I cocked my head and tried to figure out what I had found. It was a black, round, had a handle on top and it covered a large pipe coming out of the ground at a 45-degree angle. Why would it be in my back yard and only about 15 feet from my power pole? A metal fence post marked its existence. I had thought the pole was a former fence support and had not worried about moving it until other, more pressing, clearing was done.
I was two truckloads of green waste, and a whole lot of clippings waiting to be loaded, past my June 1 beginning. I had begun to attack the back yard, having finally wrangled the front and sides to a place of growth and flowering. The back is a bigger challenge, as a massive trumpet vine has squatted on my land and is battling my every effort to evict it. I cut and cut, clearing the six foot chain link fence from the pesky vines and reducing the growth to deeply entrenched, woody root stumps that dotted the back part of the yard like big ol’ warts. I have plans to boil the root with the hottest water I can pour on it. It will kill those vines, and I will be able to nurture the struggling grape vine I found under the trumpet mess in a moment of surprise and exceeding joy. Next year that grape will run the very fence those trumpet vines thought they had permanently commandeered. It will be glorious. But for now, my early mornings are spent cutting and cutting.
But back
to that cap. I glanced at the pole and caught sight of a 220 outlet on the opposite side of the main switchbox. The answer to my question hit me with a start and then a chuckle. The direct line from the electrical outlet to the black cap was cut in half by the oddest placement of A water spigot. It was 15 feet from the fence, appearing to randomly crop up in the yard.
I looked past the line and up toward the gate at the front of the property. At that moment the whole thing came into focus. The driveway is split. One for a car. One for a trailer, more precisely, an RV. The hookup for water and electricity were directly in line. So was the black capped sewer pipe for dumping the…well, you know. I thanked the Lord I had not taken that cap off. Ewwww.
And then I laughed. Not a simple, hey I am a dork laugh. No. It was a loud, extended, crack up laugh. My dogs all stopped running around the trumpet stumps and came to me, for they believe any happy person must have treats to share. I obliged them and then looked at the sky.
“An RV hookup? Really Lord? Ok then. If you want me to have an RV for this ministry, provide me with one, please.”
Wonder seized me once again and shook my head back and forth with another laugh.
This is what starting where you are looks like.
Unexpected things crop up. In my case, quite literally. When they do, they are like road signs on a freeway. They direct and inform. I have finished decorating the house and it is quite beautiful, while still looking like a well used cottage someone magically transported from the Oregon coast. It’s comfortable and cozy and full of peace. I have a room with a private bath ready for a broken heart or a weary soul or a wondering mind. But I am a single female. I thought I would be limited to women. Though I do not think all men are letches, I do not feel comfortable with some men staying inside my home alone with me while they find healing they need in their hearts, minds and spirits. I am happily single and too old for inappropriate behaviors. Sadly, that truth would not matter to some. There are those who are like bovine in a field, never moving from their own easy green pastures, while munching on half digested, rancid smelling assumptions and judgements of those who do. Best not to give those cows cud to chew.
But an RV hookup? Now, that changes everything. An RV is separate and private and a mitigator of wagging tongues. So, now that I know of the possibility, I have set to praying for a lovely RV to plant in that driveway.
While we wait on attaining the house in Millville, we are still helping people. We are getting ready to start the first class in our ministry license program (more info on that soon) and we are writing lessons and classes, and written notes so that those who come can take information home with them.
And we are praying. We pray for the big property to be given to us, while waiting for our Lord to provide the money. We pray for the owners of the house to be blessed. We pray for those who will teach our classes for us. We pray for the current homes who are willing to give a person or persons a place to go to regroup their lives. We pray for money, lots of money, for no helping organization can be successful without it.
I would have had us in the big house 6 months ago. I would have had us working on transitions and advertisements and student lists. I would have us up and running and looking for the students God would have us touch. I would have had us doing fundraisers and advertisements.
God has us finding sewers in the back yard.
I have come to believe that the big house is at the end of a journey full of road signs meant to make us cock our heads, and then chuckle, and then outright laugh.
It’s a beautiful thing you know. To discover.
I cleaned the whole area around the hookups, and planned what flowers will decorate the area next spring. Then, I looked at the sky again and said, out loud for the whole yard and my dogs to witness, “Lord, I need a really pretty RV for someone who is hurting to stay in while you bring healing and peace.”
Then, I went back to fighting those horrible trumpets.
Comments