17 February 2009
The landlord of the new house for the Liberian refugee family isn't moving along as fast as we'd like. He told us a week when we signed the lease last Thursday, but he isn't even coming to start work until tomorrow. And that's if he shows up. He originally told us he'd be here yesterday. We'd appreciate prayers that the family will be able to get into their house soon. I'm about to lose it here. They're nice people. It's just that there are 10 of them. And they don't know how to use the bathroom in a sanitary fashion, so I have to wipe the toilet every single time one of us needs to go. And they don't have any sense of personal property, so they use our personal stuff. (Peter found curly black hairs in his razor. It's probably best not to think too long about that one.) And they wash their muddy shoes in my sink when I'm distracted, so Peter has to get a plumbing snake and unclog the drain. And they aren't gentle, so they break things. (I no longer have a tip on my very expensive and previously thought to be indestructible Cutco paring knife.) And you get the idea. It's not their fault. They don't know any differently, and they're not used to being indoors for any length of time. I'm just worn out and ready for them to spend the day around the corner instead of in every corner of my house. So I guess I'm saying that you can pray for a quick move into their new home and my sanity between now and then.