Two years ago we moved into a brand new build. The final walk through was a sprint to the finish line, where we had approximately 20 minutes to go through and note anything that didn’t look as expected, upon which we then drove to the lawyers office to sign on the dotted line. You’d think that would be a red flag moment. Truth be told, it wasn’t. The builder was building quality homes very slowly, and because this was in the initial throws of an unknown virus, we had to exercise extreme caution.
The move in was also fine tuned and fast. For the first time ever we hired a moving company, who arrived with two trucks, seven brawny young men, and the precision of a Swiss watch. Four hours later and the home was full and we could rest.
Within the first week, as I was coming down the stairs, and the sun was filtering angelically through our newly installed blinds, I saw a footprint on our steps. Well, not an entire foot, but rather half of a print, including the toes. It had been installed when the final layer of shellac was painted on the wood treads. No amount of coercion would release the imprint.
We alerted the builder, of course, and had to wait a good six months to have it fixed. Timing was poor, the builder was backlogged with other necessary minor fixes across a few build locations, and then there were protocols in place to slow the process even more. Six months I stared at that print.
My mind wandered as I envisioned exactly what was the cause of this error. It was a right foot. Does everyone lead with a right foot, or does dominance matter? I’m sure the thought of leaving a shoe print was the reason it was there; a sock would likely leave fuzzies. So, why the need to retrace or step just there?
When I was a child we had a daunting task. My dad, being the do-it-yourselfer-to-save-every-penny kind of guy, undertook to paint the exposed wood on our stairs. The stairs also had an iron banister. And……he paid two strong young men in our neighborhood to come over…I can’t believe they actually agreed….to hold said bannister while he painted, so that it could be bolted back down after. Even now I can’t believe we did this.
But because of this type of scenario, my brother and I learned how to navigate all sorts of painted surfaces. When he painted the walls, we would hold on to the bannister and tip toe up the stairs like ninjas. We actually played “ninja” throughout the house. We learned how firmly we could press a surface before a finger print appeared, to my dad’s chagrin. We were determined, and relentless, in ways to circumnavigate each vignette so that we could emerge unscathed, and undetected.
Did this painter understand how to navigate this very sticky situation? I’m not sure. Maybe it was one oversight-we’re allowed those on occasion. Perhaps we have some huge bombastic scenario that took place for which we are not privy. I’m not sure. I do have an intact imagination, though, so I took a stroll down a few potential pathways.
Still, once the builder came out to fix the one stair, it was apparent to us that the second team (second string, or back up option?) had zero idea how to match the first attempt, so that all the stairs looked the same, felt the same. So now we have 15 stairs with a ruddy texture so we don’t slip and fall, and one smooth and shiny stair. I’m not a teenager any longer. I take each step. No skips. I also no longer wear socks on the stairs so I avoid a potentially fatal outcome.
Now this entire situation did also give me time to reflect on how often we may attempt to tiptoe into a situation. We may reconsider and back out, or perhaps we are wanting to double check something, get a better view, retrieve one final thing….and every time we do that, we leave an imprint. It’s clear we were there. How often does the Lord come back in and smooth things over, and whether through an act of forgiveness, mercy, or grace, he covers our steps? What if he, too, leaves that portion of our story smooth, and shiny, and not exactly like the steps before or after?
We may think we are playing ninja and are undetected, but at least one person knows what we’ve done, and where we’ve been.
I kinda like knowing we have a master builder.
When I look back at all my foibles and failures, my eyes well up with tears. I know what I could have come to many, many times. Sure, I face consequences for my actions and those can sometimes be painful. Still, I’m so encouraged that I have carte blanche to receive forgiveness, and help, to smooth over the tip toe imprints I’ve left behind.