Tuesday, October 20, 2015

Job done?

Workshop
Over the last 8 years I’ve built, or rebuilt, a lot of things in my workshop including a stair case, a kitchen, 22 square metres of leadlight windows, 10 french doors and 6 windows to name just a few. I’ve then carefully trailered each piece to the house we’re building some 250km away. At times it seemed like we would never finish with the list of “things to do” seemingly stretching for miles. But, after 80% of a decade, the building inspector has declared the job “complete”. (There's a bit more about our house here: http://pemberley-estate.blogspot.com.au/).
 
Granted it hasn’t been an all day every day occupation - not even every weekend for that matter. In fact, at the start we decided that the house build would be a hobby rather than a vocation.  As a result we’ve probably only averaged 3 or 4 days on the job per month over the whole period. But don’t get the wrong idea, our “relaxed” approach hasn’t always felt that relaxing for us. 5 years elapsed before we had an upstairs floor, 6 years for the flushing loo and the hot water system was only fired up for the first time 6 months ago.

Why did we tackle it this way?  Well, we didn't want the project to become the focus of our family's lives - that position was already taken.

Thought
Two verses come to mind:
 
Matthew 6:21 - For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.
 
Proverbs 16:3 - Commit to the LORD whatever you do, and he will establish your plans.

Tuesday, June 9, 2015

Nick from Shady Creek

After a great weekend at the Henry Lawson Festival in Grenfell I felt inspired to have a crack at this poetry thing.......
 
His name was Papadopolous, but he went as Nick the Greek,
Or the bloke who ran the vegie garden down at Shady Creek.
He’d sailed out from the Islands, no money and no ties,
At least ten lifetimes ago in 1925.
 
At Sydney he met Jo from Shady Creek’s elite.
Her Dad a local hero no sport ever saw him beat.
She told Nick about her home’s clear stream and bright sun.
He had nowhere else he had to go, so Shady Creek - well it won.
 
He’d get a job, buy a block and join the Odd Fellows.
He’d raise vegies, work hard, grow old and mellow.
He’d find a wife, settle down and have some children.
He might try to become domesticated even.
 
So Papadopolous decided his life to revise.
Nick the Greek of Shady Creek would be his reprise.
As for a job, Jo’s Dad would be the first he’d ask.
If he was like her, work would be a pleasant task.
 
“Who da hell’s this greasy bloke”, the local hero squawked.
“Nick the Greek.” Said Jo. “He wants a job, a new start.”
“A wog in the shop.” The Hero said. “That ain’t gonna work.
No one’ll understand the curley headed jerk.”
 
“It’s OK Jo.” Said our Greek. “Your Dad doesn’t need the likes of me.
‘Cause I don’t look and sound the part I’ll go to plan B.
All I want’s a patch of dirt by the creek you said was near.
I’ll grow those greens I did at home and sell them to people here.”
 
The Hero snorted, “so the wog thinks he’s gonna steal me trade away?
I’m the local grocer, have been for years and many more I’ll stay.”
“Afraid of a bit of competition?” Asked Nick with a stinging tone.
“Me. I’m afraid of nuffin mate. Fear’s something this Hero don’t know.”
 
Nick replied “Excuse a simple foreign boy who’s not too canny,
But I’m sure “not nuffin” is not in the dictionary
Though, I am no expert and will defer to you.
As you have only one to concentrate on and I unfortunately have two.
 
With anger and steam the hero’s shade and height,
Both elevated sharply to a greater fahrenheit.
“Plant your bloody greens and rubbish, as if I care what you do.
But I don’t know where you’ll get seed – I won’t sell it to you.”
 
“So the land of opportunity is only that for some?
Not to worry, ‘cause I bought seeds from my Greek Mum.
For certain they won’t mind which soil they’re planted in.
And I’m sure the dirt and water will care even less than them.”
 
So what became of Nick the Greek? Much, but especially to note.
He married Jo, had ten kids and for mayor he won the vote.
The hero though never mellowed, acquiesced, forgave or bent.
His pride would not permit it, himself to Coventry he sent.
 
The moral, if there’s one, is around the choices we sometimes make
And if they don’t hit the mark how pride can stop us righting the mistake.

Wednesday, April 29, 2015

Their real value

Workshop
My workshop is a giant mess. Apart from the usual tools and junk I recently added 70 meters of random length 300mm wide cedar skirting board to the obstacle course. The story goes that the 100 year old boards were removed from a Nursing Home in Cremorne Sydney a couple of decades ago by a fellow who had intended to use them for his building project. This obviously didn’t happen so in search of cash and floor space, he advertised the timber. Even though it was a 6 hour round trip, I couldn’t resist. This will look perfect in our upstairs bedrooms. Picking them up was an adventure, even the satnav had trouble finding the place and on the return trip we were caught in a deluge that would have made Noah think twice. But their story doesn’t end there.
 
I am spending about an hour per metre stripping back several coats of paint and 80 years of grime. Next, they’ll get bundled onto the trailer for the 3 hour ride to our property before being laid out on the back lawn. Finally, like a giant puzzle, we’ll figure out the most economical way to cut the boards so they can be reborn as prized skirting once again. The dollar cost of the boards was pretty low, a couple of dollars a metre – but that's not their real value.

Thought
The value of a man is about $1 in terms of trace elements. Thankfully God doesn’t value us in that way, He looks at us and sees the whole exciting story. Luke 12:6-7 (NIVUK) spells it out.
 
"Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one of them is forgotten by God. Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows."