Is Your House Ready For Company?

Search me, God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts.

—Psalm 139:23

“I should have company more often,” I heard myself say, as I recounted to my friend my efforts to make my house presentable for my family dinner.

I had stressed over hosting the event ever since my siblings and I came up with the idea back in March—the idea of taking turns hosting a dinner for all of us, including Mom and Dad. With October being my month, I had seven months to get used to the idea of opening my home to everyone. Usually, I don’t entertain. My house is small, which makes it difficult to accommodate large groups. But there are other reasons. My house is not in tip-top shape. All summer I agonized over what needed to be done before my family came knocking: paint, install new flooring, yard work, clean the siding, stain the deck, scrub the porch, and more. All summer I agonized over not having the money, the energy, or the know-how to do it all. I realized that some of the jobs had to be crossed off the list. But still, I wanted my house to look nice for the get-together.

The Wrong Door

Be alert and of sober mind. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour.

—1 Peter 5:8 

It was Friday afternoon, and I couldn’t wait for my “Friday Night Write,” which is what I dubbed my time set aside to write my weekly devotion. I sunk into the couch cushions with my laptop over my knees and logged on.  Suddenly lines of text scrolled across the screen and a bright light flashed from my webcam. Then a warning took over the entire window: Your computer has been blocked.

What?

I read on. Apparently I was suspected of one of a myriad of serious infractions, such as copyright violations, use of unlicensed software, spamming, and terrorism.  Terrorism? Clearly they have me mixed up with someone else!

My heart beat fast. What should I do?  Call the police? But it wasn’t a 911 emergency and it was already after office hours.

I continued to read. Then I noticed something in the wording was askew. It didn’t line up.  This is a hoax!  A virus!  Ugh. Now what?

When the Enemy Prowls: Tomatoes Take Two

Be alert and of sober mind. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour. Resist him, standing firm in the faith, because you know that the family of believers throughout the world is undergoing the same kind of sufferings.—1 Peter 5:8-9

 

I fumbled for my house keys in the dark, as I stepped over my tomato plants, which were spilling onto the sidewalk. Why didn’t someone leave the light on? I thought, as I made my way onto the back deck. Suddenly, a flash of black and white caught my eye.  I turned to my side and faced a furry creature with its fluffy tail lifted in my direction.  My breath caught in my throat.  Oh, no! One wrong move and I’ll be doused with eau de skunk!  My heart beat harder than Ringo Starr, and my fingers shook like Elvis as I struggled to unlock the door to escape the perilous situation. The door flung open and I flew in, slamming it hard behind me. Whew, that was close!

But that wasn’t the end of our escapades with the skunk. The next evening my son-in-law Ricky experienced his own close call with the nighttime visitor on the deck. And the following night we saw him again. As our car pulled into the driveway, the headlights illuminated the deck, revealing our caller scavenging from the cat food dish.  Ricky blew the horn, while Emma and I protested, fearing the retaliation of our frightened guest. To our surprise, the scavenger scampered off the deck right down into the crawlspace opening. Now what?

Battle Scars

He answered, “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind’; and, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’”—Luke 10:27

It’s been 10 days and they’re still there.  Battle scars, I call them.  One on each wrist.  I had received a call for help from a friend, but before I set out to assist, I checked the oil in my Jeep. The “Add” warning was clearly visible on the dipstick, so I went to the shed to retrieve a quart (or two!) of oil. I reached into the box and searing pain shot into my right wrist.  I cried aloud, as several angry wasps swarmed around me, one becoming entangled in my hair.  I swatted it away, and a second dose of pain shot through my left wrist.  Again I cried aloud and left the shed as quickly as I could before the fury escalated.

I made my way to the house without sustaining another blow and whipped up a remedy of baking soda and water.  I applied the paste to both wrists, and then poured both quarts of oil in the Jeep—enough to register in the “Safe” zone on the dipstick—and was on my way.