Being Stripped.

It feels like forever that I’ve been working on the original wood trim in my daughter’s 1913 fixer-upper she bought. In reality, it’s only been a year and a half.
She saw the potential of this run-down, junk-filled house long before I could. At first sight, I cringed at the amount of work needed to be done to make it livable. During my first walk-through, I could only focus on the fact that there were some rooms you couldn’t even enter due to shoulder-height piles of clothes, empty food containers, and who-knows-what. She is braver than I am sometimes.
After filling up three roll-off dumpsters, we began tackling the next step in this transformation project. While my husband and daughter tackled redoing the knob and tube wiring, I eagerly jumped at the chance to restore the hidden beauty of the tall baseboards, elegant window trim, and decorative crown molding. At first, I tried several kinds of paint-stripping goo. What a mess! I then attempted peeling off some of the 7 layers of paint with a heat gun and a putty knife. Next, I tried a variety of different paint scrapers. Rarely did the paint and wood cooperate with me. Far and few between were the times you could audibly hear me cheer when inches of historic layers would peel off at one attempt.
Finally, the wood is ready for the next step in the restoration project. It is stripped bare, clean of what was not once a tree. Now I can imagine how it looked when it was fresh and new to the home, some one hundred plus years ago, when the original builder created the home. Now, it is ready for new life with my daughter and her housemates.

I am also being stripped bare.

First, I was stripped of my time. A year and a half ago, when my dad began hospice care in his home, I gave of my time to help care for him. I used up all my vacation time at work. Many weekends, my siblings and I took turns being the caregivers, foregoing social gatherings, extra commitments, and family time.
Then, it became clear it was time to let go of a ministry I loved that I had been part of for 24 years, Bible Study Fellowship. No longer would I be a teaching leader in a work that brought me joy.
Next, my dad died. No more would I have my own parents to call, visit, ask questions of, or remember what happened long ago when my own memory was too young to recall details.
After this, it became clear to us that it was time for my husband to soon finish his time at another ministry I love, Camp Roger. 32 summers of my life have been spent there, taking part in and being witness to a powerful work Jesus does in the lives of staff and campers.
Soon (relatively speaking), my siblings and I will let go of my childhood home–the place I could and have always gone back to see family. For 52 years, I have called it a form of home. Not long from now, it won’t be.

“What is God up to?” I wonder. “Why is He stripping me of long-time loves, ministries, places, and work? What is He getting Doug and me ready for?”
I admit, the stripping away has not been pain-free. I have grieved. I am still grieving. If 1,000 tears are needed to fall to grieve the things we love, I am well on my way through the process. Being stripped is messy, difficult work, but I know there is beauty on the other side. I trust God with this process, even if I don’t like it much of the time. “He who began a good work in me WILL carry it to completion,” I remind myself (and Philippians 1:6 promises).

In the meantime, I wonder what new life God is readying me for. What new life does he have for me?