House of Fire

Earlier this year, I had a home improvement project I couldn’t wait to start on; assembling an over-the-toilet bathroom organizer. After over a year of living with a cluttered bathroom sink, I decided it was finally time to get a proper organizer to improve the aesthetic and functionality of my master bathroom.

It took me nearly three weeks of online shopping to finally pick the ‘perfect’ shelf. Why? I’m not entirely sure…

Regardless, I felt a sense of anxiety growing as I continue to look for the ‘perfect’ piece. Why? Because the clutter on my bathroom sink seemed to stand out more and more as soon as I landed on the solution for it, and I could hardly wait for the day my bathroom was in order.

After three weeks of indecision, I decided to pull the trigger on a unit with good reviews on Amazon.

When it arrived, I was thrilled. However, I was also with Atlas that weekend and knew that parenting a [then] four year-old would complicate the build process. Regardless, I set out to put together the unit with his ‘help’.

Midway through the assembly, I began to get frustrated that Atlas was playing with the tools far more than he was ‘helping’, so I gave him a job. In my mind, it was a simple job: hold the screws. In about thirty seconds, I watched as he dropped one of the screws in the sink.

I managed the catch the screw before it fell down the drain, but at that point had reached a point of frustration with Atlas.

“Atlas, just sit there until I’m done working.” I firmly expressed as I pointed to a chair in the bathroom.

While I hadn’t entirely lost my cool, I realized that I should have been more patient with him than I was, and I felt more defeated than victorious when the organizer was finally assembled. There he was, eager to ‘help’ and build things with his Dad…and I was more caught up in the moment of trying to get the job done than making the moment special with him.

The next morning, I looked at the shelf and it seemed to stare back at me; shaming me for the moment of frustration I had with Atlas.

“God, can you please redeem this shelf” I prayed, unsure of how it would happen.

A week later, Atlas and I were at IKEA. As we were shopping, a wooden artist figurine caught his eye and he quickly grabbed the box.

“Dad, I want to get this for you.” he said.

“Oh, Atlas! You got me a gift?!” I responded.

He grinned.

As soon as we got home, I asked him where he wanted to put it. He proudly took it to the bathroom organizer and set it on one of the shelves. I hugged him and thanked him from the bottom of my heart for his gift – and I meant it.

About a week later, He and I were talking in the kitchen and I off-handedly remarked that I rarely receive things from other people, to which he responded:

“Dad, I got you a gift!”

Instantly, I remembered his wooden figurine.

“That’s right, Atlas. And I really appreciate it. Let’s go look at it!” I said, as we walked to the bathroom.

That’s when it hit me…the bathroom shelf had been redeemed. When I looked at it, I didn’t think of the moment we built it; I thought of the generosity and heart he had when he gave me the ‘gift’.

Ever since then, I’ve looked at home improvement projects as more than a task to get done; they’re a living reminder of the memories you made while you worked on them, with the people (or person) you worked on them with.

Over the past two days, I’ve gone over to his Mom’s house to help her and her Dad replace and stain the fence in their back yard. While the work wasn’t entirely difficult, the heat was nothing short of grueling and it left all of us exhausted after the first day of work.

While it was a grueling ordeal to bake in the hot sun, I couldn’t help but think back to the lesson I learned while building the bathroom organizer. Every time I saw that fence, I knew that I would be reminded of the way we worked together, treated each other and worked like a team to complete a job that would benefit all parties involved.

Rememebering that helped me find the joy in the work we were doing. We weren’t just working on a fence – we were working together as a team, and laughing as much as we sweat.

Whenever I look at that fence, I’m going to remember the hours we shared together. More importantly, I’m going to remember the way we all found joy and purpose in what we were doing. In every way, it was priceless.