One of my favorite things to do is go junkin’. Usually this means that I go thrift and antique store hopping with my husband and find projects for him or someone else to do.

I love a good deal and I have such an old soul. My husband will tell you that if furniture belonged to someone’s Mamaw, I probably want it. He would also go on to tell you that if my bedtime could be 7:30pm and my dinner time at 4pm I would be a happy camper. I’m a bit of a granny.

Recently my love and I went to a local upcycle business and I was full of excitement for him to experience this wonderful place for the first time. It is a junker-lover’s haven. He was less than moved and kept saying, “We can make that!” I was a little huffy and tried to explain that I couldn’t do it and that I was okay with paying someone else to.

He did the thing that has earned him the name “Big Daddy” in our household (it’s not just the number of children at home). My husband has a way of laying down the law and we know the old stubborn bear is not going to be moved. He told me that we were not paying for things that we could make. As a consolation prize, he did buy me cactus jewelry and I let it go.

The other thing that this “Big Daddy” character does is try to make me see things his way. So off we went to thrift stores and antique shops to find our project pieces. When we returned home, he broke out the paint and the drill and the sand paper.

“Start painting and I’ll help you with the rest when I get back.” He was off to take our youngest daughter to a birthday party. I was less than amused and in all of my admirable maturity wrote ugly things in paint on the first piece of furniture as I glared at him.

Something happened after he left me there alone with the paint and the junk. It was like this fire ignited. I began to see this junk take on new light and had visions of new purpose. I was doing it. By the time he got back I had painted every piece we had purchased. In fact, I spent about 5 more hours painting and distressing.

I don’t have any idea how Miss I-Don’t-Paint-or-Make-Stuff was suddenly a tornado of paint and ideas. My husband does this fairly often. He shows me a part of myself that I didn’t even know was there. This is sometimes what drives me crazy about him and also what makes me fall more in love with him.

Bless his heart because I usually fight him on it the whole time only to be snuggled into bed that night telling him how glad I am that he made me try something different. He doesn’t even say “I told you so.” He just holds me tighter and smiles. Smart man (he knows how to work me).

We have become a little obsessed with this hobby. We have been scouring the internet for new pieces. We talk about what to make next. It’s brought us closer and makes for a cheap date! I was thinking about why I liked it so much. Perhaps it’s the time we spend together or the pride we can take in completing a project together.

I think that I fall in love with the new life that the junk takes on. I relate to the junk. It’s used up and forgotten. It’s lived so hard that knobs are missing and its legs wobble. I was like that. I was unrecognizable by the time I finally ran to God.

Revelation 21:5 And he who was seated on the throne said, “Behold, I am making all things new.” Also he said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.”

I had scars and scuffs. I was missing so many pieces of my soul. I was just a shell. But God wasn’t done. He saw something that no one else could. He saw a new purpose. He got to sanding and drilling and painting. Let’s be honest, God likely went to just gutting everything and rebuilding. He had His work cut out for Him with this hunk of junk.

This morning I looked at the sitting room in our house where most of our projects are living. I looked at our makeshift workspace and I felt so grateful.

I have more than I could ever ask for. Even when it all feels like too much, I have a God that reminds me that He is still at work. Everything I was before made what I am today possible. I’m still being sanded and drilled and painted, but I’m thankful to be out of the “junk” pile. Thanks be to God.

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