Salvation of Exposure

My heart sank.

What I had not seen before was now in full view.

I’ve never been what you would call a “handyman.” You know, the guy that can take on any home improvement project. The guy who can fix it and be done the first time. I mean no disrespect to “handyman guy,” I am personally in awe and a bit envious. I came from a line of rod guys, racecar builders and drivers. My Dad and two brothers were constantly working on cars, supercharging and refurbishing them, the older the better. I have to say that I don’t remember ever seeing a new car in front of our house or in the driveway. That’s just who they were.

Me? I played the guitar.

So, imagine what started to run through my head when God blessed Cindi and I with a church to convert to a house built in 1873. Nothing square or straight. Now I would need to be creative, diligent, AND handy!

About 3 years ago, Cindi suggested that we take down the 8ft high walls that were initially erected to separate the entry way, dining room, and living room to provide openness for home groups. Beyond the actual removal of drywall, studs and some rewiring, portions of the engineered hardwood floor that we had installed a couple of years ago would also need to be taken up and reinstalled; not to mention, I would have to do so reverse to what was intended by the designers, something I wouldn’t find out until after I had already planned out the order it would lay in. The other challenge was that this flooring was no longer available. I would need to reuse as much as possible along with pieces I had left over from the original installation.

I started in, carefully removing each section and piece of flooring, until I had exposed the padding from the entry way to the kitchen and halfway across the house.

It was a wide area.

It soon became obvious that I would need every piece for the put back and I would no doubt need to draw on all my experience of “trying to make things fit” to be successful. I carefully laid out the planks in a pattern, short, medium, short, long, snapping the pieces together. At a point where the next row would be close to center with the entry way, I picked up a long piece that would perfectly maintain the pattern. As I held up wood to ensure the proper orientation, it made contact with the sunlight that had filled the work area. My heart sank. What I had not seen before was now in full view. 

A cluster of scratches, scarring, dents, and imperfections.

I can’t use this, was my first thought. Not here, not where everyone will see it. Should I throw it out? Can I throw it out? I need every plank.

As I continued to stare at the wood in the light, for some reason, I stopped seeing damage. I started to see life, realizing in that moment that I was viewing a story.

Our two boxers, now gone, scurrying across the floor to greet us, always excited no matter what kind of day we wore on our faces.

Mountains of foot traffic, dashing to leave for work, nights out, school, and pacing, waiting for children to come home.

Instruments and gear pulled and wheeled to worship practices and services.

Dancing and jumping to music that was too loud.

Multiple home groups with friends so dear. The type of friends that you let them leave their shoes on. 

I carefully placed the plank where intended and gently snapped it into place, surrounded by the other pieces. When it was finally done I took a step back to look at my “handy” work.

Light and exposure.

Scars and imperfections.

Signs of life.

Complete.

Beautiful.