Ruined

Sometimes you can’t fix things. Time to be honest. Sometimes, in trying, you just make it worse. Remember that striking line, made famous by the tear-inducing hospital scene in This is Us: When life gives you lemons, make lemonade? Well, sometimes the lemons are just rotting. And there’s not enough sugar to wipe out that bitter, pungent taste.

I tried to fix something recently that should have been completely within my limited scope of handyman skills: my coffee table. This is a beautiful, cherry wood, handmade piece that my Grandpa fitted and finished, and set beside my Grandma’s rocker. Now it stands beside my glider and is the resting place for my current read, my coffee mug, my Magnificat, and the toddler’s afternoon cup of milk as we rock together.

And I ruined this beautiful piece of loving history.

Well, not beyond use. But perhaps beyond beauty.

One of my lovely littles had attacked it in the last months with a knife, and it bore some clear gouges across its top. It was also marked by a myriad of light hot wheels scratches, faded milk spills and tea upsets – this is one piece of furniture that I’ve already refinished twice because of its prominent place in our home. So one day, as I was waxing our dining table, I decided to sand down those spots and give the coffee table a quick touch-up as well.

I sanded too much though, and in digging out those scratches, broke through whatever strong layer of oil and stain my Grandpa had originally coated the table with. Hence, when I re-stained it, there was blatant discoloration in large splotches towards its front. Oh dear. Well, back to sanding! With a lot more muscle power and the help of a friend’s electric sander, I tried again.

And hurt myself. I have weak neck and upper back muscles, worn by my years of carrying children, and I put myself in bed strained muscles and a migraine. Not an easy place to be when your four children are emitting shrieking war cries and destroying other articles in the home. 

I mourned the clear line of demarcation across the table’s surface as I humbly gave up the quest.

No longer would someone walk by and think, Oh – those energetic toddlers – and smile. Now, they would raise an eyebrow and muse, How did she screw up that simple job?

Now, let’s be honest again – none of my friends will probably ever look long enough at the table to have any such thoughts (unless they’ve been reading my blog.) ? Funny thing though – the table stood as a perfect sign of the lights I gathered on a recent morning retreat.

Sometimes in life, an important truth seems to slam us: we are going to fail.

Sometimes, there’s really not a good coping mechanism or parenting technique or work planning strategy that will fix whatever problem seems to be draining us. It’s just going to be this way. It isn’t going to change.

Gulp.

This hurts, especially since I just read a quote from St. John of the Cross that reminded me that those who touch God’s heart are the ones with a firm hope.

But inevitable failure brings despair. The assurance of suffering weights me with fear. That line of demarcation? Not going to fade. I even tried to blend in the border.

So how the heck is truth supposed to fit with hope here?

Only by the hand of a heavenly joiner. Because here, I am not meant to conquer; not intended to demolish that habit of sin with the best spiritual program ever. Here, I’m supposed to cry and abandon myself to my Lord.

Sometimes the next step isn’t an amazing insight or resolution; it’s just abandonment to Him again and again.

And hope? My hope is simply my faith in His love. Not in any outcome or victory of mine, but in my affirmation that when everything falls to dust, He still loves.

There also is some inspiring news too. See, even if you accidentally ruin your Grandpa’s beautiful-handmade-strong-and-lasting-heirloom coffee table with the best of intentions and the clumsiest of attempts, your Grandma’s handmade doily might just cover the evidence perfectly.

Now, gazing at the best cover-up job reminds me of a sign in my kitchen that declares “Life doesn’t have to be perfect to be wonderful.” I’ve sometimes complained that while this is true, it’s hard to see something ugly as wonderful.

I can’t let myself forget, though, that something ugly is just something ready to be filled in with grace.

So, I’ll smile at my patched up coffee table. Let my resignation be an act of abandonment rather than despair. And just hold on to the remembrance that, with the covering of his love, beauty is still made present.