This spring my husband told my parents that he would have their room and connecting bathroom finished before the end of the summer, just in time for their fall visit.
You see, when the house was built we had the lower level completed so that we would have more space for the children to just be kids and hang out.
The only portion that was not finished was the soon-to-be-extra sleeping room and adjoining bathroom. He also decided that he wanted a movie room, but that has taken a back burner.
My only request was that he not do the work himself.
I could not live through anymore “home improvement” moments. I’m talking about the ones where he had bloody hands from nails that did not quite make it to the wall, but made a direct hit on his thumb.
No more of that. So, this time he hired a professional.
Well, he called an old friend from Chicago who owns his own construction company and asked him to do the job.
The friend told him he could get it done in three days, and he would bring his adult son along with him to make that possible.
They arrived on a Saturday and got started right away. Started talking, that is. My husband and his friend talked about the glory days of their college football for about three hours.
Then they decided to get to work. They took the equipment down to the lower level and laid out their work mats.
Two hours later I found the friend and my husband looking at an old video of one of their football games from over 15 years ago. I knew I was in for a long three days.
The friend worked some and talked more. He ate good and slept even better. By the end of day three, there was hardly a dent in the project.
By day seven I was anxiously requesting my husband to speed them up. Get them going and heading back to Chicago.
My husband even picked up a hammer and pleaded to be of assistance. They refused his offer, saying they were almost done.
Daily, the friend complimented me on my desserts, meals and hospitality. I was flattered, but by day 10 I was feeling annoyed. I stopped cooking!
By day 11, my patience had run thin. I had company coming in three days, and there was still wet paint on my half-painted walls. “I thought this was going to take only three days,” I petitioned to my husband.
Finally, on the night of day 11, the friend told us how at peace he felt here and how he had not had a vacation in many years. He said how he really felt at home and needed the rest and refueling that being here allowed. He confessed that he had prolonged his stay on purpose.
At that moment I felt a sense of sadness. Here I was anxious for this man to get out – out! – out! – and he really needed to stay, stay, stay.
This man has nine children to support. He started his business from scratch when he was barely out of college. He was worn out, and we were the ones assigned to help him, give him rest and allow him time to recuperate mentally.
We all need that sometime, don’t we?
Well, on day 12 he did leave – at almost midnight, but he did leave. But instead of feeling angry, I felt relieved that he was returning to Chicago with a fresh new attitude, although ten pounds heavier.
Sometimes you never know what a little hospitality can do for a weary soul in need.
Thanks for sharing.