Hairline Crack in the Ceiling

“Unless the LORD [sells] the house, they labor in vain who [fix every hairline crack in] it; unless the LORD guards the [real estate market], the [home-owner] keeps awake in vain.  It is vain for [Kevin] to rise up early, to retire late, to eat the bread of painful labors; for He gives to His beloved [Kevin], even in [Kevin’s] sleep” (Psalm 127:1-2, personally applied to … Kevin).

By faith, I thank the Lord for this &*%$@# house.  It is teaching me so much.  Mostly, it is teaching me lessons about trust … or more specifically, distrust.  Once again, the Lord is using the base things of the world to teach the wonderful things of His kingdom. 

Every wall painted, inside and out.  Every floor replaced.  Every bathroom renovated.  Every window washed, even the tricky spaces between the storm panes.  Every dead tree cut down and removed.  Every screed of overflowed concrete from every project in the backyard hauled away.  And none of that work has the power to sell this *blessed* house.  None of it. 

Yet deep beneath my polished theology, I still believe that the difference between selling and not selling this house comes down to the minute details on my home improvement list either left undone or done with merely a mediocre quality.  That hairline crack in the living room ceiling at which I am presently staring; that crack I believe is the thing keeping us from selling this house and, ultimately, going to Africa as missionaries.  Absurd, I know.  I don’t want to believe it.  I don’t want to think that everything rides on my fixing a hairline crack.  I don’t want to believe that whether or not I re-mulch the flower beds around the patio is the difference-maker of my little corner of the universe.  But I am strangely compelled to caulk the crack and mulch the beds.  Why?

And so this modern-day parable unfolds before my eyes.  I would have thought that so much work would bring with it a satisfaction of a job well-done where I could sit back and enjoy the house in a better state (x10) than when we bought it, sipping my iced tea, and having to tell prospective buyers, “Sorry, we received our asking price the hour it went on the market.  Better luck next time.”  But no.  Not even close.  All this work and all it brings to me—in addition to exhaustion—is a better trained eye to see the spot where I touched blue wall paint on the white trim, the space along the built-in bookshelf that needs to be re-caulked, the veneer on the bi-fold closet door that needs to be re-glued.  But the pattern will hold, for sure, that if I do these next three jobs to push the house into sale-mode, then there will be three more jobs that emerge tomorrow.  All this work and I can see that I have been trusting in my work to advance my story.  Or in other words I have distrusted God.  I am not resting in the fact that God is the One who gives to His beloved ones even in their sleep (Psalm 127:2).

Cutting through the “personal responsibility” curtain, which is certainly not a problem with my particular version of flesh (if anything I am devilishly over-responsible instead of devilishly irresponsible), do I trust (1) that God is God, infinitely powerful and sovereign to govern the universe including the sale of a 2884 ft² split-level on Raines Rd., (2) that I am included among His beloved ones, (3) that He delights in generously giving gifts of grace, and (4) that He gives these grace-gifts even when I am asleep (e.g. unable to contribute)?  Whoa.  Frankly, I am not sure.  There is still a part of me that believes the (unbiblical) proverbs that God helps those who help themselves, and that I must believe as though it all depends upon God but behave as though it all depends upon me.  God is clearly the One who helps those who cannot help themselves, who cry out in their state of helplessness for deliverance.  And from this sneaky psalm, it is actually a vanity for me/us to work, work, work as though it all depended upon me/us.  Sigh.  I repent of my disbelief in God and my vain belief that I can advance my own story.

This *blessed* house is holy ground because it shows me the vanity of my idols and the love of my Savior. 

Now, does faith give me the nerve to leave that hairline crack in the ceiling?  Wow, that seems so much harder than just grabbing the caulk-gun.  But this is not about easier/harder in the moment; this is about belief/disbelief in the God is the One who gives to His beloved ones even in their sleep.