Last year, when I began moving, there was a day when, after I'd discovered
how narrow my doorway was and understood getting things through it would be hard, and after I'd discovered the wood-eating beetles in my bookshelf, that I just laid my head down on my desk and cried.
Moving is hard. Moving as a single woman in a foreign country is very hard. One thing I learned from last spring is to go slow. "
Life is not an emergency, it's a gift"...so no need to rush about purchasing things for the house just because I'm used to having them. So I took my time
buying a table, and ate while sitting at my coffee table for nearly six months. I was thrilled when the table came.
I thought she was a little quirky that she wasn't completely flat. But oh well. I'm quirky. Anyone who knows me wouldn't put it past me to have a non-flat table. She was so pretty I just didn't care.
A few days after I returned to France in January, I was talking to
a friend of mine via Skype, while sitting at the non-flat table, when the table suddenly popped. Loudly popped, and with the pop, actually shook. I scooted away from the table and stared at it, wide-eyed, wondering what in the world just happened. A few days later, I asked the Bodybuilder if he thought the wood in the table was
settling. (Is that only a Southern word? It sounds like a Southern word, to say the wood in the house, the doorframes, the table, etc, is
settling. Like they're shifting their booties around to get comfortable.) He said it was possible. The next day, he happened to be over at my house, and he exclaimed, "Your table wasn't settling...it was warping! Look how far this corner has lifted up. That's caused pressure in the middle, and look--there's a crack!"
Here's a photo I took with a measuring tape, so you can see how far the left corner had lifted up. I couldn't eat at that seat of the table, because the plate/bowl/glass was at such an incline. Pens would roll to the middle of the table. Poor
Sheldon the Computer was all cattywampus, and well, you can imagine how we don't want Sheldon feeling out of sorts.
The crack continued to grow, and with it my stress. In France, they just don't have the same level of customer service that we are used to in the states. It's pretty typical, in a situation like this, to expect complete apathy and lack of willingness to help resolve the problem. I mean, I'd purchased the table more than four months earlier. Why should they be willing to fix or replace the table top? Everyone told me I should contact the store, but I just was so nervous about getting a negative response. But I was more nervous about the crack continuing to grow and eventually splitting my table in half. My brand new table, that I'd patiently waited six months to purchase to be sure it was the one I want.
It was enough stress to cause me to lay my head down on the table and cry, much like last spring with the bug bookshelf.
One of my friends suggested taking a photo with liquid in a glass so show the incline that caused the crack. You can see that photo here:
I took several photos with the measuring tape to show how thick and wide and deep it was. You can see that the crack goes completely through the width of the table, and is significantly wide.
It was 57 centimeters long. To give you Americans some perspective, the table is 180 centimeters, which means the crack was almost 1/3 the length of the table.
When the table was flipped over, so you can see here just how bad it was. As I said to the camelridingcowgirl over the phone the other night as I recounted this tale, "This is no ordinary crack."
I have some good friends, let me tell you. I called one and asked if he'd be willing to call the store for me to explain the situation. I was nervous that I was too emotionally involved, and that when they said, "Sorry, madame, but c'est impossible to do anything about it," that I'd lose it over the "c'est impossible." I sent Mr. Oasis all the photos I took, and all the information I had, and he made the call for me.
The next morning, (when he would make the call), I was praying about the whole situation. I'll admit that I struggle with prayer quite often. I often lack the faith to believe that God is willing to help me out with a situation as (what seems to me) trivial as my table. But I'm trying to grow in my relationship with Him, and to have more faith to trust Him with all things. So I prayed about the table. I asked for favor and mercy and grace from the store, and that I would receive a positive resolution to this problem. As soon as I said, "Amen," Mr. Oasis called.
"Good news! They gasped in shock when I explained what has happened with your table, and when they saw the photos via email. They said, 'non, non, non,' and that there is clearly an abnormality with your tabletop for it to have cracked like this. They will replace it, for free, without hassle, no questions asked."
Praise God! Isn't He good?!
Because their store is not in Marseille, I had to wait until they had another delivery in Marseille, which took a few weeks. I didn't mind. I was so grateful that they were going to replace it. Well, they came this week, and some more of my good friends came over to help. When the deliverymen showed up, I recognized them as being the same two (one older man and one younger) who had delivered the first table.
I joked with him and said, "I thought you said the last table you delivered to me was the final delivery of your life!" He laughed and laughed. When the old table top (that they took with them when they left) fit in the tiny elevator, the younger guy in English said, "YES!" Ha.
Now came the once-again hard part: assembling the legs to the table. We thought it may have been possible that the way we'd connected the legs to the table had caused the warping that led to the crack, so this time around, we didn't force the iron legs to a certain spot to make everything center. We just did our best to center them and accepted that it might be a little off.
If I could give a caption to this photo, it would be, "I may or may not have just ripped a large hole in my pants." Gotta love the Bodybuilder.
Because praying for my table had brought such an awesome outcome, I asked my friends if we could pray over it as we assembled the legs. Mr. Munchkin gave me a look like I was crazy but then agreed that Scripture does say to pray about everything. So we prayed over the table, asking that this one would not warp or crack or have any of the problems the other one did, and that God would bless it with a long, normal life around which many good meals and conversations could happen.
And because I believe there is great power in the name of Jesus, the Name above all names, I even wrote that awesome name ON the table. I told you, I'm quirky.
Here is the new table, all flat and solid and gorgeous. (And smelling of a fireplace, just like the old one did, glory.) Since my floor is not flat (I know, I know), the table is not level. We wrapped some twine around one of the legs, and then found the sweet spot to park it where it can be level. A half a foot to the left, and there's a big ole dip in the floor, and the table's all wonky again. (Did I mention that my apartment is quirky, and that's why it's the perfect place for me?) So...if enough people come over that we have to move it from the sweet spot, we might have to put something under one of the legs to make it level again. Haha. I'll take occasionally unleveled over warped and cracked any day.
And wouldn't you know? It's even prettier than the old one. It has a richer color that just draws your attention right to it. And unlike the other one (even before the warping), it is perfectly flat. Let's pray it stays so! I'd gotten so used to a curved table I'd forgotten that they're supposed to be flat. Perfectly flat. It's so nice. I'm just smitten. Smitten and praising God for His goodness to me.
