Posts Tagged ‘#laboroflove’

Friday morning I experienced a minor mental breakdown, as I turned my back on the mess to grab a quick shower in preparation for a wedding later that day.

My kitchen and dining room floors were covered with various pieces of furniture, in various stages of refinishing.

My kitchen countertops littered with cans of paint, brushes, rollers, sandpaper and … dirt.

My fingernails painted with latex and my hair frosted with sand dust.

“I need the break part of Spring Break!” I muttered under my breath.

It was probably not wise to take on a furniture refinishing job over Spring Break, when my usual workshop (the garage) is too cool for painting and waxing. There is no escaping the work when it’s strewn all over ones kitchen.

Now, just two days later, I am sitting with a warm mug in my cozy chair. Though the sun is in hiding I can see the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. The last of the furniture is primed, and by day’s end, the paint cans will go back onto their shelves in the garage. Maybe, just maybe I will even get the joy of washing up the floors and countertops before climbing into bed tonight!

Though the mess of refinishing furniture can drive me a bit batty, the process of creating (or re-creating, as is more accurate in my case) feeds my soul like little else. This process of taking dated, old and uninspiring furniture though the process of sanding, filling, priming, painting, waxing, etc., then seeing the final result. It is as though it is a new piece of furniture. It is as though it has been made new again.

Ah, yes, there is mess … but the result reminds me the blood, sweat and, yes, even tears are part of the re-birthing process.

Creating is a most beautiful labor of love.

“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ,
the new creation has come:
The old has gone, the new is here!”
2 Corinthians 5:17


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I’m home again, and back in my garage, covered in paint, and dust, and sweat.

I am working on a table and chairs that I have been hired to refinish. When completed, my labours will have produced a lovely finished product, that I will have labored on for about fifteen to twenty hours (a rather concervative estimate). It will be complete, I will deliver it, have my pocket padded, and be on my way to begin yet another project.

I am labouring in another way this week …


Yesterday, my twenty-something daughter and her friend left for a road trip …

and I had labor pains, as I hugged her good-bye, forced a smile of well wished excitement and fun … and thought of all that could go wrong enroute.

Yesterday, my just-graduated daughter and her boyfriend headed south, across the Canada/US border for the first time (solo), to check out a waterfall, hang out at a park, shop, and have the best pizza this side of Chicago …

and I had labor pains, as I hugged her good-bye, wishing them a great day of fun … and thought of possible dangers of a waterfall, money issues, and car failures.

Today we will pick up our son, after two weeks away at camp, and I already know what he will say when we pick him up,

“I’m only home a week, then I want to go back for the rest of summer”

and I will have labor pains, as he will not be here much this summer … and I’ll miss him.

Never, as an expectant mom, did I imagine that my connection to my children had nothing to do with an umbilical cord. It has nothing to do with anything physical! As can be confirmed by mothers who have adopted or fostered children.

I don’t desire for my kids to live in momma fear. I don’t desire for them to only do that which makes me comfortable. I want them to live their lives within fearless wisdom, pursuing the dreams, desires and responsibilities that God has laid upon their hearts and minds.

A child does not labor for its mother, a mother labours for her child.

Not one book I read, in preparation for birth and delivery, ever informed me that the length of labor for a mom (a parent) never ends.

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