As God is My Artisan

           So I had to laugh…At the same time I’m wondering “What’s wrong with us?” (cause I don’t think I’m the only female who is wired like this…)

            With friends dropping by from out-of-town, I ran to the grocery for burger fixin’s in case we opted for grilling. I have a deck. I have one (very lame) grill. I have a picnic table hand made for me by a friend and painted by me. God provided the weather.

            What I didn’t have was a clue as to how long it had been since I’d hosted anything on my deck…Granted, I've had good reason for avoiding that deck. For the past couple of years I’ve had a snake love that deck just a lit-tle more than I do, so out of respect, I’ve let him have it all to himself. He’s a black snake…The kind country folk tell me I'm supposed to like. (As if women ever like any snake.) I named him Joe Black (as in Meet Joe Black (Snake)….but even trying to make light of things, well…, he’s no Brad Pitt…And even when he leaves his little snakey clothes behind, it’s not working for me.)

            Having seen hide (definitely no hair) from the big guy for several months, I decided to tidy up said deck in case we opt to eat there, starting with sweeping off leaves and scrubbing down my picnic table when I noticed the paint job --It's a total botch. It’s peeling. It’s chipped. It’s stained. I debate whether I have enough time to sand it down and toss a coat of something on it or if I should just cover it with a tablecloth and be done with it. While pondering, I go for bleach and a scrub brush, thinking maybe in the process it'll become obvious as to what I'll do.

            Mid scrubbing it hits me just how nifty God's weathering worked out. Heck, I paid good money for this look back in Nashville. I’d seen cabinets done this way before, and despite the fact that the used ones I’d bought at the Habitat Store were perfectly flawless, I paid an artisan painter to come make them look precisely as this table was looking this very instant. On top of this, I'd paid good money for my favorite picture frame now housing some of my most cherished memories because I liked the feel.  Why now... for my genuinely flaking table, did I view this a design flaw as opposed to God's own version of antiquing?

            Why would I take perfectly good cabinets and make them old, while bemoaning an old table I longed to make new? What does this say about human nature? (Or perhaps I should ask, what does it say about me?)
            There’s no doubt the expression “Grass is always greener on the other side of the fence” holds true for goats. (Mine want to bolt to my side every single day.) But I’d never considered “The paint is always chippier…” (when you didn't opt to make it that way)

...until now.