Lessons from Advent: Part One

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Advent, Christmas preparations, God's plan - My pride, home building

I have long held the belief that we are put here on earth to learn to love each other as God loves us.  I also believe that in order to do so, we must look for God in each other.  So it stands to reason, in my mind at least, that each and every personal encounter with each other can bring us closer to God, if we let it.  If we are truly looking for God in each other, then it is not uncommon to recognize Him in our everyday conversations.

And so my beliefs and my attitude have been profoundly shaped recently through this process of building our house.  I have earnestly tried to keep this house just a wee bit “above the earth” – as evidenced by the truckloads of dirt underneath it.  (Just kidding…sort of.)  When we began, it was a project.  Something to do and dream about and plan.  Then we broke ground and it became something to watch grow.    We had waited sixteen years to build a house, while the dream floated somewhere in the back of our minds, waiting for the “perfect” timing.  Living any day on this earth should prove to all of us that there is no such thing as “perfect timing,” so we finally, cautiously moved forward.

As the frame went up, it became something to breathe God into.  I feared that all that waiting and planning and dreaming would crash down around me if I put too much faith in and emphasis on the building itself.  I had to keep my mind in the right place, my creative heart aimed at my own Creator, my hopes pinned to the promise that no matter what happens on this earth the next life is sweeter than I can possibly imagine.   I etched his Word into the frame and the foundation, praying constantly that this earthly home will always point me toward my eternal home.

And then the most amazing thing happened.  This gorgeous house developed before my eyes.  It’s far better than anything I could have planned on my own.  Dom keeps giving me the credit.  While I picked out fixtures and countertops and paint colors, I knew there was something more powerful at work here.  I knew we were being blessed.  And I knew we were first blessed with our builder.

Through five months of building this house, we have taken advice and guidance from our builder, Dominick.  We have weighed options and made decisions together.  We have dug holes, shopped, and painted together.  We have laughed and worried together.  We have talked each other down from the rafters when necessary.  He has sent me to Home Depot more times than I care to count.  (He’s going to read this at some point, and laugh at that!!)  In short, we trust him.  And I think he genuinely enjoys making our home beautiful, even if we do drive him insane.  😉

As Thanksgiving drew near I was admittedly disappointed to learn that we would not be ready to move in as I had hoped.  I had already made December plans for the house, and thought surely I’d be moving in amongst everyone enjoying Thanksgiving Dinner at my in-laws’ next door.  Plus, my quickly-dwindling vacation time at work could be paired with the long weekend and voila!  I’d have a whole week to move!  But alas…

The thought of waiting until sometime in December frayed my nerves and bashed my plans.  It took me more than a few moments to deal with it properly.  What about Christmas decorations?  What about Christmas parties?  What about the tree and the lights and the hot cocoa in front of the fireplace???  WHAT ABOUT MY HOLIDAAAAAAAYYYYYY????!!!

On a mostly subconscious level I have always known that this process really isn’t about me and Christmas lights.  In slowly and begrudgingly letting go of my Christmas plans, I began to see Advent in a new light.  This is our preparation and waiting period – we are waiting for something wonderful, something that fulfills a plan.  And yet, even as big a part of my world as building this house is right now, it is nothing compared to the real meaning of Advent. The preparation of our hearts to receive God’s grace is far more important than the preparation for a Christmas party.

I began to see a larger “God-moment” forming.  As I reflected on my feelings of impatience I saw several parallels: my desire to move things along at a quicker pace paired with situations and plans that I did not know or understand; my disappointment over letting go of my own timeline and letting someone else “drive;” my slow and steady realization that I do not control everything in my world – nor should I.

It all made sense when I just shut up and listened to my own advice: “trust the builder.” This process has gone smoothly for five months with my builder at the wheel.  Why should it be any different here at the end?  It wasn’t until I gave up my own selfish plans that the proverbial light bulb turned on. And then I saw it – the next parallel – the lesson I am to learn from all this and apply to my life in a much broader and more direct way…

Trust the builder.

How many times have I made my own plans and then “life” got in the way – the building of moments that we so often take for granted?  How many times has what I ended up with been so much more amazing than what I had originally planned for myself? How many times does my own Creator have to remind me to trust him?

Trust the builder.

Through my own building experience, God has used Dominick to show me that what is in store for me is so much greater than what I can imagine or what I can plan on my own.  Just as Dominick must take his time in making the house perfect for me and Dom, God takes His time in making us perfect for Him.  It gives me a sense of peace to see Him working on me through other people.  (And, admittedly, it’s a sort of permission to be so messed up.) Patience is crucial – and it comes relatively easy when we really let go and truly – once again – trust the builder.

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Worth His Weight in Gold

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builder, gas pipes, old homes, plumbing

Remember the new oven I showed off in 2011?  I was – and am still – so proud of that improvement.  We called a plumber to come to the house that spring and run a gas line to the wall behind the stove so I could finally experience the thrill of cooking with gas.  I-forget-how-many-hours and $600 later, we had an operable oven and gas burners.  I was on Cloud Freakin’ Nine.

When it came time for our home inspection this month as a step toward closing on the sale of our house, there were a few things we knew we could be cited for:  the sink stopper in the kids’ bathroom, or the cabinet door in the kitchen that sticks sometimes, or maybe the bathroom door that opens with a loud “POP!”  But our oven?  THAT was in pristine condition!  The inspector would surely admire its integrity and bow to its superiority! Shortly after the inspection I spoke with the closing agent who said there wasn’t much to be concerned over – something about a gas line at the stove, blah blah blah.

Excuse me???

An emailed copy of the report showed the inspector’s photos of the gas line behind my oven (he actually MOVED my oven out.  Wow.) and the opposite end of the gas line in my return air chase where it joins up to the gas line at the heater unit.  He cited that the wrong kind of gas line had been installed.  Au contraire, mon frère!!  THAT is a new-fangled flexi-pipe that they use now.  How old is this inspector?  Does he not avail himself of continuing education???  I had a ton of questions, as usual.  I decided all this misunderstanding could be cleared up by a simple phone call to the people who installed the line and they could certify their work and explain all about this flexible gas pipe.  I looked up their number and proceeded to dial.

I must pause here to state that I had previously sung this plumber’s highest praises and told everyone how incredibly awesome this company is and if they ever need a plumber for anything, CALL THEM.  Except I discovered that now you CAN’T call them because they are OUT OF BUSINESS!!!!!!!  Gone.  No more.  Zippo.  Outta here.

Can you believe that crap?!!!!!!!

I didn’t know where to turn – I mean, really…look at my track record.  I wasn’t exactly certain of my ability to pull a reputable name out of a hat.  Here I was, convinced that I was dealing with an inspector who didn’t know his gas lines and a plumber who had gone out of business.  So I did the only thing I knew to do.  I asked my builder.

“Hey, Dominick, I need a plumber.  Can you give me a good recommendation?  Check out this inspection report…”

Dominick looked at the report and we both agreed that the inspector didn’t know his gas lines, but true, Dominick informed me that they should have never run my line through the return air chase.  In the world of builders and plumbing experts, that’s just a big ol’ no-no.

In the world of Lori, that hadn’t even garnered a raised eyebrow.  What do I know about building code and gas lines and return air chases?  OK, so now what?  My builder offered, “Let me call the guy who’s doing the plumbing on your new house.  We’ll work something out.”

And then he came over to help Dom get everything ready for the plumbers to work in order to save us money on the time & labor charges.

Promptly at 7:30 on Wednesday morning two gentlemen showed up at my door ready to see what evil lurked within my walls.  I showed them to the return chase, where they examined, scratched their chins, glanced at each other and grumbled.  I took that to mean they weren’t sure what to do, so I chimed in (rather uncharacteristically, I might add.  I’m a listener, not a talker.)

“My builder who put me in touch with you guys said you would cut this line here, put a joint here and another joint here, encase the yellow pipe with hard metal to seal it off from the return and be done.  Does that sound do-able?”  I gave a weak smile.

“We have to make a phone call, ma’am.” And they excused themselves from my home.  I went back to making my coffee, only to discover I was out of milk.  :-{   I don’t do plain coffee.  Starbucks, take me away…

About this time, my Father-in-law walked in to continue working on the wall behind the stove, where he and Dom had spent the entire previous evening.  I offered him a cup of coffee and while I poured, he explained to me that the plumbers were outside waiting for Dominic.

“Oh, Dom’s not coming home for this.  He’s tied up at work; that’s why I’m here.  What do they need?”  I hated for them to waste time waiting on my husband when I was the best they were gonna get, sorry to say.

Dad explained, “No…your builder, Dominick.  They called him and he’s on his way.”

From his home thirty minutes northeast of mine, my builder was driving over to help the plumbers do the right thing in the house I am selling.  Oh. My. Gosh.

And, sure enough, the minute he got here I knew everything would be okay.  He went up and down the stairs with the two plumbers, they talked shop and threw terms around that I’ll never understand in a million years.  Sometimes while the guys were working on the gas line, Dominick would be in the kitchen with me talking about the new house.  Then I followed him out to his vehicle for the file on my new house, and we all five ended up in the driveway talking about this ill-fated gas line.

It was at this point that all the cosmic forces convened to kick me square between the eyes.  Dominick explained to me that the inspector had been dead right.  The plumbers I used last year HAD INDEED used the wrong kind of gas line.  He showed me the cut end of the tube, what looked like flexible yellow PVC pipe.

“See,” he explained, “the yellow flex pipe that is used in homes has a metal lining.  This doesn’t.  This line is only to be used outdoors and buried in the ground.  It is never permitted to be used within the walls of a home.  If you were to come along and remodel this kitchen, you could accidentally put a screw or nail through this line because it’s the wrong kind of line.  A mistake like that could be fatal.”

My head started to spin.  “They used the wrong line?!!?…”

“Yes, they did.  These guys can’t certify this line in your wall.”

I thought I would lose my mind.  “Oh, Dominick! I have to have it certified.  That’s what the buyer wants.  I can’t go blowing him up!!!!”

“No, you can’t.”

I resisted the urge to curse out loud, swallowed hard and accepted that the whole thing had to be redone. What were we looking at?  $600 more?  Double that??  “It’s only money, right?” I asked grimly.  It is at this point, anyway.  Money is nothing compared to safety.

Dominick looked at me and I knew he wished the situation were different.  “It’s the right thing to do,” he said.  “I hate this for you, but it’s the only way to not cause problems later. You don’t want this coming back on you.”

And so, together, we gave the go-ahead to rip out the entire line and replace it with line that is up to code and certifiable.  And safe.  Later, while the guys were still working I commented, “Well, I guess we know now why the other company is out of business.”  Dominick just shook his head.

I cannot imagine having another builder who would spend his entire morning helping out to make a situation right when he had no part in creating the problem, and nothing to gain by fixing it.  But my builder did.  My builder drove thirty minutes one way to stand by my side and see me through an overwhelming situation.  And he didn’t just do it for me and Dom – I believe he would do it for anyone that he knows, anywhere.  He’s just that kind of man.

And the even more overwhelming part: I received a bill last week – yes, after the house sale had already fallen through – for the replacement of the gas pipe.  Three tiny digits is all it was.  That bill could have been – should have been – easily triple what they were asking me to pay.  I am well aware that the invoice total didn’t come close to covering the four hours of employee labor – it was even less than I paid for the original installation of the wrong pipe!   I wanted to cry with relief…and extreme gratitude!  I knew Dominick had selflessly, professionally, and generously worked his magic once again.

Last fall, when Dom and I decided to build a new home, I worried that our lack of experience in the process would make us easy targets for any less-than-ethical people in the home-building industry.  So I prayed that God would direct us to the right people – people we could trust and feel good about hiring.  I have been reassured all along the way that Dominick is one of the Good Guys, one of the best.  I hope I get the chance some day to tell one of his new clients how genuinely wonderful he is as a builder and a friend, and how he was (unbeknownst to him) the answer to my prayer.

Blessed

Tags

blessings, builder, new home, priest

As I explained to my builder, I’m that crazy lady who finds symbolism in everything and prays for all good through all processes. And blessings. I pray for blessings. Like, All. The. Time. So it made perfect sense in my mind that when the time came to build our house, I would have the property first blessed, and ask for a special blessing on my builder and all the people who will work on my house.

(I can also get really carried away with things. I haven’t yet on this project, but give me time.)

The way I see it, we are blessed to be able to build. We are blessed to be healthy and surrounded by family. We are blessed with peace. It’s only right to want that for everyone else.

So I called the priest who married me and Dom. It has been our custom over the years to include Father David in all the beginnings of our lives. He catechized me, confirmed me, married us, blessed our first home, and baptized our first child. I hoped he wouldn’t think I was crazy for wanting him to bless a patch of grass. He graciously agreed to what amounted for him to be a two-hour drive and an overnight stay at the Catholic Center.

Then I called my builder and shared the idea with him, asking that he come to our lot on Wednesday for a blessing on him and all the workers he would represent. He sweetly agreed.

And so it was that at promptly 6:30 last night we all gathered at my in-laws’ house, traipsed next door, and prayed for God’s blessing on all those who will come and go at this address, on the home that will soon stand, on the plans that direct how it is to be constructed, on the builder himself and on all those who will work to make this home a reality.

Now we can really “dig in.”

A Man By Any Other Name…

So, yeah, our builder has the same name as my husband, which has made for some verrrrrry interesting conversations lately. Everyone calls my husband “Dom,” which is fine for everyone else, but I have always called him Dominic. Until now. Now I am having to call him Dom in order to identify him separately from Dominick, our builder. And people are having to get used to me meaning the builder when I now say “Dominick.” Maybe I’ll start identifying the builder by “Dominick with a ‘K.’” Clear as mud, don’t ya think?

Anyhoo, I am greatly impressed by the builder Dominick, and wouldn’t trade him for any other builder with any other name. When we were shopping for the various items with which to build our house, every single sales person that we spoke with looked us directly in the eye and said something along the lines of, “You are lucky to have him on your side!” or, “Dominick will fight for you on everything! You’ll be really glad to have him as your builder.” He is so highly regarded by the people with whom he does business that I have been reassured at every step that we have a great builder.

Besides, the only other Dominic I know is a hell of a stand-up guy. Must be something about the name. 😉