God Speak

So, my husband and I decide the main floor bathroom needs remodeling. He did the work, stripping the wallpaper, washing the remaining glue from the walls, dismantling the sink and stool then reattaching them after rolling two coats of paint on the ceiling and walls. He wants me to pick out a linoleum remnant for the floor. I lug home an armload of samples because the remnants aren't that interesting or they're not the right size. Nothing appealing.

Before I started the search for flooring, I found a sink at a local home improvement store and brought it home, a cute European style bowl with a dark chocolate base cabinet. I try each sample in front of the sink, imagining the flooring expanded to the walls. Eh, a couple are okay but nothing outstanding.

I'm excited about the sink as the vision of a remodeled room begins to form in my thoughts. I found some nice picture frames to match the new wall sconces and a cool luggage rack shelf to hang over the stool. The image begins to materialize as I gather pieces from here and there waiting for the moment they can be set into place.

There is still the problem of the right flooring. I decide to look at some tile and find a few samples. Hmm, tile or linoleum? The thought of new sub-flooring to support and level the tile, resetting the stool to accommodate the additional height, man, that's a lot more work. But the results will be so much nicer. I mull the idea for a few more days then back to the store and happen across a "floating" tile floor that snaps together over the existing flooring and is then finished with a flexible grout. Easy-peasy complete it in a day. That's it!

Nine heavy cartons of 12" tile are loaded into the shopping carts by me and my sister, along with the grout. Getting closer to completion and I like the way the room is coming together. It's going to be beautiful. Back to the Ponderosa, where dear husband awaits.

"I don't want tile. I want linoleum. I'm not messing with the stool plumbing,” his response.

One box of tile makes it into the house, then out again. The other eight are unloaded from the trunk to the garage floor, then right into the van where he summarily heads back over the sixteen miles just traveled and takes them all, along with the grout, to be restocked. “I’ll get the linoleum I want,” his departing announcement. Huh.

I retreat. A few days later he invites me to join him to look for a sink and the elusive flooring.

“A sink? For what?” I inquire.

“In there.”

“Where?”

“The bathroom.”

“I already bought the sink.”

“I took it back.” Poof, and another one bites the dust.

Now I’m finished and ticked. I get in the car and drive away. But this time, instead of indulging my frustration and anger, I literally ask, “What are you saying to me, Lord?” I recall past confrontational moments like this. But instead of indulging that line of thinking, I consider that God may have something to say and that He is using this very situation in which to speak to me.

How do I respond? It’s a freefall once again, and this time willingly, into His arms.

John brought home a top to fit the base we already have, the flooring still hasn’t been selected, and I have recused myself from the bathroom remodel. But more importantly, I am aware of God’s presence and what He has to say in the midst of conflict. Though peaceful isn’t how I would describe my entire demeanor, inside I am aware of something greater than my desire. Something more important than, “to tile or not to tile, this sink or that one.”

A cycle has been broken for me as a new awareness presents itself. Though I may not care for the language or the method, I concede that the Spirit may be speaking through this confrontation. God has something to teach me. Am I willing to yield to His lead? It seems so.