A Blur

I closed on the house on Wednesday, and the last few days have been a blur of Lysol, paint cans, and dust creatures (nothing so docile as bunnies, I can assure you).

My house sometimes feels like an albatross, but as everyone keeps reminding me, it's my albatross. And apparently that counts for something.

Another weird thing that began to happen over the last 24 hours is that the house is becoming a metaphor for everything spiritual that's happening in my life. Like when I paint over dirty cabinets I think about all the ways I try to cover sin. When I try to take care of things and bring order to the house I reminded of God's commission to stewardship. And when I spend three hours peeling old shelf paper out of the cabinets until my fingers bleed and am still not finished with the project, I consider sanctification and how painfully slow it often feels.

Mostly, I'm just thankful, trying not to let the exhaustion become exasperation.

A Refrigerator, a Garage Door, and a Squeaky Clean AC

Buying a home that needs a little love is certainly a baptism by fire into homeownship. Suddenly, I feel like a project manager as I subcontract out the various projects that need to happen on the house.

Yesterday, when I drove by my new house (I do that about every day, just to check on things), I noticed that the new roof is complete, and it is beautiful. Driftwood certainly was the way to go. And if I'm not mistaken, it looks like the roofers may have even cleaned my gutters while they were up there (a big relief since I don't have a ladder yet).

Last week, I spent hours on the phone arranging for utilities, getting estimates on new garage doors, scheduling a heating and cooling service, etc. I may have to mow the lawn for the first time the day I move in, as the current owners seem to have discontinued the lawn service a week ago. And now I'm wondering if I need to have all the locks on the house changed out. (I just thought of that as I was drifting off to sleep the other night.) Is this a standard procedure when you buy a home, kind of like changing all the toilet seats?

Remind me, please, since I am just four days away from closing, what are the benefits of home ownership? I'm not having buyer's remorse, just sitting here in a sea of boxes needing a little encouragement.

A little too much news?

I love knowing what's going on in the world. I listen to NPR for hours each day, compare what I've heard with the broadcast television news, and track down stories of interest online.

In a word, I'm a junkie.

I've been aware of this problem for years. I limit my subscriptions to newspapers and news magazines for this very reason, and this past year during Lent, I fasted from all news on any medium just to cleanse myself. I was pretty irritable during those weeks.

This past week though, I realized that the problem is getting worse. Here are the symptoms:

1.) Monday at art class I mentioned Iranian president Ahmadinejad by name in a conversation.
2.) This afternoon I recalled from memory the names of several NPR hosts, including Neil Conan on Talk of the Nation, which doesn't even air in Indianapolis.
3.) But the real kicker is that I had a dream last night that I was giving Saddam Hussein a hair cut and shave.

Ai yai yai!

Joining the Club

Yesterday, I went to Lowes (gigantic box of do-it-yourself tools and supplies) to take down some item numbers of the various parts and pieces I will need when I close on the house. (Though the house isn't a complete fixer-upper, it does need a little love).

Although I experienced a twinge of "stuff lust" again as I walked through the aisles of ceiling fans and snow blowers, mostly I marveled at what a congenial bunch the "do-it-yourself" crowd is.

As I was staring up at a wall-o-sinks, trying to decide whether the one I needed to replace was a 17-inch or a 19-inch, an older male customer and an older male Lowes employee walked up, also looking at the basins. They immediately found what they were looking for, and so decided to assist me.

"Are you finding what you need?" asked the male customer who sort of seemed like he might own the place.

When I told them that I had just bought a house and was making a list of repairs for my dad, both men instantly nodded in approval. "Smart girl," I imagined them saying in their minds.

"My daughter's in her third year at Franklin, and I hope she'll do the same thing," said the customer.

"Have you seen our on-line do-it-yourself projects?" the employee asked.

Later, a guy in the door department told me all about the state tax credits I could take advantage of for purchasing an insulated door. (And when he saw my Taylor University alumni sweatshirt, he also mentioned I could get a tax credit for donating to my alma mater). And the lady in the paint section who pulled out a sample just a shade away from the blue I was looking at told me how it took her 10 years in her first house before she started painting.

"Now I love it," she said. "I want to paint every room."

Wherever I go, whenever I tell someone I've just bought my first house, they suddenly treat me like I'm in the club. First, they congratulate me--as if I've just won the big game or climbed a big mountain. Then they start nodding, with that knowing look, and give me a little advice. "You know, when I bought my first house . . ."

This club certainly has a steep membership fee (especially when I realize that by the time I pay off my 30-year mortgage I could have bought the house twice), but I have to admit it feels good. Since I haven't married yet and don't have any children, this is the first major change in my life since college a a few years back (who's counting).

Maybe this club I've joined is less about the house and more about settling down, taking on more responsibility, and paying taxes.

Lord help us all.

Jesus in Tehran

I have been working my way through Reading Lolita in Tehran for the past several days and have been intrigued by Azar Nafisi's life in Iran during the Islamic revolution of the 70s and 80s.

Yesterday, I finally got to the part where she and her academic colleagues were forced out of the university because of their western ideology and refusal to wear the veil while teaching. This was probably some time in the early 80s. On the same day I was reading that chapter, I heard on NPR that Iran's current hardline president, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, is doing another wave of cleansing in the universities.

(I guess picking up Lolita in Tehran for historical reference was more on target than I imagined).

Something important caught my attention, though. President Ahmadinejad said he was making changes to the universities because "there has been an effort to promote a secular system and thoughts in society. To change it is difficult."

If I didn't know better, I might easily have believed the same statement was part of a sermon in any number of evangelical churches in America on a Sunday morning. In fact, my own pastor has made similar comments. (More precisely, he says we have to beware of "sucking on the gas of secular humanism" as he pantomimes a mask over his face.)

What's the difference? On a good day, I can articulate the difference clearly. Other days, like today for instance, when I'm tired, and I just got home from a funeral, and work has been frustrating, etc., I have a harder time explaining it.

Maybe I start with these questions: How do I, as a Christian, keep the influence of "the world" from hindering my pursuit of Christ? How do I renew my mind and not conform any longer to the pattern of the world if I don't limit its influence? And if I do wall myself in, how am I not asking for a revolution all my own?

I don't have the answers, but I know when they come to me, they'll center around Jesus and his love and the great respect he paid to those around him, even those most conformed to the world.

For today, maybe that's enough.

Stuff Lust

This weekend, I went to HH Gregg and picked out a new refrigerator for the house. It was a surprisingly easy choice after the shingle incident. While I was there, I decided to price microwaves. Mine, afterall, probably belongs in the Smithsonian. I have an 80s model that still has the dials for the time and temperature. I made my choices and was about to leave when . . .

I saw the vacuum cleaner section, and decided to have a look. I have had mine since 1994, afterall. (I bought it with my first tax return after college). Then, since I'll be doing a lot more gardening at my new house and will probably want to freeze lots of produce, I decided to check out the chest freezers. And before I left, I went and looked at the electric range/ovens. (Not as expensive as I had imagined.)

The more I looked, the more I felt I needed. Plus, wouldn't I want all of my new appliances to match? And once I started thinking about the new appliances, I realized I really should paint the kitchen. White walls and yellow cabinets just don't feel right. And as long as I'm in the decorating mood, I would really love a new sofa and some curtains.

See where I ended up? Stuff lust. The more I thought about buying, the more I wanted. I began to rearrange my whole budget, thought about getting a second job, and even wondered whether my contribution to the building fund at church would really mean that much anyway.

I don't think I fully snapped out of my reverie until church the next morning. My preacher was discussing Adam and Eve's sin and response, and among his many points was a definition of lust. Not just the sexual desire we often associate with the word. He said the Bible has a much broader definition. Here's how he put it, "Wanting something so much you're willing to sin to get it or to sin if you don't get it."

Ok, I get it. I was lusting after major appliances. (Not only is this a sin, but it's also a sign that I'm getting old).

So while I work on my heart issues -- dispelling the lie that I can only be happy with more stuff -- I'm also sticking to my original plan. One refrigerator, one microwave.

At least for now.