Confessions of the Heart

An Open Letter of Confession:

Our church is getting a new bathroom. Only those who’ve guzzled three cups of church coffee, then stood in line behind four playful Sunday School children and a homeless person anticipating a sponge bath in a free facility, can really appreciate this.

The building process has been a trial by fire—just ask Will—he’s the one with singed eyebrows and very pink skin. Will’s our resident Toilet Genius, and detective of sorts. He detected an invisible enemy beneath our church: a gas leak.

After recovering from second-degree burns when his power tool became a torch (that’s how gas was detected), he was back on the job. His heroics exceed description as he dug to just this side of China, removing all contaminated dirt. His savvy paid off when the “hole thing” passed inspection this week. Now, for two days, Will poured slurry, sealing the deal by meticulously smoothing the wet top cement like THE BOSS he is. When he went out to lunch celebrating a job well-done, I snuck into the construction site to take a peek (it’s usually locked) and right then, inspiration hit:

I’m gonna carve a heart with “J.C. Loves L.C. Forever” in commemoration of this historic church event. It’ll soon be covered with tile anyway, but each time John or I use the toilet, we’ll remember our hidden secret below.

So on my knees, using a wooden stirring stick, I etched a magnificent heart in the setting cement. Inspired by the sense that Michelangelo himself mentored me in this magnum opus on my very own Sistine Chapel —well, Calvary Chapel— bathroom floor, I labored on, pleased and proud, to the final cutting of F-O-R-E-V…

and that’s when I ran out of room. Frowning, but not easily deterred, I began afresh, erasing my former work of art. Or would have, but erasable cement is not a thing yet, though it definitely should be.

I managed to make the heart disappear in a rough, gravel-y sort of way, but when I stood to inspect, panic rose. I needed skill beyond my experience (of fifteen minutes or so) to match my scruffy cement to Will’s mirror-smooth finish.

Just then Brian, our radio sound guy/tech guru walked by. He has the most annoying snicker. He suggested I solicit help from Greg, the rancher/pack station/carni-culinary expert, who’d dropped in to talk to John. I practically dragged him by the collar to fix my former art medium that now appeared so…well, GRAY… and lumpy. He did his very best, under the circumstances of setting cement.


Dear Will,

Thank you for all the work you’ve done on the bathroom. The cement job is beautiful.

P.S. Greg was here.


A cheerful heart is good medicine… Proverbs 17:22.

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