.  One added perk is that Polly is also welcome to work with me, and a few times we have been able to work together!  It's pretty sweet to work with my honeymoon bride!
     Other highlights for me have been: talking with a young (age 16) coworker about spiritual things, and seeing his curiosity take off.  He had never thought through the love of God, and where death comes from.
     I've just started "The Rare Jewel of Christian Contentment" by Jeremiah Burroughs, and it has been blowing my mind in so many categories!!!! I'm thankful to the Lord for leading me to this book, it's just what I needed, and has been fertilizer for my daily dependence on God, and the attitude of my heart.

       

a poem

Men made a trap
to crush the dove of peace,
of tightened steel
with darkened razor teeth

the Dove flew down
and zing the trap was sprung
tearing, carnage,
death was brutally done

the trap was snapped
the Dove rose up again
and flies, and we
now winged follow behind

-W

The DaeWoo Chronicles Continued

As of early May, the title of our blog has been rendered obsolete by the arrival in the family of a big white Nissan Maxima with tinted widows. The Little Blue DaeWoo, however, continued to be a blessing as it had blessed us. Here's the story.

First the fuel pump died. We knew something was wrong, but I asked the Lord please not to let it die while I was on the highway that day, and sure enough, it waited til I pulled up to Will's work site to chug out and refuse to start. Happily, Will was late that day, so while I waited I noticed a small window of open wifi signal, of which we availed ourselves to internet-call the insurance company to tow us out, our regular cell-phone having recently died.

The nice tow-man drove us further than he was technically supposed to in order to get us to our own mechanic, and even prayed together with us before he left and our friend picked us up.

Then we got to use THIS car for a week!

Which was fun. The neighborhood kids' respect for us shot way up . . .

Then we bought the Maxima. It had tinted windows; the neighborhood kids still liked us.

Now enter our friends,  N and Y. They are refugees with a little 6-month brown butterball of cuteness named Adam. N injured his back the first day on the job, couldn't work and didn't have a car. Will speaks their language, so we started hanging out. I cooked for them, they cooked for us and we played with their Fat Baby, and thus began a lovely and dear relationship, the kind you can't quite explain except to say they slipped through a crack deep into your heart. We could spend hours together which with anyone else would have been exhausting. My Spanish is terrible and she spoke about ten words in English, but even driving around Y, carrying along the Very Fat Baby from this DMV to that Revenue Building to the other DMV to get her title registered, was as sweet as the brown-bottled Goya which N sent along to refresh our tired bodies.

The tall white people sold the Daewoo to the short brown people after it was unexpectedly (and expensively) fixed, and they immediately decked it with new seat covers and air fresheners that this construction-worker's wife had not bothered with. They had a car!! Hooray.

But then . . . no job. And still no job.

A month passes, then six weeks. The money is running short. They use food stamps for the Very Fat Baby's increasing appetite, and come to church with us on Sundays. N's case is taken up by a lawyer to get compensation for his injury, but as yet there is no result. Their friends, in Nebraska of all places, begin to urge them to move out there where Y could get a job in a meat factory.

At this opportune time the Daewoo dies. Again. We take it to a different mechanic.

The police visit to say they had ten days to pay their rent or they will be evicted. The electricity will be cut off in a week. Their Nebraska friends say they can come pick them up if N and Y can pay for the trip. But if they leave, they break their lease, which could cost another fortune, and their money is almost entirely gone. Plus, they have this stupid dead Daewoo to deal with! Now when we come in, the usually insuppressible Y is puffy-eyed and tense, and N nurses his back, never smiling. God is in control, he tells Will in desperation, but you don't understand how hard this is.

But! The mechanic has a brainstorm. Will takes N out to put the plan into action, and at last, lo and behold, it is up and running! N declares with tears in his eyes, "Now I know God loves me". Having had a bad day of baked-goods sales, Will gives them cornbread.

The Daewoo works, but is it dependable enough to get them halfway across the country? They decide not. We pray that they can sell the car to pay for the trip, and go to church together.

Monday night. Wednesday is the electricity cutoff date. It's been a terrible day for me (Polly). A Newlywed Doldrums Day, where the white plaster walls block out vitamin D and love, where as far as I know (excepting my husband), nobody speaks my language or cares that I exist, where my stomach hurts and I want my mommy. My dear husband decides we need to get out of the apartment, so we go to see N and Y.

While Will runs an errand first, I ask the dear Lord if He could possibly cheer us up. Will comes back. Oh!
"Hey, love, we should bring them something nice! What about ice cream?"
"There's a Sandy's across the street!"
"Let's do it!"

Ten minutes and a juggling act later, we exit the shop with four cones in my hands, out into the sultry SC July night . . . drip, drip . . . "Aag, let's hurry!" . . . drip, drip. Lick, lick. Blueberry Cheesecake, wow! "It's getting on my jeans! And my shoes!" We speed into their driveway, laughing like kids.

Where is the Daewoo??

It's gone!

We race up the stairs and pound on the door,  Lemon and Caramel Fudge Yumminess  dripping from our fingers. N opens the door. "We brought ice cream and where's the car??" With a long-absent smile lighting up his face N announces that the car sold and they are going to Nebraska.  

"Gloria a Dios, gloria a Dios," he repeats, shaking his head and pointing to heaven.

"How in the world did you sell the car in one day?", Will asks as we maneuver the ice cream into the freezer and I wipe down my clothes. "Oh the people downstairs put it on Craigslist."
They're Arabs. N doesn't even speak English.
"How did they know?"
"Well, my Arabic is pretty good . . . "

Y, perched on the sofa delightedly consuming her ice cream cone with a spoon, rolls her eyes and I giggle. Somehow through sign language and human kindness, the Arabs downstairs had understood enough to put up an ad in English, and when someone called and spoke Spanish they handed the phone over to N. A Hispanic lady desperate for a car had picked it up at midnight, handing them cash enough to cover two bus tickets and extras to get them settled in their new home with friends. "Gloria a Dios".


They left two days later, the day the electricity ran out, leaving us with a carful of useful things they couldn't take on the bus, and an invitation to vacation in Nebraska.

Now we have a sack of stuffed animals in our living room, hand-me-downs of the Very Fat Baby who understood baby talk in two languages, and we eat beets with our green beans.

And sometimes we wonder when we'll run into that Daewoo again.

Where WE live . . .

Last night a kid robbed the gas station down the road from us. The police chased him and he started shooting . . . so did they. Eventually they shot and killed the kid.

Was he one of our neighbors?

An officer reported fourteen bullets shot at them, hitting cars and one ricocheting to strike a deputy's boot. They were "pretty shaken up", are "in counseling now" and "it was a very dangerous situation".

They didn't even report the kid's name.

It might have been Tony, a handsome young man who used to live under us. He moved out with his mom a few months ago, and we saw him one time since--when he drove into our lot with a truck full of guys who milled around, then headed over to the next building. They called out some other kid, yelled a lot, and threw some punches. The young men were so excited (scared?) they were literally hopping around each other as they roughed the guy up. Then Tony's gang roared out of the complex, leaving an angry knot of youth in the parking lot.

Our neighbor was a former police officer and said often when that happens, they'll return at night with guns and do worse. We prayed, and this time it didn't happen.

We live between a youth correctional facility and and two adult jails. Walk down the road and you'll pass the SC Law Enforcement Division, Department of Juvenile Justice, SC Troopers Association, Criminal Justice Academy and Hall of Fame of Police Officers. Police cars cruise our apartments every day. A few weeks ago a man next door was being apprehended while five police cars blocked our lot and I watched one officer taking in a dog. Recently a neighbor told us about a murder on the other side of us a couple years back.

I'm sad for the families and angry at the "empty ways passed down from their fathers" that these kids grow up in . . . to the point where it seems expected that every young man will at least "serve his time" if not worse.

A neighbor boy was questioning us, "That's not right, is it, to use beer like that?" (his mother sometimes downs a pack at a time). No, we assured him, that's not a good way to use it. He's fifteen years old, and can see the point of using weed, but doesn't think it's worth the money. He takes care of our cats when we're gone to make a little money (which he has to keep away from his dad). But he didn't even know! We also assured him that it was right to not give money to his dad (to spend on drink), even though it felt hard.

"Cast all your cares on Him, for He cares for you".

What filled today.

Be ruthless with non priorities.
Tonight we are fasting and praying, reading over old journals as we seek the Lord's guidance for next steps.

Today Polly skyped with a good friend in Cambodia, took out the trash twice, scooped the kitty litter, made broccoli soup and froze it, wrote a letter, balanced our business expenses, and did home decorating... i.e. hung up the laundry on lines all over the living room plus a rack, fed the cats, and finally made bread, tried to meet the lady next door but she wouldn't talk to me, checked for a water leak because the people upstairs had a flood, read Psalm 33, washed a lot of dishes, took some cake over to friends.

Today Will got up very early to read the Bible before work, woke Polly up and had breakfast which consisted of birthday sweet Amish Friendship bread and coffee, drove to work, Labored for Javier, and got to see some guys using an oxygen torch cutting and bending rebar that was as thick as a carrot.  Ate lunch, met the new mason from Idaho (named....?).  Nearly got dehydrated, but managed to find a hose and get some water, which tasted amazing, came home, kissed Polly (this happens a lot throughout the parts of our day where we are together), took a shower, oiled my boots, played a song using my birthday present which was a worship song fakebook (thanks Polly!), took cake over to friends, talked with Polly a long time about friend's situation, sent a text message, prayed, read old journals, wrote this, going to bed:)
God is good. 

Hunger Games (from a few weeks ago)

Hot tea in hand, lavender candle gently (wimpily?) glowing beside me, it's time for a little book report! And what better book for a sleepy late winter afternoon than The Hunger Games?!

Yes, although the very title is disturbing and the movie posters had served to lodge the book firmly in my mind's "Gross" category along with Lord of the Flies and the Texas Chain Saw Massacre, never to be given even the courtesy of being read by me . . .  a FRIEND recommended it as thought provoking and gripping! So I tried it out.

I finished it in less than two days. Gripping is right.

At first I was "gripped" simply by the need to get it over with so I could stop thinking about the disgusting plot, which centers around teenagers in a post-America society being forced to participate in a murder-to-the-last-survivor "game" on national TV intended to remind citizens of their domination by a central government. Twenty-four children, chosen at random from twelve districts (reminiscent of a village girl's being offered up to appease the mountain giant in folk tales), are treated like celebrities for a few days before being thrown into a natural setting where they will starve to death if they don't kill each other. Each "contestant" must employ whatever kind of skill they possess, offensive or survivalist, to the grisly enjoyment of their sadistic audience.

Our girl, Katniss, is a wood-wise hunter by trade, but finds that what will benefit her most in THIS game does not come naturally. Peeta, her fellow contestant and friend from District 12, unpretentiously declares himself to be in love with her on a televised interview, which throws an unprecedented twist into the Games. If she pretends to reciprocate, the two of them find they stand a chance of having the rules changed such that they may BOTH survive!

Here is where something else began to "grip" me. I began to see myself in our heroine. No, not in her deadly marksmanship with a bow and arrow as she hunts food (or a human predator), not in being able to sleep in trees or set traps or recover from deadly wounds while nearly thirsting to death tramping the forest; not even knowing how to heal her friend with certain leaves or avoid poisoning from others (I wish!). Let me explain.

Katniss likes Peeta. He's a nice guy, treated her well even back home. But she is not a relationship person, and she didn't like to owe anybody anything. Peeta had now saved her life several times and seemed to enjoy it, which didn't make sense to Katniss. Of course, she figured HE was doing it for the game's sake. Now, on real-time TV broadcast, every action and word is being watched by the people who control their fate. If she can convincingly act the part of being in love, she can win the sympathy of enough sponsors to send in supplies until they can finish. Her Games advisor keeps sending her wordless instruction on this. Of course, it's "all for the game".

Except for the boy. Somehow Peeta doesn't seem to need any instruction. The part comes naturally to him.  It takes her a long time to realize it, but Peeta is genuinely in love with her.

Without giving away the Very Suspenseful Climax, but here's where I see myself in The Hunger Games. Have you ever behaved a bit more nicely than you were actually wishing to simply because people were watching? I have! Sometimes I catch myself giving a completely fabricated smile--I just lied with that gesture! I knew the "cameras were on me", so to speak, so I performed, just like Katniss, without any real affection behind it.

But what is really scary is that I know I have done that with my God too! I grew up with a pretty good knowledge of God's "omnipresence". I knew He was always with me, knew everything I was doing--so I tried to do it really really really well. I even convinced myself that I was doing a pretty good job of pleasing God. Just like Katniss even kissing the boy . . . but all just to get props from her audience! How many times have we done church service, "ministry", worship or giving just because we know God is watching and we want to get on His good side?

What He wants from us is what Peeta wanted from Katniss: her love! Romans 12:9 says to "let love be GENUINE". I am so grateful that God has shown  me how I can really love Him, because He first loved me. I didn't earn one bit of it, so I can stop stressing about whether I've done enough to get Him to love me now, and just respond with joy to HIS wonderful love for me! And if I don't feel loving at some point, I don't need to pretend anything, but I can be honest with Him and tell Him the problem. It's usually mine anyway, and He's the only one who can fix it.

He just fixed one this morning for me, as a matter of fact. :) When I got honest with Him about the junk I was feeling, He showed me why it was, and pointed out a root of envy in my heart, which He then cleaned up as I repented of it (who would want to live with that anyway?), and it cleared the air between us! Then I could respond to His love again with thankfulness.

If you think you have to keep up appearances or God will get mad at you, you're only hurting yourself, and not fooling God anyway. :) May our love be genuine and from a sincere heart, which is a gift only God can give us. He promised to give His people "hearts of flesh and remove their hearts of stone" (Ezekiel 11:19). Our hearts may be like Katniss', not really caring for our Lord who loves us and gave everything for us, using Him just to try and avoid hellfire . . . But the miracle of regeneration is that GOD gives us new hearts which can race for Him, riveting our eyes on Him, sensitizing our bodies and our entire souls to the pulse of the universe which cries JESUS, JESUS, JESUS!


Aaand . . . I'm still wondering what happens when they get back to District 12 . . . 

Poem on 1 Peter 2: 4-8

Cornerstone

In Zion's happy halls;
holding up it's righteous walls
There lies an ancient cornerstone,
And He is all we need!

This cornerstone
is sure indeed.
Our trust, in which our hopes rely. 
Our Cornerstone, 
is all we need. 
This chosen, precious Rock of Christ.

Chosen by God,
The Lord is good.
Well laid and firmly stood.
This precious stone,
The beloved Son,
Has made us now His own.

 The wind
wailing whistle 
empty missle 
cold, hellish wind, 
cannot break down, threaten, or bend, 
this CORNERSTONE! 

My heart, 
given to anxiety
and listening to the lies of the enemy
oh heart,
take refuge in 
this CORNERSTONE!  

And here in Him,
The Lord my life
I'll not be put to shame.

-W

WE'VE BEEN INVADED !!!

We came home from a lovely date Friday night and Will said, "don't look now but there's some ants around the sink"... They were everywhere! I squealed and shuddered for about five minutes before Will decided that he would just wash all the dishes that night.  We've been killing them for two days. Fortunately we found that they really don't like vinegar, so most of the ones in this picture are dead. Finally.

Good riddance.