The beauty in my computer's darkest hour: I couldn't blog during the craftiest week of my entire life. I appliqued a tragically librarian sweater, made a hooded hippo towel, and built, painted and created decals for two toddler beds. All those bragging rights and no computer.
Painting a reclaimed door turned head board and dreaming up the amazing post I would write if I could, a verse from the sermon on the mount floated between brush strokes:
Blessed are the meek for they shall inherit the Earth. Matthew 3:5
The January blog revival wasn't on impulse. I prayed and labored under the idea of once again tackling a project that had turned on me twice. Blogging feeds my salivating pride.
Head bowed, I asked the Lord to block my posts if I could not write encouragement based from a humble heart. Meekness. Grace. Work done in the light that others might give glory to God. Not my brain. Not my sense of humor. Not my crafting or cooking or cute kids or any other lesser thing.
God blocked solid, obvious, complete, saving me from myself. Thank You! You search my heart and know my profound weakness. In omniscient wisdom, You establish my footsteps.
The weight of conviction spread. The project I was relishing soured. An unworthy distraction from higher things. You shouldn't enjoy this because you feel proud of it.
Whoa! Step back. Something sounds profoundly wrong.
God, the infinitely creative, made me in his image, provided thought, talent, woodworking hubby and two unwanted antique doors. It's his gift to be pleased with my work and enjoy the process.
And I have. This week has been so much fun. My sewing machine sped along without its unpredictable diabolic tension issues. Hubby's reclaimed doors and Pinterest provided abounding inspiration. I actually took time on details, usually not my strong suit. Creativity sprouting new project ideas, hands kept from idle business for weeks.
P.S. ~ I must tell a story or two on myself from the bed project.
First: Using the orbital sander, I pressed into musty smelling, potentially lead paint for 30 minutes, thinking how does anyone make money refinishing furniture? My arms are jelly while this paint looks buffed, at best. Noticing my poor result, DH asked if I needed a new pad. Flipped over the sander to discover there was no pad. It was flung from the sander on my first pass. I "sanded" the entire door with the formerly velcro-covered rubber base. So, I am also grateful this weekend for power tool part replacement via the internet.
Second: I ruined my best jeans Friday. Look for a restyle post for primer splattered jeans. I carefully pulled out my "painting jeans," laid them out on the bed with my horrible "painting fleece," then without the slightest thought, pulled on my "make my booty look 18 jeans" I was too lazy to put away the previous evening. I used those jeans as a paint rag all day before I discovered my mistake. But my story isn't over: Next day, I carefully put on my "painting jeans." Not one drop! Completely unblemished after two days of painting. Somewhere, Alanis Morissette feels vindicated.