I put the last piece of tape on the wall and smoothed it out with my trowel. There was just one more thing I wanted to fix...that one piece of Sheetrock by the door, the one with the light switch dangling through the hole...I just didn't like the way it fit up against the door. I carefully pried it off of the wall and with a really big sigh, put it on top of another piece of Sheetrock to use as a template. This time I would use a smaller width Sheetrock so it would fit better in the space. For once I actually cut it out with no mistakes and to my surprise it fit perfectly. I usually have to measure and re-measure, cut and re-cut. I screwed it on and went to pull the light toggle through the hole. I was having a little trouble...I jerked just a little too hard just a little too often and then I heard a little PLINK and the light went out. Oh, man!! Immediately I went to the breaker and turned it off. This shut off the power to the room, but what I didn't know was that the living room, hall and the front bedroom were all on the same circuit. Pretty soon the kids came running to find out what happened to the TV. K,s friend is an electrician, and she called him to help me figure out what went wrong and before I knew it he and his grandfather, a master electrician were at my door. They took a look and decided to come back in the morning with assurances that it would be safe to turn back on the power.
The next morning the electrician came out and tightened up the wire, which turned out to be hot, by the way, and showed me how to fasten the plastic light toggle to the inside of the joist. He left and I went out to run some errands. It was six o'clock before I was able to work on the room again. I tried putting the light toggle up against the joist, like he said, but it was very difficult due to the space constraints. I had been working on it for about thirty minutes, with the power off, by the way, when my screwdriver accidentally came into contact with the wire and a little explosion occurred. The light went out again. Well, this time I was already in a bad mood and this just threw me over the edge. I called all the local electricians in the book and no one would come out. I was going out of town the next morning, so something had to be done tonight. After I sat around feeling sorry for myself for a while, I approached my next door neighbor and asked him if he knew anything about electricity. He said he knew a little, and he got his tools and came on over. He spent about forty mins. trying to get the toggle attached to the joist, just as I had tried to do unsuccessfully, however he managed to get it done. Then he told me to turn the power back on on the breaker panel. I did that but there was no result. The light just didn't come back on. At this point I was envisioning having to stay home from my trip out of town to call the master elec. back in the morning. However he told me to go take a second look at the panel and make sure it was on. Guess what? In my panic, I was looking at all the switches that were off, not the little orange strips that indicate you have popped a fuse. And there it was. All that panic for nothing. I felt kind of foolish, but he didn't seem to think anything about it. I flipped the fuse and sure enough the light came on and the fan started turning. I breathed another big sigh, this time with relief. I'm so thankful I have such a fantastic neighbor.

The Evolution of Me

Tonight I sit here sipping coffee. (don't worry mom, it's decaf) and thinking back on the events of the past month. Well to be honest, the events of the last several years. I've been drifting along in a state of hopelessness for a long long time. Time after time I have asked myself, "how can I call myself a Christian and be living like I am. I hate my life. I love my kids but they are out of control. I love my house but it's falling apart. I love my husband but our marriage is a desert of nothingness."
One day, on an infrequent Sunday Morning visit to church, I had a fight with my kids. They just refused to get ready for church. They just didn't want to go. They dawdled and I screamed and cursed at them. Typical Sunday. But by the time I got in the front doors something in me cracked. I got fed up with the garbage in my life. I told my kids that our once a month visit to church was not enough anymore, as we went in the front door, and that I felt like God wanted me to be more committed than that and we were going to start coming every week. Well this was met with sour looks and hostility as we entered and put on fake smiles for the few ushers that remained at the door to greet latecomers. I fired a parting shot at the kids before we went in. "Don't sit by me", I said, "I don't need your attitudes."
I sang along with the church but I was seething inside. I was really angry at myself for letting things come to this. Then the pastor began to speak. The topic was on casual Christianity. I sank down in my seat, both awed that God could reach my heart and ashamed that I was one of the ones "coming to church for my once a month charge", as he put it. It was like the finger of God pointing right at my heart. I knew things had to be different. I didn't know it then, but that sermon would have a dramatic effect on my life.
I came back the next Sunday, without the kids (they won the battle that week) and was actually early. I walked in and announced to the ushers that I wanted to become a member. This was met with consternation. I guess that wasn't the way it was usually done, but I had never been a member of a church since I had become an adult and didn't know that. They told me I needed to speak to the pastor, and so I waited until church was over and approached him. He told me I didn't have to do anything, just come on up to the front next time he called for new members.
So next Sunday, I dressed up. I was sure he was going to call us all up there, but he didn't. I was somewhat disappointed.
The next Sunday, I dressed up again, and again, nothing.
The next Sunday, I wore my old tattered jeans and tennies and a Dallas Cowboys t shirt and my hair in a ponytail.
They were just getting ready to dismiss when the pastor announced that a new couple wanted to join the church. He went on at length about who they were and where they had come from. Then I saw his eyes scan the audience and light on me for a second, as he paused and said that anyone else wanting to join should also come up and stand with them. I was horrified (why do always seem to get caught out in my worst fashion moments?) to realize I was going to have to stand in a receiving line with all these people. But knowing it was right gave me a boldness I didn't know I had. I stepped out in front of a large room full of strangers and gave myself over to three hundred handshakes, hugs, and congratulations, and one "it's about time".
So to make a long story short, I began going every Sunday. It was strange how the sermons always seemed to be spoken to me personally. It was probably six months before I began to go on Sunday nights, as well. This led to being invited to a home group, and this led to a Bible study on Monday mornings, and prayer on Tuesday mornings.
No longer was I sleeping away the day, angry at myself for wasting my life. There wasn't enough time to feel sorry for myself anymore. Even if I had nowhere to go, I still stayed up. I started to feel like I would miss something if I went to sleep. I began to spend time in my own personal worship every single day, because all of a sudden there was a love affair going on in my heart with Jesus Christ, and I would do anything to keep from losing it.
All this has led me to a place I have never been before. I feel like I am on the precipice of the unknown and God is asking me to step off with Him. Whatever the unknown is, I want to go there.

Getting There

This time I didn't throw it, I swear. The screwdriver fell off the top of the ladder and landed point down and the bit embedded itself in the wooden sub floor. Now this led me to ask a question. Why DOES the screwdriver always land bit first and not the heavy end with the battery first?
Anyway, I dug it out and put it back in the screwdriver but somewhere along the line I must have lost the little bearing that holds the bit in because I spent the next two hours chasing it, as I would get to the top of the ladder and poise the screwdriver and it would fall out and down to the floor. Why did I not get another bit, you ask? Because the wood in the ceiling is so hard the screws do not want to go all the way in and all my bits are stripped. This is my last good tip and I only had maybe ten square feet left to put up, so I decided to just go with what I had rather than take the time to go buy a new one.
I did think at one point, that I was going to lose my mind. I made all of the measurements for cutting the very last piece of drywall (and for once they were exactly right and I was SO proud of myself). I marked them all. I got ready to cut the piece to fit. Then I realized...I HAD MADE ALL THE MEASUREMENTS ON THE WRONG SIDE OF THE DRYWALL!! When I put it up against the ceiling the backside of the drywall would be seen. So I turned it around with a big, big sigh (and only one cuss word) and started over.
BUT it got done.
Today I am going to compound all the joints. Then I'm going to texture. Then paint and carpet and trim. This has been a mammoth project. I'm so glad it's finally going to be over.
I would post pictures but they would be boring. I will post pics as soon as the texturing and paint and carpet go on.