Yesterday was the start of a BIG two-week renovation project for our family. The carpenter friend who is going to help us (tell us what to do and how to do it) is unavailable for a few days. But why wait, you know, for the guy who knows what he’s doing?

Nah.

So we start. Tyson and I working on a new laminate floor in an upstairs room.

And to begin with I was scared. I’ve never done laminate. Lyndon’s dad is a plumber so at least he’s been around a toilet (so to speak) a few times and he felt he could tackle the plumbing and other things that were necessary for his basement bathroom assignment.

But me? Fearful.

What I hadn’t counted on was my son. The one who’s been working as a carpenter’s helper a couple of days a week for the last several months. He was no where near fearful. He was excited.

So we move out furniture and pile it in the living room and we consider the best way and we borrow tools from the carpenter friend and then, finally, we just start. My son puts the first piece in place and the floor grows. Piece by piece. And I watch him first check each board for damage, running his hand down it’s smooth length like an artist. And he leans low to his work, measuring and marking. And he takes a board outside and returns with two and they fit.

 

And he’s loving it. I can sense it in him. He is made to be a carpenter.

I hand him tools and pencils and I leave the room when he uses the undercut saw, because it scares me. And he tells me I could do this every day for the rest of my life.

And I am thankful. I’m thankful that we began the project even in my fear, ready or not, because I got to hear him say that.

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