Yellow

When we moved into our house last spring, we opted to repaint a few rooms. When one starts to paint a room-- one  begins to notice things in a new way. Crouched on the floor taping trim, we could see specks of yellow. Yellow in the living room, yellow in the bathroom, yellow on the trim itself that had been repainted white. The outside of the house is yellow. The kitchen tile is lemon yellow. As Greg and I talked over house priorities, it became obvious. 1. Repaint or reside the exterior a neutral color. 2. Remove the yellow kitchen tile and replace with white tile.

Two days after moving into the house, work announced big changes and we were told that his job was safe for one year. So, the yellow tile stayed. I was somewhat resentful about leaving it in place. It was so dated, so 80's, so not me at all. And there is so much of it. Whoever designed and built the kitchen was downright generous with the tiling job. But life is busy with four teens. And on an average day, I don't find myself with a lot of down time to contemplate tile color.

With shelter in place extending after weeks at home, I found myself spending more time than ever in my kitchen cooking. We're home for lunch and together for dinners too, so the kitchen has been a busy place. It's funny how I notice things about my house in a new way when I'm spending more time there. The tile cleans up easily. A few sprays of windex and a paper towel make it shine. And when it's clean and the kitchen is picked up, it's bright and sunny. Somehow I notice the light reflecting from the tile more than I notice the yellow.

It would be a big job to replace it. And if we replaced tile, we might as well replace the counter. And if we replace the counter, the cabinets will really look old next to new counter.... It begins to feel like a domino effect of time and money that I just don't want to tie up right now.

Walking through Wal-Mart this afternoon, I passed a little display of tiny trees. Among the lilacs and greens was a small lemon tree with bright yellow, plastic lemons. I circled around back to the display and picked up the little tree. It looked so sweet and so, well, happy.  When I brought it home, I cleaned out the little corner of the counter by the microwave and settled it into place. It looks right at home there.

"I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through him who gives me strength." Philippians 4:12-13

Hope

One afternoon last summer, it was Max's turn to mow the yard. Our backyard at the new house is very different from the backyard at the old house-- this one is full sun. There is a small pine tree, some landscaping grasses and an attempt at a berm that is really just a small, dry hill. As Max made his rounds with the weed eater along the fence, he stopped to study a tiny oak tree growing at the edge. It caught his attention because the closest oak tree in the neighborhood is a few houses away. Max is my "noticer". He sees tiny differences and details in people and his surroundings. Leave it to him to see that tiny little tree.

Where Max comes from, oak trees are special. They symbolize something very small becoming something towering, strong and enduring. Latvians use oak bark for medicinal purposes and in tea and still weave together oak leaves for Jani, to wear the wreaths for summer solstice.

This tiny oak was 1 inch tall, truly a baby. Within minutes, Max had dug it up and transplanted it in the center of the yard, marking the presence of the tiny tree with a large wooden stick. "See Mom? Someday it will be a mighty oak".

There it's been all winter long. It's dealt with ice, snow and our dog chasing her ball over the entire area. The marker hasn't moved, but I had questioned if the tree made it through the winter.

I decided to mow the yard today. My mind has been mulling over so many thoughts and there is something about push mowing that tends to just give you time to think. As I made my rounds in the back, there was the tiny tree. It's almost impossible to see it until you're almost on top of it. But the marker is there and  continues to protect it from the mower.

Seeing that little tree gives me hope and it makes me happy. That tiny tree has been seen. It has been saved from death in the fence row and transplanted where it can have a future. It has tiny buds on it-- it's growing and continuing to develop a root system. And I have no doubt it will still be there next summer and the summer after that.