Chuck and I took on the task of painting our bedroom and replacing the flooring that Pearl had so graciously decorated for us.

All this in one weekend.

After two sleepless nights on a mattress in our living room, discount floor tiles that were defective and now had to be corrected, and a house that looked like a cyclone had not just hit it but had moved in and hovered for several days, I was over it.

To our dismay, our shower head broke and the garbage disposal kicked the bucket the same weekend.
Did I mention that we are not the best do-it-yourselfers?

So I was heading out to the store to fix the flooring first thing Monday morning and saying out loud:
“Lord, seriously? I am sore, my back is killing me, the floor looks terrible, the shower head is broken, now the disposal is trashed—”

I rounded the corner of the house and there is a long liquidy line of Pearl poop all over my sidewalk and driveway.

“And now this, Lord? Seriously??”

I slammed the door getting into the Jeep, turned the key, hit the radio on and shifted into reverse. And I heard Kari Jobe sing out:

“I  believe You’re my portion
I believe You’re more than enough for me
Jesus, You’re all I need.”

Thanks Lord. Seriously.