Nehemiah 2

I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but appliances don’t last forever. Well, unless it’s a vintage dryer passed down from your great grandmother. I’m speaking from experience. Early in our marriage, my husband and I were the grateful recipients of Grammy Rebstock’s old brown dryer. It was an absolute dinosaur, but I have yet to find a dryer that makes my jeans as soft. The door latch broke on it, but instead of buying a new dryer, my thrifty husband added a little bolt to it so the door would stay closed while each load tumbled. When we moved, the dryer stayed behind. Last I heard, it was still drying jeans perfectly. They don’t make them like they used to.

But in general, one can’t expect to find a perfect appliance that lasts for decades. They break. They’re built to break. Between the two of us, my husband and I have replaced the heating element in my oven, the drain hose on a dishwasher, the belt on a washing machine, and the lightbulbs (repeatedly) in multiple refrigerators, microwaves, and ovens. The companies that create the appliances also make replacement parts. It’s how they guarantee customer value over the lifetime of the appliance. And then, of course, there’s the final straw, when the appliance is not fixable. Time for an upgrade! To the tune of $1,999 (for a new Samsung dryer) or more.

I’m struck by the fact that replacing a line of wire on two poles in your backyard costs less than $20, and washing dishes by hand saves money and gives you time to think about your day. Plus, the household often will leave you alone if you’re washing dishes by hand lest they be conscripted to help dry. Solo time after a busy day? Yes, thank you!

I remember washing dishes as a teenager on my tip-toes, elbow deep in sudsy hot water. If you’re short and you don’t know what you’re doing, the water will drip down your elbow as you pass a dish from the soapy dishpan to rinse it. You have to stand on your tip-toes to stay above the drip zone. According to my parents, during one of these after dinner dish washing sessions, a small mouse crept over and stood on its hind legs to sniff the grass stained sole of my bare foot. The mayhem that would have ensued had I known it was a whisker away from touching me! I shudder to think what would have happened if I had lowered my foot at the wrong time.

That particular sink was in the kitchen of the old farmhouse at the end of the electric line in Amesville, Ohio. There was no insulation in that old house. You could see daylight through the exterior walls in some places, and the bitter cold of January was enough to make me go to bed with a hat, gloves, and a coat some nights. For all it’s quirks and failings though, this house was where our family fell in love with each other again, where we retied broken bonds and healed deep wounds. This old house held our hearts gently and left room for us to be angry, or sad, or joyful, or disappointed. I was twelve when we moved in. That was also the year my grandfather died. Our family stepped into a season of mourning. Some places hold you together while you fall apart. As it turns out, a family can’t be repaired as easily as a broken door on an old dryer. There are no mail-order replacement parts for a hurt and broken family.

I have rich memories in that farmhouse of mom baking cookies in the small kitchen, the smell leaking from room to room. Memories of me curled up on our brown plaid sofa, book in hand, while rain was drumming on the old roof shingles, and my brother and dad played guitar on the front porch. What a porch that was! It wrapped around two full sides of that old farmhouse like a hug. My sister and I washed our hair in the rain water that gushed from the downspout on the creek-side of that old porch. And, my mom waged war with the black snake that took up residence under that same side. I could spend this whole post on my memories from this precious place. As Amy Grant sings:

“If these old walls,
If these old walls could speak
Of things that they remember well,
Stories and faces dearly held,
A couple in love
Livin’ week to week,
Rooms full of laughter,
If these walls could speak.”

Jimmy Webb “If These Walls Could Speak”

The memory of that place is dear to me because it represents a wall rebuilt, a family reconnected, a home patched and mended. We were broken when we moved in on a December day, shell-shocked a little, busted up, and uncertain. And yet, somehow, by God’s grace, our family gathered close between those walls and windows. We picked up a stone that had fallen and placed it just so, then another. Little by little we rebuilt a broken wall and lived to tell the tale.

When I read Nehemiah chapter two, I see a man with purpose, surveying the wall of the city he loves, finally seeing with his own eyes the damage that was done and the repairs that had to be made. It was a big task, bigger than one man, bigger than the remnant of people. It required divine strength. Nehemiah takes account of the damage and reports to the leaders in Jerusalem.

“Then I said to them, ‘You see the trouble we are in, how Jerusalem lies in ruins with its gates burned. Come, let us build the wall of Jerusalem, that we may no longer suffer derision.’ And I told them of the hand of my God that had been upon me for good, and also of the words that the king had spoken to me. And they said, ‘Let us rise up and build.’ So they strengthened their hands for the good work.”

Nehemiah 2:17-18

As they strengthened their hands for the work God had for them, God strengthened them. Isn’t it great that our feeble attempts at doing the right thing have the gracious hand of God behind them, pushing us, lifting us, enabling us? The Psalmist clarifies this building paradox: “Except the Lord builds the house, they labor in vain that build it.” (Psalm 127) We build, but God really builds.

When God commissioned the people of Israel to build the tabernacle in the wilderness, He gave clear instruction that the people who would create the items for worship would be skilled and enabled by Himself. He chose men by name to embroider and carve and cast and create. Maybe we think God gives impossible tasks to us. Maybe we think He likes to frustrate us with our own inabilities and weaknesses. But this is not the case. God empowers us to obey; He holds our hand while we hold the hammer.

“It’s bigger than we thought
It’s taller than it ought to be
This pile of rubble and ruins

The neighbors must talk
It’s the worst yard on the block
Just branches and boards where walls stood

Did it seem to you
Like the storm just knew
We weren’t quite finished with the roof
When it started?

So we build
We build
We clear away what was and make room for what will be
If you hold the nails, I’ll take the hammer
I’ll hold it still, if you’ll climb the ladder
If you will, then I will, build

Nichole Nordeman “We Build”

I’m still rebuilding. Or rather, God is still working, reframing, raising the scaffold again to reach those spots that I can’t reach up high, tearing down the mess I make to make something good. His work is good. His house is good. His walls are safe. And His plan and way are best.