Paint it Green

I have a birthmark. ( If you've never seen it, or don't know where it is, maybe we need to get to know each other better. ) When I was little I had big plans to paint it green.  It was one of those things I said whenever an adult would ask me about it, and because it was just such a wonderful idea, adults asked me about it over and over.  I guess there is someting irresistable about a four year repeating the phrase "paink it geen".
As an adult, I still have an irresistable urge to paint things green.  Here are some of my lastest projects:
1.  A chair from last year's Garage sale season and paint from the quart of Fern Green paint unending.

2.  I came across this little pink table and benches at a yard sale.  And I was drawn to them.  And the story was that they were built many years ago for a Sunday School room at a local church.  And when the new pastor came, they got rid of all things old.  And the lady whose husband built them years ago took them home from the church (in a bit of a huff, I imagine).  And then years after that she was selling them at a yard sale.  And right then I knew they were meant to be mine.  So I paid for them, and then called my favorite truck owner to come and haul them home.  And he agreed to load and haul them on the condition that I would paint them, because he did not like the pink.  Oh, okay.  I guess if you insist, I will force myself to paint them. 

I put the little benches on the porch.  And the STP felt so strongly about the pink paint, that he accompanied me to the Dodge City Building Center to pick out some other color of paint.  Surprise!  I picked green!

First, of course, I had to sand.  And while I sanded I thought about all the little bottoms that had sat upon those little benches and learned about how Jesus loved them.  And about all the VBS projects that were glued together on that little table.

  And I imagined the gentleman who built those little benches up in heaven looking down and doing a little dance because, I, a woman who loves Jesus and little benches, was their new owner.  (Because sanding takes forever and provides ample time for imaginations.)  The sanding also revealed that the table had once been bright yellow, and the benches had once been orange.  I'm guessing through the seventies.

 And then I painted.  And I thought about the time (in the eighties) when one of my own children slid her little bottom up on the church pew and realized that she had forgotten to put underwear on under her little dress. (Because I was that good of a mother.)  And I thought about all the stories these little benches could tell.  You know,  if benches could talk.

They would probably say, "Hey! You missed a spot!"