plumbing is of the devil

okay, this is one of the more random entries I've ever written, but stay with me. For in spite of some stream of consciousness, and excessive prose, all will be made clear as you step into my story, my life this one morning.

You see, it all started last night. Last night. The night before Tile Glazer man came over. For several days I've been re-grouting the upstairs bathroom wall tile. Yesterday I finished, and then jumped into pulling out all of the caulk around the tub. Sarah shared in the decaulkification, which made it go all the quicker (thanks, honey). Then we had to part ways. She, to take the kids to Talent Show rehearsal (a must-do for anyone with a yearning for the psychotic), and I, to clean up said decaulkification, and then go to a 4 year old's birthday party (hey, it's free pizza).

After we all got home (Sarah did eventually get out of the rehearsal, and bring our kids over to catch the last moments of said party), we worked on getting the kids to bed, and taking out the water tank for the toidy, and removing the sink and vanity (this last piece had only been installed last year, with the help of my friend, Mike, who saved Sarah and me boatloads of cash on marital counseling). Of course what I didn't realize until we were face to face with the sink and vanity was that we had to shut off the water the old fashioned way - no, this particular sink (and the tub in the same bathroom) does not have its own happy little shut off valve. This was Plumbing disaster waiting to happen.

It all began after we had finished removing everything that needed removing. Sarah decided to gerry-rig a rubegoldberg "cap" for the "hot" line and the "cold" line. I was ... skeptical. But she had me turn the water on, and beyond dripping a little, she felt confident it would hold long enough in the morning so as to allow the kiddies and me to use the facilities like normal Americans. Aaahhhhhh, if only.

The next morning, after sleeping like crapola, and waking up with a head-ache, I turned on the water and roused the girls to use the basement bathroom with all speed and alacrity. They did so. My son, however, refused to get out of bed due to a case of not wanting to get out of bed. As I was coming up the steps to check on his condition (remember, timing is everything), I came within sight of the girls standing in the bathroom, and then it happened. A sudden explosion as the hot water made short work of Sarah's gerry-rigged rubegoldberg "cap" (please notice that for the second time, I've put cap in quotation marks). The contraption shot off into space, bouncing off the ceiling and landing in the tub. But that was nothing compared to the angry tsunami like pressure of the hot water spraying like Old Faithful on steroids all over the bathroom. I screamed at the girls to grab the towel that was on the floor, and throw it over the hot water line so as to at least keep it from spraying all over creation (which at this point was seemingly as big as our upstairs bathroom). In the time that it took for me to run like Steve Austin down to the basement, turn off the water line into the house, and back again, I was huffing and puffing, feeling not-so-conciliar feelings toward the love of my life. But the damage was done. I asked the kids to call their mother and tell her she should never think of going into business as a plumber.

Oh my goodness. There was water all over the bathroom floor. There was so much water on the floor I pulled almost every freakin' towel off the bathroom closet shower towel shelf, and threw them on the floor. A Zamboni would've been nice about then. Or a power vac. But I had neither, so the ten towels had to serve the purpose. After sopping up all of the water, I realized there was no such thing as an effective gerry-rigged rubegoldberg for this particular situation. I'm not sure Sarah has come to the same conclusion, however. But I had a solution all figured out.

As I envisioned it, I would drop the girls off at school, and stop at Mapes (yeah to the almighty Mapes hardware store extraordinaire), and pick up some sort of water line cap for each of the lines before dropping my son at his school. Simple plan, oui? Not so. Why, you ask dear reader? Because plumbing is of the devil.

I went into Mapes all confident that I knew what I needed. I just needed to be pointed in the right direction. And there, lo and behold, in the plumbing aisle was Frank, though I must admit I didn't take the time to look at his name badge - I was too self-important and in a hurry (after all, Tile Glazer man was coming any moment). Frank showed me what I was looking for. I had, after-all, measured out the openings on the water lines before I left (this should have been my first warning), and figured they were about half an inch. Why I didn't take Frank home with me is beyond me. But I got home and just as I got to the top of the stairs to try on said caps, Tile Glazer man arrived. After greeting him and making him feel at home, I knelt down to try the half inch caps.

Should I have been surprised when they didn't fit? After all, it had only been an hour and a half earlier that I had experienced my own little version of the Titanic. How I could have even begun to believe that this was going to end as nicely as one of Laura Ingalls Wilder's "Little House" books? Well, after a little gasp of disbelief, I told Tile Glazer man I was off to the Mapes to exchange the half inch galvinized cap for more obvious solution of the quarter inch sized cap. Tile Glazer man is laid back if he's nothing else; which, in that moment of frustration, I appreciated. He must be from California, or some place like that. He was cool with my plan in process.

I went to Mapes, exchanged my half inch caps for quarter inch caps, and with the kindness of Cookie the Mapes register operator, confidently headed home to both encourage and impress Tile Glazer man that I was not a complete plumbing idiot. Hhhmmmmm. But as I tried to fit the quarter inch galvinized cap onto the hot water line, I realized, to quote Jesus, "This kind cannot be driven out by anything but prayer." I ... thought I had prayed, but perhaps not enough, not long enough even. Perhaps this one one could only be attached with much prayer and fasting. Well, I was hungry, but I didn't eat, just in case I was onto something. And then I informed Tile Glazer man that I was headed over to Mapes AGAIN. Again, Tile Glazer man was appreciative of personally knowing my schedule, and promised that this would not hold him up as he prepped the tiles and tub for his re-glazing voodoo magic.

When Cookie the Mapes register operator saw me the third time she gave me the look. Because minors may read this entry, I shall not go into detail if you don't know what I mean by "the look". But needless to say, I exchanged the quarter inch caps for the three-eighths inch caps. After-all, if they weren't quarter inch galvinized caps, they must be three-eighths inch galvinized caps. Once again confidence was brimming from me like the sun on a spring morning. Cookie didn't look so confident. I explained to her that the third time's the charm. She noted back to me that three strikes and your out. Thanks, Cookie. Thanks, a lot.

Three-eighths inch caps must be the solution. Must be. But as I tried to screw the first one on to the hot water line, my face must have possessed a look of incredulousness. Tile Glazer man was, however, very understanding and not at all plussed (unlike me). I told him I was about to call a plumber; either that, or an arsonist. I was near tears. Why does God do this to me, I asked myself as I haggardly walked out to my minivan for yet my fourth trip to Mapes Hardware that morning (within an hour, I think). I was afraid to look Cookie the Mapes register operator in the face one more time. But I did.

When she saw me come in there was dead silence. Kind of like that moment before a gun fight in one of Zefferelli's spaghetti westerns, where Lee Van Cleef and Clint Eastwood are about to have their show down. But unlike that scenario, I asked Cookie for help; "who do I talk to?", asked I. She said, go talk to Frank or Mike. So I walked down the main aisle, looking down the side aisles for anyone who looked like they had more sense than the poor guy who mixes paint for Mapes - a nice guy, but someone who probably knows less about plumbing than I do. I found Frank, the guy who helped me the first time find the half inch galvinized caps, who, by the way, I didn't know was Frank. But when I saw him, I said, "excuse me", and he turned, I saw his name tag said, "Frank", and I felt the first moment of peace I'd been yearning for all this morning.

Frank recognized me from my first sortie into plumbing hell. I told him my story, my drama, my pain. I described for Frank why, despite my prayers and best efforts, nothing but a growing sense of hatred for plumbing was developing in me. He understood. Frank must've been a plumber, but had the good sense to get out of it and get into selling stuff to amatuer and novice plumbing idiots like myself. In the least, he could make some money, and get a laugh out of such stories as I had shared with him. I should have talked to Frank at the beginning. I should have asked Frank if I could buy him lunch if he would go home with me after my first visit, so he could look at my water lines and diagnose the cure immediately. But I didn't, so Frank and I had our chat on my fourth visit to Mapes hardware; a very nice and helpful place, I might say.

Well, to make a long story just a little longer, Frank figured that I must have an entirely different beast by the horns than one that takes a galvinized cap; a beast most of you call plumbing - I now call it, Satan. He called it a "compression" fitting. And he found a compression cap, and showed it to me. When I saw how thin the rings were, I realized I had been the victim of plumbing hell all morning. Frank then detoured our conversation so as to give me a lecture on why every source of H2O should have its own shut off valve (I appreciated Frank's help on the compression valve, but wasn't too interested in the how-to's of doing the shut-off valves myself). I asked Frank to pull me down the half inch and the three-eighths inch compression caps - at least thinking that if one didn't fit, maybe the other would, reducing my chances of showing up for Cookie's glare and Frank's next lecture. Cookie was, how should we say, delighted to see me again, but for some reason she let Carol, the other Mapes register operator on duty that morning handle my latest return and purchase.

Cookie told me that she didn't want to see me in Mapes for at least another hour. I told her ... well, I told her if this didn't work I was going to call a plumber and a psychologist. I headed home, praying. Asking God why He put me through all of this. I figured it was because I needed to talk to Frank, and maybe the first conversation I had with Frank, whom I didn't know was Frank at the time, was not long enough. But I got back home, and found Tile Glazer man hard at work, pouring some noxious cleaning liquid here and there to help clean the tile surfaces so his tile re-glazing voodoo magic would work even better. At this point, even he was curious to see if my fourth trip would lead to some positive fruition or some sort of psychic break on my part.

My hand reached into the bag, pulling out the three-eighths inch compression cap. I felt good about that, opened it, and VOILA!!! It took. It grabbed. Houston, we no longer have a problem!!! I took out the second one, and, woo hoo, it wasn't a fluke! The second three-eighths inch compression cap was an equal success. God bless, Frank! At this point, I turned to Tile Glazer man. He shared in my happiness and joy, if only for a moment. I then said something to him that I realize in retrospect might have both frightened him and made him question the wisdom of his coming to my home on this particular sunny spring day. I said to Tile Glazer man, "Do you know how to scream really loud?" He looked at me, and answered me with the obvious question, "why?". I had wanted to say, "because I'm going to kill you now." But I didn't think he'd find that as funny as I would. But I relieved his growing apprehension when I told him that I was going to run down to the basement like Steve Austin and turn on the water into the rest of the house. If the three-eighths inch compression caps didn't do the job, he was to scream loudly so as to allow me to hear of said disaster in the making, and hopefully shut off the water before Tile Glazer man had his own Titanic experience.

The long and the short of it is that I turned on the water, heard no screaming from Tile Glazer man, and after waiting momentarily for any time delay satellite problems between the second floor and the basement, I ran upstairs, again, Steve Austin-style, and found to my ongoing delight, the three-eighths inch compression caps were doing the job, just like Frank said they would.

This blog posting is a result of the phone conversation I had with Sarah, my dearly beloved bride o' my youth, whose belly-ripping laughter at the description of my morning with Tile Glazer man, Cookie, and Frank encouraged me as worth putting down in this blog. I hope you feel that this entirely elongated story of my plumbing hell was worth your time. It was not worth mine.

Let me know what you think.

the in-between

just a short muse on where we are in life.

we are in "the in-between". this is the time between when one gets "word" and when the "word" is consumated in reality.

it is one of those realities where the joys and struggles of faith ebb and flow. it is what it is. it is where faith is proven to be faith, and not just novelty or sentiment.

it is where we are right now. having been accepted to Trinity, having visited out there, knowing now that Trinity is where we are called, and having said yes to their offer - now we are in "the in-between".

now we wait. we prep the house. the dearest wife and best friend looks for a new job. and we wait. all in faith. and we pray. because that's what "the in-between" is for. it is to cultivate in us a trust and hope in the One who calls us to travel through "the in-between" in order to get to where He wants us.

so we wait in "the in-between". and we hope and we pray and we trust and we have faith in Him. even while we wait in "the in-between".

The Future

The last time I wrote was Trinity's Decision Day. I prayerfully went through that day, and wondered what would happen regarding my application. Of course, I was also in thought regarding the upcoming weekend, because I had registered for Trinity's 'Taste of Trinity' open-house, and didn't want to show up and then find out I wasn't accepted - "awkward" redefined.

I emailed my Admissions Counselor the next day, asking if he could let me know due to the above mentioned issue. He called me after noon, and told me I got in. I got in! I was estatic. I cried. I praised God! I was so excited. Then my family and I went out to Trinity - even with three stops for gas and/or food, it only took us 15 hours - and I saw this place I had applied to.

I'm still processing it, I think. But I came away not knowing. I came away not underwhelmed, but not as excited as I was when I first heard word. Maybe it was because the open-house was aimed at MDiv and MA students, and not at PhD applicants. Maybe it was because the sky was grey and overcast the entire time we were there. I don't know. But I left Trinity with a good deal of 'hhhmmmmmm'. Maybe I was still hoping to hear from and get accepted to Durham; that somehow, they would award me a doctoral fellowship, and that all of that would be enough for my family and I to get along, and we would live in jolly ole England for three years, and I would have a grand time, and get a great teaching position somewhere exciting, and... and...

But I didn't get into Durham's PhD program - an email awaited me when I got home telling me I was not accepted, though they threw me the bone of being offered a position in their MA program, which could (COULD) lead to acceptance in their PhD program - and so I was very disappointed. That left me with disappointment (Durham), and feeling uncertain (Trinity).

So the future seems as grey as the sky outside today. And yet, I'm going to decide for Trinity, because in the end, I was accepted. I prayed about it when I applied there. I was excited at the chance to study under Kevin Vanhoozer - I still am (perhaps more on that later - but suffice it to say that meeting and talking with Dr. Vanhoozer was easily the highlight of my visit). And I think that in the end, it is the road that God is calling me to go down for this part of my journey.

I think that God is using this crossroads to confront me with the different person I am now. I am settled - perhaps to much so - for I not only have a wonderful wife, but three growing, healthy kids (who love the Lord), and a mortgage on a house I really like when it comes down to it. I am also scared, for I fear failure - perhaps even more so than I used to - and this is the big league, so failure could well spell the end. But God is confronting me with faith, hope, and love. Am I His disciple/follower? Do I have faith in Him? Is He my hope? Do I love Him? Do I trust He loves me? Yes to each question; though not at all to the depth that I think I should.

In the end, I have to go, because God is calling me. I have to go because I tell other people, other Christians, that God is as good as He says He is. And in the end, I am not a hypocrite. God has called me, and I have a part to play in the working out of His Kingdom. Who knows maybe twenty years from now, I will get to teach a student who will go on to do great and wonderful things for God's name. Then again, maybe I will just be faithful, teaching all of my students with great faith and wonder, and just being faithful to that call is all that God wants of me.

In the end, that's my future. To be faithful. May He find me so.

what do you think?

Decision Day at Trinity

well, if you happen to be passing by and reading this, please join me in prayer. today, Wednesday, March 12 is the day that the admissions committee is meeting to decide to whom to extend an invitation for Ph.D. study at Trinity Evangelical Divinity School.

I actually feel some peace. I've done all I can do - send in all the application stuff - so since Jan. 15th, it's been 'hurry up and wait'. my biggest request is actually not that they would say, 'yes' to me, but rather, and more importantly, that the Lord's will would be done. if they say, 'yes', I want to be able to respond confidently.

thanks for praying. I appreciate it. God's blessings to you today, too.

yg first

well, this past Saturday marked a first for the young men and women who were counted as my first youth at Narberth Presbyterian Church. Matt Weed, the son of the pastor, was married to Linshuang Lin in a ceremony officiated by his dad. it was perhaps more emotional for his dad than himself, but Matt seemed to take it all in stride.

it was a nice reception held afterward. the couple had requested that in lieu of gifts, guests bring some finger food tray to share, seeking to somehow make it a truly community effort and event.

for me personally, it was fun to see several former students, some for the first time in years. it was crazy to realize that I was Matt's current age (25) when Sarah and I were married. I ask myself, did I look so young, or try to come across as confident and wise as he does? simply amazing the work that time does to us.

as it should be, the wedding was a beautiful testimony to what God does in our lives. it was an opportunity for me to reflect on my own vows, my own hopes for my marriage (Sarah may have thought the same, but we didn't have much time to reflect together). our own wedding anniversary is just a little over a month away, when, on April 8, we will celebrate 14 years of almost wedded bliss. when I think about her, and the ways that God has used her to soften me, mold me, and grow me, I am so thankful that He brought her into my life.

my hope is that Linshuang will do the same for Matt, and that he will cherish and honor her all the days of his life. in the end, we must all realize and remember that we are only apt to do any of this with God's help. And God is good this way. He wants us to succeed; He wants us to walk in His ways, living to His glory.

the next yg weddings are Phil Adams and Margot Lesch, and around the same time, perhaps, Shannon Hoops. these are wonderful times for these, my friends and former students. and this is all to God's glory.