Blinding sunshine…toxic, lead-ridden dust…plagues of thousands upon thousands of tiny swarming, stinging insects (crawling in hair and ears, on BOTH sides of glasses, under clothes – then biting at will)…tips of sharp, bothersome nails protruding from splintering, pressed wood…neck-breaking, head-back positions for hours on end…and of course the coup de gras: gooey stuff dripping into face, down arms, and all over hands and even dotting the ground below.
These describe the parameters as I scraped and painted the overhang of the porch this afternoon. It took a good 5 hours to prime just one side of the three-sided porch, even though I worked steadily the whole time. I have a million little welts (the ladybugs were swarming in their autumnal frenzy, and seemed especially ornery when it came to aggressive flying, crawling, and BITING) and my neck is weak from being bent backwards in a “look up” position until it can hardly support my bobbling head.
During the afternoon I decided this was more than a painting project; the work conditions seemed almost like a form of penance. (Laugh if you will, but I was able to keep going only because of a conviction that suffering was in order, even as I received grace to finish the job.) More than once as the hours crept by I found myself in a penitent attitude: admitting my own acts of blatant disobedience to God and evaluating the degree of my repentance (turning from rebellion to obedience).
Who would have thought a paint job could turn into a spiritual exercise? But it did.
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