The Numbered Print

I pass the picture as I come downstairs each morning.
A lovely, numbered print of a stone barn; much like I see as I drive the nearby roads.
The picture is of an historic 1787 barn.
The artist captured its beauty in 1987; painting the picture 200 years after it was built.

I find myself glancing at the print as I enter my foyer.
The serenity of the place seems to call to me.
I can feel the cool stone as I imagine running my hand over the barn wall.
I try to envision the owners of the barn and what kind of life they lived there.

The picture depicts a peace and strength.
The circumstances around my receiving it were not peaceful.
That is why the numbered print was given to me in the first place.
The giver was trying to make amends.

I had two small children at the time.
My oldest daughter was almost three and my younger daughter was about six months.
We were in the process of selling our first home.
We were moving closer to my husband’s work and were building in a new neighborhood.

During the long winter months, my husband had a lot of traveling to do for work.
That meant that I was handling the realtors on my own.
There was always the quick clean up of toys if the house needed to be shown.
I baked so many batches of brownies during that time, so the house would smell good.

My husband stipulated that the realtors were not to disclose that I was there alone.
Another stipulation was that I could be in the house as it was shown, if need be.
The rush of people during those first weeks was incredible.
A few people came back multiple times.

One evening, the realtor called to say that he had an interested buyer.
Could we come by for a quick walk-through?
It was right after our early dinner, with my girl’s bath time after that.
As long as it doesn’t interfere with my girl’s bedtime, you may come.

I quickly cleaned up the kitchen.
I sat on the sofa and began to read books to my older daughter with the baby on my lap.
We no sooner settled in, the doorbell rang.
I answered the door with my two little girls.

The people were gracious and pleasant and very apologetic for disturbing us.
I smiled and quickly got out of the way.
We resumed our book.
My older daughter cuddled closer and sucked her thumb; the baby fell asleep.

I heard the realtor and the people walk from room to room.
They entered the kitchen and wanted to go down the basement.
I knew that once they came up, they would be leaving.
Pajamas and bedtime would soon follow and a cup of tea for me.

I heard footsteps on the stairs.
The realtor was a husband and wife team and this night the wife came, too.
You better call the oil company for an oil delivery, she insisted.
Your tank is low; you don’t want to run out while your husband is away.

As soon as she said it, she realized what she did.
Her face turned an ashen color.
Her husband looked less than pleased.
I quietly said, thank you, and they all left.

After my girls went to bed, the realtor called me to apologize.
The one thing your husband asked me not to do, I did.
I tried to make my voice smile, Thank you for your phone call; everything will be fine.
I was tired and I wanted the whole process to be over and to be settled in our new home.

Those people who walked through that night did buy our house.
We moved into our newly built home that August.
After we moved in, I heard a knock at the door.
My youngest daughter, who had just turned one, walked to the door with me.

It was the realtor with a package in his hand.
Beautifully wrapped, I opened it to find the lovely numbered print.
For your new home, with our thanks and my utmost apology.
The peacefulness of the picture struck me; I was home, the hectic-ness was behind me.

I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do. And if I do what I do not want to do, I agree that the law is good. As it is, it is no longer I myself who do it, but it is sin living in me. I know that nothing good lives in me, that is, in my sinful nature. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. For what I do is not the good I want to do; no, the evil I do not want to do – this I keep on doing. Now if I do what I do not want to do, it is no longer I who do it, but it is sin living in me that does it. So I find this law at work: When I want to do good, evil is right there with me. For in my inner being, I delight in God’s law; but I see another law at work in the members of my body, waging war against the law of my mind and making me a prisoner of the law of sin at work within my members. What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death? Thanks be to God – through Jesus Christ our Lord!  (Romans 7:15-25)

When I want to do good, evil is right there with me.
I say what I shouldn’t say.
I think what is unkind to think.
I fail to do what I know I should do.

The law of sin is at work within me.
That is why I like my numbered print so very much.
That serenity depicted there is only possible in Christ.
I am wretched, but I am rescued because of His amazing grace.

I am saved by grace.
There is such peace in that assurance.

Thank you, Lord Jesus.