I recently did a sermon on being “Sent”. I thought I would post it here if anyone wants to take a listen. I used the story of Peter to talk about being qualified or disqualified from God using us. I enjoy preaching and thought it might be a good addition to my blog, you be the judge.
As I alluded to yesterday I had a rough fall, which as you will find out is funny on two levels.
I have always wanted to be a handy person and I still aspire to be such a person, however the case against my desires keep building. Back in September of last year my wife and I decided to take a large couch unit off of our friends hands. To say that the sectional is large might be a bit of an understatement as it took both our Suburban and our Caravan to get it from Portland to Poulsbo. The only problem with sectionals is that they are kind of like parents, they tell you what to do not the other way around. What I mean by that is when you acquire such a large chunk of furniture you really only have one place in your house that it will fit, and only in a particular way.
So I did what most people would do in a situation like that, I went out and bought a television. Why? you might ask. Well the only place we could put the sectional was facing the fireplace which means that the very bulky and awkward television that we had needed to go because it did not fit on top of the mantle. This makes a whole lot more sense when you have already told yourself that you wanted a new TV anyway, then the only thing you need to do is help others see the logical progression that you have built up in your head so that they are okay with it.
So I fretted and researched and ultimately bought a cheap, but large TV from Costco, which I have been very happy with.
Did I mention that I am cheap.
The reason that I made that last statement is so that the rest of this will make more sense. The Seahawks first preseason game was coming on, and my neighbors were supposed to be coming over to watch it at my house. So now I have the “new to me” sectional, the new TV on the mantle, but no channels. I refuse to pay for cable because that would give me an excuse to watch more TV than I already do (which is still more than I ought) which means that I had to run my antenna wire from the front of the house to the center of the house. That involved moving the wire, drilling a hole, and discreetly hiding the wire so that it did not stick out. That means I have to go up into the ceiling.
In order to get into the attic I have to take everything out of my pantry.
I could leave that last on its own without explanation, but I think that context is important here so I will tell you why. The pantry has an attic access and the braces for the shelves are actually ladder rungs that have been mounted on the side of this awkward pantry/closet in my kitchen.
Once I was up in the ceiling all was going well, I drilled the requisite hole in the wall, I ran the wire through the hole, I walked the wire across the ceiling bracings and …. #$%#@@!!
I went through the ceiling, and the reason that I left the last paragraph with an implied swear word is because I don’t want to tell you what I said repeatedly while I was holding myself up so that I would not go all the way to the floor. My son felt as though this was an appropriate time to point humorously that I should not have punched a hole in the ceiling. He was pretty proud of his humorous observations until my wife told him quietly, yet abruptly that he needed to be quiet. He did happen to point out before his mom-imposed silence that I probably should not use the S-word, let alone repeatedly.
Now here is the great part. My neighbors were scheduled to come by and watch the game in less than an hour and I had a hole in my living room. So I took off to the hardware store (I will mention which one if they will sponsor my site, but it rhythms with dome repo) to get a piece of sheet rock to cover the hole, which is the piece in the picture attached to this blog. As I was heading to the Suburban I called my landlord, a man that is most graceful with my mistakes, to let him know what I had done. As I was going to the store he came up to the house to see what happened, walked in, and started to laugh. He told my wife that we should just put a picture of Jesus or an American flag over the hole. And my wife told him that is why we don’t have him decorate our house.
My son calls it my “Square of Shame” and now many of my friends as well. I hope to fix it soon but I have no confidence in my drywall and popcorn ceiling repair skills so I continue to drag my feet. Thankfully a month later I attempted to destroyed the deck and it distracted people from my attempt to ventilate the living room.
My lack of attention to details is going to cause some major problems in my life someday. Actually that statement is not true, My lack of attention to details has caused some major problems in my life. Case in point: The destruction of my barbecue.
As my son stood at the patio door the week before thanksgiving his face glowed. This glow was not the glow of a child that was proud or happy like in the phrase “he glowed with pride”. His face glowed because of the reflection of the huge flames that has consumed my barbecue and were presently burning up our deck. My wife said she heard an loud boom and wondered what it was, then came around the corner of the kitchen to see my son staring out the patio door. She yelled “Ash what’s wrong?” And all my son could do was slowly turn and look at his mom, and then look back at the fire. Like many people he was caught in a moment that his brain was having a hard time processing.
Since winter was coming I decided it was time to burn all the junk on the inside of my grill off so that I could clean it and cover it up for the winter. I went out to turn the grill on, a grill that last year I had done extensive research on because I take my grilling seriously. I found that the propane tank was empty so I went to get my back up. I did what I usually do when I attach a new tank, I listen and smell. If I don’t hear a leak and don’t smell a leak then I proceed. There are fire marshals and and barbecuers everywhere cringing at my last sentence to which I would respond “DON’T JUDGE ME!” if there wasn’t so much evidence to indict.
So I started the grill, turned it on high, and went about my business for about 10 minutes or so. I came back, saw that the burn off was successful and turned off the grill. I then waited around for about 10 minutes to make sure that the grill cooled off without any fires cropping up and then went out to my shop. My job was done and I had other things to do.
About the time that my son was walking toward the deck I heard a noise that sounded like high pressure gas being expelled. We live next to a highway so I am used to hearing noises coming from the roadway. But I do remember thinking that there was no way that could be my propane tank because I had watched it cool and I had not heard an explosion. It was about that time that I heard my wife scream “Honey!” and my stray thought suddenly crystallized and I knew exactly what had happened. My wife was standing on the road with the phone in her hand talking to the 911 dispatcher and I went sprinting by her, grabbed the hose and started spraying the huge flames that were burning up my deck, well my landlords deck as we live in a rental.
The flames were managed pretty quickly but the flame thrower that was my propane tank was not finished. As I continued to spray water on the deck until the tank had exhausted itself, my wife was calling off the fire department. Once the smoke cleared (and that is not metaphoric) I took a look at the damage and swore a few times. So here is what my forensic investigation concluded:
With the help of my forensic investigation team (Myself, my landlord, and his son) we concluded that there was a gas leak somewhere along the line that filled the lid of my grill and then something ignited it and the lid blew off. The reason we believe that is because the lid was torn, the cast aluminum lid tore in half (he said with a reserved pride).
Over the last month before this accident I had started a (contained) grease fire and stepped through the ceiling of my house. I was not having a banner fall season. Throughout all of this my kids observed a father that made big mistakes. I would like to think that I handled it well, but the reality is that I lost my cool (that’s funny because I started a grease fire and blew up my deck. I find that pointing out my humor is important sometimes because many people don’t understand it) more than once and said some things that I wished I had considered more. As the title suggested, I think my kids are starting to realize that they might need to help keep dad alive. I hope that I am learning from my mistakes, but I make so many that I have a hard time processing quickly enough before the next one happens.
As a side note, even though I tried to burn my deck down my landlord brought over lumber to fix the deck. I tried to pay for it but he had it to me the next day, what an awesome Guy. I fixed the deck and will paint it in the spring.