Hearts to God

Not My House

It’s been cold and rainy lately so C and I have been building a lot of fires.  I tried to start one this morning, but I had some trouble.  I did everything right- started with newspaper, graduated to fat lighter, then threw on some scrap pine that usually takes off like a rocket.

No dice today.  Every time the wood would start to smoulder, the fire went out.

I tried again several times, putting my best effort into making this fire work.  I threw some wood shavings on it (surely those would work), blew on the tiny flames just so– I was so frustrated, I even considered resorting to gasoline.

But I decided not to burn the house down.  Instead I ran some errands.

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For several months now I’ve been trying to find a career, looking for teaching work anywhere near me, in nearly any capacity.  Each time I’ve found a potential job and begun the interview process, I’ve been led far, far down the road only to meet with disappointment with the end in sight.

Yesterday I received a call that marked the latest in this long string of disappointments.

Now I don’t mean to complain (much).  I’m blessed to have two part-time jobs right now and we’re not in danger of eviction, but it would be nice to work hard at something I also enjoy doing and to do something meaningful.

In a way the flexibility of my current schedule has been great for this time in my life, having just moved, as it’s allowed me to do some work at the house alone and to meet with people during the day.  But I would also like to see my wife one of these evenings.

———

When I got home from my errands I figured I’d give the fire one more go.

I lit a new piece of fat lighter and touched off the newspaper. Up she went like a gas flame.

The wood, damp from the rain, had needed some time to dry out a bit.

I guess that’s where I am.  God needs me to wait until I’m ready–there’s perfection in his timing.  I’m still listening.

The Shakers had a saying that’s been on my mind lately: “Hands to work, hearts to God.”

Here’s A Tip

Tonight at the restaurant I had some mountain folks come down for a nice dinner on the town at my table.  Pa had a big white beard with no moustache and a red plaid jacket over his red plaid shirt (“Hey honey, what goes with plaid?…Nevermind, I figured it out.”).

Ma, Pa and Junior were rather taciturn throughout the meal and ignored me most of the time.  Once I left the bill on their table, I came back a few minutes later and asked if they were ready, since the bill was lying in the “ready” position halfway off the table.

They just glared at me.  So I returned in another five minutes and asked, since I saw Pa looking at the bill before placing it on the edge of the table again, whether I could yet take the bill off their hands.

Pa asked gruffly if I was antsing to go home, since I was in “such a hurry.”  I said no, and he replied “Well you damn sure act like you are.”

I’ll show him who’s in a hurry.

I left them with the bill and went coolly to the back, where I planned to occupy myself with minor tasks for about fifteen minutes before checking belatedly on them.  This seemed like something the cool servers would do.

If all went according to plan, I’d find them impatiently waiting for me to make change after such a wait, and I could deliver my scathing line “Sorry, sir, I didn’t realize you were in such a hurry to get home.”

Zing.

Of course, when I finally marched my vindictive self back out there, the Kettles had already gone.  Expecting no tip, I was surprised to find a decent gratuity included and the dishes neatly stacked for me.

The best part?  My retributive loitering caused me to leave a new table sitting unwelcomed for five minutes.

Who was taught the lesson?

Maybe I should focus more on living and sharing the Gospel and less on defending my pride.