Divine Intervention

The other day, I confessed that I had of late been struggling once again with that gray-fanged demon of depression. At the conclusion, I asked for prayers and, apparently, more than one or two of you have responded. I began feeling better that day and have managed to keep my lower lip from getting tangled up with my belly button since then. And, there have been positive changes in addition to the ones in my attitude.

Yesterday morning, a guy I know called to say he wanted to buy my motorcycle. Yesterday afternoon, a guy I didn’t know but had talked to a few times showed up with a trailer and cash to buy the tractor. By early evening, I was feeling so much better I decided to tackle a plumbing project.

Now folks, doing a hundred sit-ups the day after hernia repair is not proper therapy. Running several wind sprints isn’t the best way to treat a pulled hamstring. Soaking in a hundred-and-ten degree hot tub isn’t the greatest idea for someone who has sunburned eighty percent of his or her skin surface. While seeming far-fetched, admittedly, those examples may not be such preposterous comparisons as you might think; a depressed handyman crawling under a sink is courting trouble as surely as a kitten in a horse pen.

I do have to say that I have installed new garbage disposals in as little as thirty minutes. I thought this one would take an hour so I estimated it at two hours. I started at six-forty-five. Whoever had installed the plumbing involving the one I replaced had not used the slip-joint trap and connections that are typical. They used Schedule 40 PVC and had glued every joint. You couldn’t even take the trap loose to clean it out. I had to cut the pipe just to take out the old disposer. And, of course, the new one was a completely different type that required a different sink fitting and new drain connections. On top of that, with at least nine different cuts required, I’d left my DeWalt reciprocating saw at home, fifteen miles away. The folks I was helping out did manage to find an old hacksaw.

Two trips to Menards and three-and-a-half hours later, the completely new drain, trap and disposer were installed and passed the first two drip tests. Now, here’s the acid test that let me know that solicitations had been offered and answered: I made it through the entire project without cussing one time.

Thank you for your prayers, folks, and keep ’em comin’!

H. Arnett



About Doc Arnett

Native of southwestern Kentucky currently living in Blair, Kansas, with my wife of twenty-five years, Randa. We have, between us, eight children and twenty-one grandkids. We enjoy singing, worship, remodeling and travel.
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