Amanda Hopper Writes

A writer's tale of living and working in the country.

Brickwall

I am a recovering control freak. Granted, my road to recovery was not voluntary, it was sort of an intervention by my husband. I am now allowed to be around calendars and planners, it’s rare that Andy has to pry the labeler from my white-knuckled fingers.
I have seasons where I don’t find it very difficult to control my need for control. This particular season of my life is more like the scene from “What about Bob”. I want to scream at the top of my lungs, “I’m doin the work, I’m baby steppin!”.
Building a house is bad idea for control freaks. Baaaad idea. Things are always either moving too fast or too slow. Never at the correct speed that I would move them, were I in charge. And then there’s always everyday-life, having the audacity to not submit change requests to the schedule 24 hours in advance…
On the days that my cell phone is inundated with brain melting calls and I find my self unconsciously hyperventilating, I take the time to physically unclench my fists and pray for peace. The one thing that will bring my careful composure to ruins in an instant? The fact that my cows are not in my pasture.
I know it’s a pride issue.  I cannot stand that my well laid plans have been thwarted by my future dinner.
So driving in to the farm tonight, and spotting all four russet beauties in my field made me giddy. Then God sent the rain. Not a welcome drizzle to cool the breeze, but a torrential downpour and lighting strikes so close they left your arm hairs sizzling. Don’t tell me it was a coincidence that heaven broke open right when we could have patched the open fence and trapped the cows. God knows me. I have given Him control of my life and sometimes it comes back to bite me in the…well you know the saying. I know He’s right. I need to let go. So while scowling at the clouds and feeling Him chuckle at my stubbornness, I gave up.
I cannot control the weather, the cows, the delivery of wood, the painting of the walls, or my husband. I’m tired of playing tug-o-war with God…. I’m just gonna end up tired and covered in mud…again.
Surprises are… great. I’m learning to love them. Pulling up to see the brick-work on the house taking shape, the cows in the pasture, my crazy husband and his beautiful spontaneity, a random hug from one of the boys, or a rainbow stretching over the house as I drive home for the night. Surprises are good…the schedule shows I have time for one Friday at 11am….

Brick pillars at back of house.

Andy’s office moulding.

Door mouldings.

1 Comment

  1. Oh sister, I feel your pain. At Women of Faith this weekend, Sheila Walsh talked about how God was helping her realize that all the unexpected detours were God's way of showing her that HE has plans of HIS own that are so much BETTER than our's. Here's hoping I can let go and trust that His plans for me are so much better than mine!

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.

*


× 3 = three