December 17 – “Mail”

I went to the house by myself today.  Chris and Mom had a Wednesday Club Christmas party somewhere in Santa Fe.  Before I left Nathan gave me a pretty good idea for shoveling insulation.  Since it's so light, he suggested I shove it onto a big tarp, then drag the tarp out to the street and dump it.  Sounded worth a try, but the try never got tried.  I forgot that we were using the tarps to cover up the stuff in the back yard.  And it was supposed to rain off and on today.  Back to Plan A – the trusty shovel and wheelbarrow.    As I dug in and began the tedious repetition – scoop it up, drop it in, scoop it up, drop it in, wheel it away, dump it out – I went into that mode where your body keeps on moving, but your mind stops paying attention.  Happened to me all the time in school.  This time I got to thinking about the mail.  When would it get here?  Would it be our regular mailman?  I hope it comes while I'm here.  I don't want to miss it.  I was getting obsessive about the mail.   Now, I know part of today's concern had to do with the fact that we are still waiting for our flood insurance check to come.  That will mean we really can begin building – and actually pay for some of it.  But there was something else, too.   The mail was coming – to our house.  To our dilapidated, messed up, storm-ravaged, nobody's at home, empty house.  To this place with what look to me like new cracks in the front porch from the roots of that big whatever-it-is tree.  It looks to me like we'll have to cut it down – one more thing to add to our never-ending demo list.  Maybe it hasn't affected the foundation.  Maybe I'll get to buy a chain saw.   But the house.  Our house.  It is receiving mail.  That speaks hope, doesn't it?  I think maybe it's not that I'm a little obsessive about the mail.  Maybe instead I'm more than a little obsessive about hope.  When I was in college a friend of mine was in a band called "The Blessed Hope."  My favorite song they sang had a line that went, "I'm just an old happy, Hippy Holy Roller, praising the Lord my God."  Hey, it was the 70's.  We were hippies - just really young ones.   Titus 2:13 says that "we wait for the blessed hope — the glorious appearing of our great God and Savior, Jesus Christ."   Father, hope sometimes gets a bad rap, what with it playing second banana to love there in 1 Corinthians and all.  But thank you for hope.  I need it more and more.  Amen.