Fluidity

We have new neighbors – again.  The last time we introduced ourselves to new neighbors in that same house next door was one year ago.  In this last year we welcomed, got to know a young couple who both lost jobs thanks to the pandemic, awaited and delighted at the birth of their firstborn, brought over the occasional meal and received incredible thank you’s and friendship and enjoyment.  Oh yes, it even helped our own loneliness for our children and grandchildren who live in other cities.

And now we start over again. This also is a young couple – also unmarried (so what’s new these days), also very friendly and also delighted with the cookies from our eternal everlasting kitchen stove (thanks to my wife, all I need do is make the suggestion and they appear!).  At this point the distinction between these tenants? the latter apparently can afford the rent… and they have two noisy dogs. 😔 Beyond that, it’s too early to tell.

This neighbor-change, however, includes a little more. I have agenda at this cusp point. The new neighbors are actually vulnerable to my history with that location beside me.  I have some smoldering thoughts at the landlord - a young fellow who probably had the house bought for him as a revenue property by his parents living in a more lavish community (my assessment I admit).  I clean the eaves troughs on their roof because if they get plugged I have a flood on my side deck. I wish a certain evergreen tree would not have been removed several years ago because it added beauty and shade to my house. And worst of all, I wish the young landlord would not be envious of some easement property which provides some garden space in our back yard, legally as per municipal law.  He begrudges me that meter-wide strip wishing it be on his side of the fence.  He lacks some maturity in neighborhood relations! 

This fortunately is unbeknownst to the new tenant.  They are innocent clear-eyed receptors of this long-time old timer next door.  And this gives me pause. We welcome them with open arms. Circumstances change as life moves on and new chapters always have new ingredients. This morning I was up at 6:30 to begin my walk.  It is what I need to do to help my body with my Type 2 diabetes.  But it is so much more; today as I began the careful pathway to our local Tim Horton’s (yes, a destination always helps to get you started) I was sure to note the shiny spots even on sidewalk stretches deemed safe the day before. Why? Because in these warm spring days the lawns let go of water during midday and then overnight frost changes sidewalk to black ice – nobody’s fault except changing seasons. Today's walk therefore most certainly is not a repeat of yesterday's walk!  [For earlier reference read my blog post “Sidewalk Inspector”, Feb 19]. Beautiful nicely shoveled snow banks are now the source of treachery. Seasons come seasons go.

This fluidity of change is a reality one must acknowledge forever and ever. In today's daily scriptures (March 15 Revised Common Lectionary,Year B) we have Moses only three days into the wilderness with his fellow-Israelites. Having just escaped the pursuing Egyptians thanks to a deluge of water as they attempted to follow them across the Nile, now the escapees are desperate for lack of drinking water and the complaints already beginning (Exodus 15:22-24). Read on if you'd like, the Old Testament is full of change. So much of it is life in all seasons trusting and mistrusting, honoring and sinning against their life giving God.   

New neighbors, new seasons, new possibilities, new relationships.  Jesus in the New Testament is on similar theme speaking to a woman of Samaria at the Well of Jacob. After asking her for a drink she marvels at him a Jew and a man speaking to her and that becomes the teachable moment.“Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, ¹⁴ but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.” (John 4:14) It is this woman’s openness which seems to be recognized by Jesus and that leads to the life giving conversation.  Whoever believes in me, as Scripture has said, rivers of living water will flow from within them (John 7:38).  New neighbors in the Lenten season? It’s a perfect time for the spring run-off waters to do their thing.

Maybe a glass of cold water with the new friends next door ….

Crude Workmanship

In the last while I have been trying to organize and/or pare down my files, books, and even writings of previous years.  As promised in my Jan.1 New Years post I shall do this without too much attached ego. Some things will be deleted or scrapped.  Even as my physical body will return to ashes (Eccl 3:20) so it is obvious that some of my precious brilliant thoughts will be deposited in trash (recycle bin?) if not by me then next generation. In similar vein I remind myself about blogging; not every post must be absolute fresh original if an 18 year-old article fits for today. Reuse, recycle!

Hence this dear threadbare article.  It's so embarrassing and yet contains a tenderness which is rather touching to see way back there.  And I happened upon this only a few days after Valentine's day which passed in a fairly non-celebrative way this year. 😔 Oh, and also a bit of tribute to my dad. I learned crudeness from him. He knew how to build big functional things, but he totally avoided finish carpentry.  And also tribute to a high school forever best friend who now in his retirement is a master hobby carpenter, and he thinks I am quite good at writing!  Anyway, for whatever reason, here it is.

 November 10, 2002

Why does inspiration always have to come from faraway?  Why not from one’s own home while sitting in the living room?  In front of me is a crude coffee table/trunk which has sat before our eyes for years and years. I think it was 1978 when as a fresh youth pastor at a church in Saskatoon, SK, my wife Verna and I agreed that a piece of furniture to store records (yes, big records still) was needed. So in full consideration of our meager income I bought a couple of cedar boards, a bit of vinyl, and some foam, and then with the gracious help of a neighbor who owned a table saw, cut the pieces to size and I assembled it in our basement.

It is oh so crude.  The wood itself is rough, with boards nailed together - nailed, not screwed - and big hinges in plain view and screwed in place with flat faced wood screws, each one with a flat washer rather than in countersunk holes.  It has had several changes of roller wheels always encountering a bit of problem maneuvering on living room carpets.  What an ugly piece of workmanship.  Sitting here in my living room in the year 2002 it suddenly hits me - Verna and the children and our hundreds of guests over the years have been incredibly gracious about this ugliness sitting centre stage to every conversation - and I marvel at the infrequent times this thing has even been mentioned. 

Now, just to continue the incredulity, imagine this.  My wife says it’s beautiful!  She lists some other features of this furniture piece, like the excellent vinyl upholstered lid which still has no rip in it, plus it has character!  Character, maybe that’s it!  She also mentions the fact that I made it.  Historically this is not a daily occurrence in our household.  I’m a bit slow to pick up the tools and I suppose to her this is also an evidence of latent potential!  I think the character part may have to do with the fact that this time this character actually did it!  So here it is, an ugly old chest still quietly doing its thing.  Probably all these components by now contribute to its longevity.  Heavens, maybe by now it’s valuable.  I wonder, is this possibly a piece that maybe someday our kids will want to inherit?

There’s something in this old chest - and it’s more than the old records and memorabilia stored inside.  People have been kind, yes, in not demeaning the crude workmanship.  But more than that, this crude chest has a dignity and a right to be because it is an integral part of our story.  For that reason it is now a treasure before our eyes. Value is not necessarily always determined by perfect workmanship, nor obviously by purchase price.  

Maybe antique collectors know more about life than so far I had realized.