Okay, I won't make you all vomit so soon after my last pathetic attempt at poetry.

However, I did want to give a big shout out to Diane, because she came over and helped with my house today. A lot of folks offer to come help with all the stuff we need to get done to sell it and move. But a lot of things end up getting in the way and it never happens. I don't fault them for that, because I know that's life. Stuff happens and we all mean well, but sometimes, our good intentions don't account for practicality. The thing I appreciate about Diane is that she always finds a way to make it happen.

The other day, she was supposed to come over, but had a lot of things to do. I told her not to come over, because she had a lot going on. I knew she was coming over this week, and so it wasn't a big deal. But she came anyway. Today, she moved a chiropractor's appointment so she could help me out.

I'm so blessed by Diane. Not just because she comes over and helps me. Although trust me, that is HUGE. I can't tell you how much it means that she comes over, with a cheerful heart, and does whatever she can to make my life easier, never expecting anything in return. But the other thing I love about Diane is that as we work, she shares things God is doing in her life and wants to hear about what He's doing in mine, and as we talk, it's amazing to me how much God reveals Himself to us.

Last week, she was over here, pruning my rose bushes. I picked her for the task because when she used to come over for Bible study, she'd see my houseplants, decide they looked pathetic, and start trimming them. The first time she did it, I was horrified at how much she cut off. But she told me that it would help my plant grow better. And, in fact, she linked it to a great Bible study about the vine and the branches. Jesus is the master gardener, and oftentimes, He has to prune and cut away the bad so that the good can grow. Fast forward to my rose bushes.



I took this picture the morning before she came over. In all my pink roses, I had one yellow rose tipped with pink. I adore yellow roses tipped with pink. They are my very favorite roses. As we talked about pruning my roses, she continually questioned me about how much I wanted taken off. I had a lot of blooms already. Was I willing to lose them? I told her yes. I reminded her of the lesson we'd shared about the houseplants she'd cut up. And she said, "Yeah, but those didn't have such pretty flowers."

The thing is, just because it has pretty flowers doesn't mean it's healthy. Just because we look pretty on the outside doesn't mean we're the same on the inside. As she cut away parts of the bush, she began to understand what I meant. Underneath the beauty, we had a lot of dead branches. Ugly, knarled, scarred stalks that served no useful purpose. I kept telling her to cut, she kept asking me if I was sure. Finally, my wild roses began to take shape. They began to resemble something that belonged in a formal garden. Somewhere in the melee of clippings, my beautiful yellow rose tinged with pink got lost. Yep, chopped right off. I didn't even notice.

When I finally realized my beloved rose was gone, Diane felt really bad. However, by that time, her work was complete. And while my one beautiful rose was missing, the bush as a whole looked a million times better. Besides, that rose would have eventually died. I wouldn't have been able to hold on to it anyway. However, I do have an incredible picture. More importantly, I have an incredible moment saved in my heart where Diane and I together discovered another piece of God's mystery.

I have to make sure to treasure these moments, because my journey with Diane is about to change. After waiting on God for years to move her, it looks like it may be happening. Which means it won't be as easy for her to pop on over and teach me lessons about God by chopping up my plants.

Yes, I know, some folks are a bit worried that I haven't blogged lately. To say that my life is crazy is a bit of an understatement. I've done a lot of things since I last posted, so let's get started on a brief pictorial rundown.

I knew people would probably have a hard time believing that we began our trip with a run-in with the police, so I took a picture. I'm convinced that part of the reason we didn't end up in jail is that the cop saw the crazy lady with the camera and didn't want to mess with her. Okay, maybe not. But it makes a fun story. The real story isn't half as interesting, and frankly, I'd probably get a lot of hate mail for it, so we'll just let you make up your own.
This is where I spent my Memorial Day Weekend. The Pine Ridge Reservation in Oglala, SD. The poorest county in the United States. A place of amazing poverty, and I don't just mean material poverty. My dear friend Tess had invited me to go with her and I'm so humbled and grateful she invited me to join her. It was such an incredible time, I can't even begin to describe it. Remind me (and NO, not in today's comments, smart alecks who think they're off the hook by doing it) to share more later. Do visit her site if you want more pics, because I'm only doing a few. However, I do want to share two others... of two of the loveliest women I know.

We spent most of our time in Oglala fixing up an old trailer for some folks to live in. Which was great practice for my homecoming. I did not come home to, "honey, you worked so hard, come put your feet up, let me pamper you, go sit in the hot tub and relax." Nope. This wimpy woman came home to the construction zone known as her house and all the preparations for selling it and buying a new one. Ugh. So I traded in my paintbrush for another paintbrush.

And so, our ugly green house, the landmark by which we are able to navigate and tell folks where to find us, became a tan house. Yep. Tan. Hard to tell in the picture, but this here is a photo of our rednecky green house with a trace of tan. Fortunately, it is now mostly tan, but in need of a second coat and some white trimwork. Any volunteers?

We're also working on the interior. One of the main projects is the flooring. Our flooring is so ugly and horrible that we'd have to pay someone to take our house. That Man and B worked together to get two layers of ugly linoleum off the kitchen floor so we could put down wood. Of course, before we put down the new floor, we also had to paint. I figure, might as well mess up the old stuff before we get the new stuff in. We'll not focus on the other four rooms we still have to tear apart and paint before the new carpet gets in. Ugh.


No, you aren't hallucinating if you think you see my fridge and my stove in the dining room. We had to move them out of the kitchen so we can put wood down in the kitchen. Note the wood in our dining room. At least we've got one room done! And yes, both rooms ARE painted! I think the yellow may be a little too bright, but we'll see what happens once we get the trim done and the furniture all where it belongs. At the moment, my dining room furniture is sitting on the back deck, covered in plastic. However, I also have a lot of the stuff from the kitchen and dining room in my living room. And since our dining room table is on the deck, we put a card table up in the living room so we can eat indoors. Not that I'm doing much cooking. Remember the location of my stove? We're making do with pizza and subs.

I keep telling people that if That Man and I survive this project, we can survive anything. We are so different that working together is a bit hard. He likes "being together" and does everything in this weird way that has no apparent logic to me. I prefer working without him on top of me and having everything done in an orderly fashion. Do we see where homicide might be a viable option? He's actually a great worker and does a good job. But since we both like to do things our own way, accepting the other person's way isn't always on the agenda. But we're trying. I'm learning to deal with the fact that everything is such a disorganized mess. I even spent the afternoon working right alongside him, and *gasp* I even said, "honey, what do you want me to do?" I even did it. And to his credit, he hasn't killed me for all of my weird freak out moments and my insistence on having certain things done right.

So if you don't see me for a while, I'm probably buried somewhere underneath paint, carpet, and other home improvement accoutrements. I may or may not be dead, depending on whether or not I've gotten on That Man's last nerve. Our anniversary is coming up in a few days. Anyone want to place any bets as to whether or not we'll both survive it?