The house being built up the road is coming along. Recently, there is an uptick in the number of trucks parked by the curb, which suggests that there are more men inside with tools. Progress is at that stage where the walls are up, enough to protect workers from the elements somewhat, though I notice they still wear coats.
I know
nothing about drywall, or plumbing, or wiring, except that I need them. My fingerprints are not on any of those things in the home where I lay my head each night.
Over the past year, I have entertained notions about it, as I drive by.
"It is really hot. I bet it is a hard day to be laying floors."
"It is raining. Probably it is not a fun afternoon to wrestle with mud."
"It is
pretty cold. Can you do carpentry with gloves on?"
It is not yet habitable. Young children would not be safe with unfinished passages. But it will soon be. The builders in this company have a reputation for their fine work in construction. Every door will glide on its hinges, each tile in the bathroom will be placed in harmony with others.
I am not an architect. Fortunately, someone is, and designed this house in collaboration with the
people who will put their clothes in the closets.
God tells me that the construction of my spiritual home is like this. There are occasions in which working to curb my temper are inconvenient. Being patient with work that takes place out of my line of vision can be discouraging.
Yet the Architect knows what He is doing.
"We can
see from this that divine providence is universal because it attends to the slightest details...
We see nothing of this universal providence, and if we did see it, it would look to our sight like the scattered piles and random heaps that passers-by see when a house is being built. The Lord, though, sees a magnificent palace constantly under construction and constantly being enlarged." Divine Providence 203, Emanuel
Swedenborg
