OK, I am exhausted.
I need one of those naps I talked about last week.
Wanna know why?
It's a long story. Pull up a chair and pour yourself some coffee or tea.
Here's the intro.
"The Hub" and I treated ourselves to a rather big gift in December. We skipped birthday gifts, our anniversary gift, and Christmas gifts last year. We figured we're always kinda getting stuff throughout the year – mostly at our western festivals – so we'd save the money.
We saw something in a catalog that tempted us beyond our pocketbook sanity.
It was a life-size Cigar Indian.
Do any of you remember those?
"The cigar store Indian or wooden Indian is an advertisement figure, in the likeness of an American Indian made to represent tobacconists, much like barber poles advertise barber shops…The figures are often three-dimensional wooden sculptures several feet tall – up to life-sized.
Because of the general illiteracy of the populace, early storeowners used descriptive emblems or figures to advertise their shops' wares. American Indians and tobacco had always been associated because American Indians introduced tobacco to Europeans, and the depiction of native people on smoke-shop signs was almost inevitable.
They are still occasionally used for their original advertising purpose but are more often seen as decorations or advertising collectibles."
They're pretty cool.
So, we bought our very own.
He made a long trek to get here. He was crafted in Thailand, and then shipped to Florida, and then on to us in sunny California.
We were told that the FedEx truck would be here between 10 AM and 2 PM. Well, waiting was very nerve-wracking and exciting. I felt like we were waiting for a baby to be born.
Finally, we heard the truck approach.
The guy unloaded this GIANT crate – (the Indian is almost 6 feet tall). At one point it slid partially off the ramp as it was being lowered. "The Hub" made a flying leap to rescue the crate. Fortunately, the sliding stopped or I think I would have had a pancake husband!
By the way, the crate and the Indian wrapped up in layers of cardboard looked just like we had imported King Tut! I'm not kidding, the FedEx guy gave us some very strange looks. ("Who buys a mummy these days?!")
We finally got the Indian into the house, and uncrated him. He was perfect – except for one small area on his nose that got a little crunched, and some of the paint rubbed off.
Well, I've been known in my family for being an expert at "restoration" work. I can't tell you the countless times that I have used my combination of Sharpie pens, colored pencils, and acrylic paints to mask and blend and fix flaws on my collectibles.
I'm really, really good.
So, I spent a good long time working on Mr. Indian's nose. Like at least an hour. Then, mostly satisfied with my finished product, it was time to move him into his chosen place in our home.
"The Hub" said, "Check the bottom of him before we move him. I don't want anything to hurt the carpet when I jockey him across the room."
As hubby tipped over the very heavy Indian – (he weighs around 350 pounds) – I ran my hand over the underside of his base.
"I think it's OK," I told my husband.
So, jockeying commenced.
Almost immediately, a terrible, terrible ripping noise occurred. And then I saw a very long thread of carpet pulled out. Turns out there was a screw in the bottom of Mr. Indian, and it snagged a piece of carpet.
We've got this berber style carpet – with all these little carpet loops. Well, now I was looking at about 12 inches of unlooped loops.
So, for another hour I was on my hands and knees armed with Elmer's Glue, tweezers, and two pairs of glasses for the up-close work of trying to resurrect some semblance of normal carpet again.
It looks pretty good – actually really good.
The fruit of all my labor?
A crushing headache, and burning eyeballs.
Got me thinking.
God created this beautiful, perfect world once upon a time. And it was glorious. Until it got all messed up.
It had to be one of the most disheartening, frustrating things for God to see His work ruined. To see sin begin to fade the colors, and dampen the sounds, and dull the taste, and numb the feel of it all. To watch the shadows begin to take over His Light.
Oh, how His heart must have broken.
It breaks my heart to think about His breaking…
But then, in His infinite wisdom, He began His best work ever – fixing it all.
He is the ultimate Master Restorer.
After all, isn't that the Real Story behind every story in the Bible?! God at work, restoring His beloved creatures, and His glorious creation, back to His standard of holy perfection.
I might have spent hours today trying to fix flaws and mistakes and imperfections – but God moved His hand, and in one masterstroke He made restoration possible. Because He painted a cross. And on that cross, He glued all the broken pieces of every human heart back together. He retied the loops, and blended His Spirit with ours.
He did a fine, fine job.
He still does, every single day. Faithfully, He takes painstaking care – and with infinite patience He works all things together.
He's very serious about this redemption/sanctification business!
And I'm so very grateful.
How are you at fixing things? How is God fixing things in you?
Linked today with:
Joan at SHARING HIS BEAUTY
Charlotte at SPIRITUAL SUNDAYS
BLOG = "Blessedly Leaning On God!"