Phil the Fridge

About a month ago, I decided to undertake a low-scale kitchen renovation. I figured it'd be about $500-1,000. Three weeks and countless hours later, I'm at more than double that budget and am nowhere near completion. Anyone who owns a home knows that's typically how it goes. Yet we still dive headlong into projects every time with the same illogical optimism and then are shocked when our entire world flips like Dorothy over the rainbow.

Despite the chaos and frustrations and setbacks, I've had my eyes opened to a few things. I'll share just one of them here. It has to do with my fridge, whom I'll refer to as Phil.

Phil's whole world is the kitchen. And it's a consistent one, with invariably the same view, people, routines, purposes, etc. But then out of the blue, one day I waltz in and prime over the yellow walls. Now it's ugly. I'm sure he wondered what could have possibly compelled me to walk into a space that was perfectly fine and disrupt the peace?

Then I painted my walls green, which is when I discovered how badly that particular shade clashed with my gungy old brown cabinets. Poor Phil had to be so confused. This is the "improvement"? How is this better?

Oh Phil, it gets worse! Next up was blue painter's tape. The window sills, trim, and railings were primed and eventually painted white, further highlighting the unsightliness of the rest of the room.

Let's sprinkle in the demolition and removal of the chimney, just for kicks.

After that, every door on every dingy cabinet was removed, exposing mismatched dishes, spices, pantry items and other dishevelment previous hidden. And if that wasn't enough, out came the hand sander to make things even weirder-looking and dustier!

Then I bought a cabinet that doesn't even match anything. To top it off, I switched the location of a current cabinet, which damaged it AND left a hole in the floor, beautifully spotlighting the 1969 avocado green laminate underneath.

Phil's world has effectively been dismantled. It is undoubtedly worse: chaotic and messy and broken. The changes are slow moving (it's SO slow, y'all). And the worst part is, Phil had no say in it and no power over it. Why would she do this? How could this be "good"?

But what he doesn't know is that I have plans. I know the cabinets will be restored and the green will be complimentary to them. I know it will all tie in with fresh counter tops and back splash. I know we busted out that cabinet to make space for *drum roll please* a dishwasher! I know there is life and newness and beauty that I am orchestrating and piecing together.

But right now, Phil is stuck right where he's at. No perspective. No ability to understand my plan.

I think about Phil's woes and consider times in my life that God has seemingly pulled the rug out from under my feet-- primed my walls or taken a crowbar and sledgehammer to my chimney. When there's dust everywhere. When all I see is hopeless ruin. When there's not a thing I can do to change it.

He's a creator, an author, an orchestrator, and. . . a carpenter. He measures what He builds into my life. He knows what is good.

Hang in there Phil. And Laura. And all my struggling or suffering brothers and sisters out there. Keep hoping and believing and standing in the mess. He's in there with you. But you know what? He's not standing still; He's making all things new.