I am so incredibly bored in my job.
This is not a word I like to use. I don't like it when my kids use it either.
For the past four months or so, remodeling has become a tolerable feat, a mere paycheck, and nothing more. I have lost all passion for it.
I am convinced that this job is from the creator. And in it I have the crash-course ability to spiritually scan the area. Much like the dream I had last December, I am definitely getting a major overview of the area through this job.
But most days I would rather stick my crotch in a waffle iron for a few hours than do what I am doing.
House flipping seems far fetched here, at least for now. The Canadian government seems hell bent on helping the economy by creating ways to raise the housing prices, making regular people unable to afford a house.
I feel the huge tug towards music again. Several months ago I joined a prophetic worship band in Capital City. I've always been good at this seldom heard of art. I pray that something could come of it.
Anything to get out of the remodel world.
The other day I finally heard the gentle voice (whisper) of the creator. Wow. It's been a while.
I've been real tired of my job. My boss is mildly tolerable at best. He usually throws at least one childish tantrum a day. And sometimes they are due to me. I carry on. Quietly. Even though I have mentally checked out of this gig and operating on auto-pilot.
I await for another gig. Or my life's calling. Music. Prophetic ranting. Whatever. It'll happen. I'm sure.
One of the primary reasons I don't enjoy working for this guy 100% is that I feel like some dumb little kid. He never tells me anything.
I never know what's coming ahead.
For example: If I knew what job we were going to do that day, I'd know what tools to load up. Instead. I have to sit and wait for orders. Load this. Pick up that.
If I could see the big picture, I could save us all kinds of time and create an orderly operation.
This is in part because my boss is a horrible leader and communicator. He's use to being a solo operation. So it goes.
I also suspect that by keeping me in the dark, it gives him a feeling of power. Hey, if you need power by creating inefficiency and keeping me down, knock yourself out.
I think he may also be slightly threatened by me. I play music, have a loving family, and spend time with them. He works. Non-stop. Even in the evenings and weekends. He has no life.
So the other day, I ask the creator why I feel like I have blinders on all the time with this job.
I heard him say, "this is what you must do to follow me right now. You're not going to see the big picture yet. You must look forward and trust me".
Well. damn.
I'll do it lord. I'll do it.
We've been at our new assignment for little over a year now. And we've been in our house and neighborhood for almost a year.
I know full and well that our time in the fair mother city (previous assignment) had ended. And that was reinforced last November when I made an unexpected trip back to Texas to sell my truck.
But I was reading this news report yesterday on how currently the fair mother city ranks SEVENTH in the US for the worst housing markets. Assuming any of that info is accurate, it is difficult to sell property based on the projected population growth in the next five years AND the devaluation in property recently.
I was in a world of house flipping back then. My last project sold in March 2010 after receiving an offer within a month of listing. Plus I sold my own home without listing it and with no hassles.
I would have to say the creator was protecting me in getting me out of there before the market changed.
Unfortunately, two friends on our old street are having a difficult time selling their houses now. One of them is Obi-Wan's old house, having been remodeled by my old jedi-master.
Help them lord, as you've helped me.
Things in River Dog seem to be going real well. We recently passed the one year anniversary of our border crossing. That was a milestone of some sort and I finally feel somewhat settled in this new arena. Somewhat.
My wife has made a few inroads with "real people" or people outside the middle class, system-living norm. I'll need to report on some of our relationships with our new friends at a later entry.
One of the things that kept us from jumping up and down about being in Canada was the close proximity to my wife's family. Yes, we live in the same town as two of her cousins and their families. But I primarily mean her parents in The Big City about three hours away. And by that I primarily mean her mom.
My mother-in-law has always acted threatened that we don't live by the system of this world. We don't have real careers, we don't have pension programs set up, we don't have health care programs set up (other than what Canada already doles out).
I guess right now my wife is a little discouraged by a phone conversation with her mother today. Funny how her mother never brings this stuff up with me. Probably because she knows better.
I'm sure there's nothing wrong or sinful by living with those systems. But for our life, we have never felt right about them to date. And the Creator has continued to care for us. So it goes.
Thank you god.
It's hard not to feel like an android these days. I like my boss, and my job is OK. But I constantly question how I got "here".
Most kids don't dream of doing drywall mudding when they're 40. Neither did I. But it's where I am now. So, I'm trying to ride this wave until the creator says go.
So like usual, I am waiting. I think.
What the hell am I waiting for? I don't know. A move of god? To write a rock opera? - because I'm going to do that someday. I need a band though.
I am liking my new job. Bill, my boss, is a seemingly simple and quiet guy. It's just he and I. No other work crew. No politics. No nonsense. And thank god almighty, no micro-managing. He just leaves me alone to do what I'm paid to do. And if I was to ever screw something up, I can't imagine him blowing a gasket over anything. I couldn't have asked for anything better.
Well, the work has so far been pretty life draining and monotonous. Mostly drywall mudding in various basements across Saskatchewan farmland. IE: the middle of nowhere. That can make me wonder just HOW I got here in life, what's the meaning of the universe, and etc.
I just crank up the ipod and get lost in mud.
I'm sure, as always, this period is yet another piece of the puzzle of life. Another step in the journey.
******************
One of the cool things about living in Saskatchewan is the amount of people you meet from across the globe. At one of the job sights I met Hans. He was a resident farmhand from Switzerland. Wow. I don't think I've ever met anyone from that place. He said it was crowded there. Which is one of the reasons he's now in the Canadian prairie.
Turns out Hans is a believer in the creator. Believers are harder to find here than back in Texas. He had some good testimony to share and so forth. But our conversation turned toward the awkward "where do YOU go to church?", which I've always hated.
I gave my half-assed answer of trying to become part of the ReachOut community. It's the truth. But dismal looking in reality. So it goes.
**************
My son is best friends with a girl in his class who's father is a local pastor of a high church denomination. Our kids became involved with their church in a two month after school deal that was a kin to a vacation bible school gig. It ended with a program where they sang during their Wednesday night service accompanied with a meal. So we attended.
The meal was a little strange as no one came to mingle with us, the guests, etc. No offense was taken on our part. But this was shockingly different from Texas churches where everyone is on you, the visitor, like Oprah on a baked ham.
But the pastor sat with us and actually encouraged me from a truthful standpoint of mission work. He knows why we're here in River Dog as our wives have become friends and co-workers with the same cleaning company. So they've talked some. He explained how a cohort of his in another town only recently broke into the native community after twenty years of ministry there.
It takes a long time to build trust with the local poverty culture.
And I pray it doesn't take us twenty years.
Today is Sunday. On Sundays I can't help but think of my old friend, catfish fry cook, and sanity barometer Obi-Wan. He was a major character from my last assignment in Texas.
We spent the better part of seven years in Obi-Wan's house every Sunday morning.
I get real emotional thinking about him. If I was an actor and had to perform a scene where I needed to cry, all I'd have to do was think about him and the seven years we spent.
Tears. On like a faucet.
And what's stupid...
He's not dead or anything. He'll be 94 at the end of this month.
And most any moment...
I could reach into my pocket, grab my cell, punch a button, and (assuming he'd answer, which he doesn't sometimes) talk to him on his cell.
But I usually don't.
It's too painful...talking to him
Somehow he always ends up talking about old times. Memories. Coming across the street and hanging out. Everything.
So to keep up with him, I usually email a trusted confidant who took over my part as volunteer care giver for Obi-Wan. Or sometimes I email some former neighbors who visit him at the care home once a week.
I'm told he has finally gotten use to the place. Not the food though. He's critical of all food made by someone other than him.
I'm afraid that one day I'm going to regret not calling him often.
I don't know how to carry on.
Damn.
I miss him.
I am so incredibly bored in my job.
