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A BRUSH WITH GOD
Page 1 of 1
A BRUSH WITH GOD
A BRUSH WITH GOD
by Irene Budzynski, R.N.
Widow. The word strikes a cold dagger into any woman's heart, but, especially if she is
in her forties and raising two pre-teen children. Fran's husband had died of cancer, leaving
her with mountains of debt, no life insurance, no savings. She was in that abyss of shock
and disbelief which joins arms with grief, oblivious to the physical condition of her surroundings.
Projects aborted by illness remained unfinished. Tools had been left on a workbench,
purchased supplies were bundled in their hardware store wrappings, and paint cans
were neatly lined up against a cellar wall. In addition to partially completed repairs
and revamping inside, the outside of the house had become a victim of the cruel winter
weather, faded and neglected, the way Fran's heart felt when faced with the seemingly
insurmountable tasks left for her.
Winter mercifully ended and the spring thaw nudged her to acknowledge the need for
repainting the house. There were several ads for house painters in the classified
section of the local newspaper, but, when called, the quoted prices were beyond belief.
After all, her spouse had done all construction and repairs. Never was there a need to
hire someone else. She was in a quandary: very little money and a great need for the
house to be painted. It wouldn't survive another year without protection.
The last man contacted on the list of advertised numbers was quiet and polite. He
came to the house to assess the job and assured Fran it could be done in a
reasonable time frame. Normally a private person, Fran told the painter during
the conversation about her situation. He didn't say much, walking around the
perimeter of the house and staring at the two story building. There was a lengthy
pause when asked the estimate for the job, and his answer astounded the widow:
"There will be no charge."
The explanation given was that the painter's best friend had died several years before
and, as a gift to the widow, he had painted the house for free. Since that time whenever
a needy person was discovered, he and his crew painted one house a year at no charge
to the recipient. As he told Fran, "This year you are ?it'."
Ever the streetwise consumer, Fran refused to believe the ludicrous offer. Thinking
it was a scam, she needed input to shore up her conviction that no one in his right
mind would paint an entire house and not charge a nickel. Knowing what the going
rate was for the week long project, she was certain it wasn't possible. Offers like
this didn't occur in a little town in New England.
She was finally convinced to trust the painter's word and accepted the gift. The
following week a crew in two trucks showed up early on a Monday morning and
began to strip the sides of the house. They returned each day, setting up their
ladders, paintbrushes in hand, working at the job until it was complete. There
was never a charge.
The house stands proud in its new coat, withstanding the wind and rain. Fran
thought she was left alone during tough times, but God didn't abandon her.
He knew that her children needed her, so He sent along the right man for the job.
Fran's trust was renewed and, for the first time, was given the glimmer of hope
that she would withstand the buffeting winds of her new life as a single parent.
She had been blessed with God's promise that she would make the long, difficult
journey to the other side of the chasm of her struggle. The first step had been
taken with the stroke of a brush.
Irene Budzynski, R.N.
Source: Heart Touchers and Heartwarmers 4 u
by Irene Budzynski, R.N.
Widow. The word strikes a cold dagger into any woman's heart, but, especially if she is
in her forties and raising two pre-teen children. Fran's husband had died of cancer, leaving
her with mountains of debt, no life insurance, no savings. She was in that abyss of shock
and disbelief which joins arms with grief, oblivious to the physical condition of her surroundings.
Projects aborted by illness remained unfinished. Tools had been left on a workbench,
purchased supplies were bundled in their hardware store wrappings, and paint cans
were neatly lined up against a cellar wall. In addition to partially completed repairs
and revamping inside, the outside of the house had become a victim of the cruel winter
weather, faded and neglected, the way Fran's heart felt when faced with the seemingly
insurmountable tasks left for her.
Winter mercifully ended and the spring thaw nudged her to acknowledge the need for
repainting the house. There were several ads for house painters in the classified
section of the local newspaper, but, when called, the quoted prices were beyond belief.
After all, her spouse had done all construction and repairs. Never was there a need to
hire someone else. She was in a quandary: very little money and a great need for the
house to be painted. It wouldn't survive another year without protection.
The last man contacted on the list of advertised numbers was quiet and polite. He
came to the house to assess the job and assured Fran it could be done in a
reasonable time frame. Normally a private person, Fran told the painter during
the conversation about her situation. He didn't say much, walking around the
perimeter of the house and staring at the two story building. There was a lengthy
pause when asked the estimate for the job, and his answer astounded the widow:
"There will be no charge."
The explanation given was that the painter's best friend had died several years before
and, as a gift to the widow, he had painted the house for free. Since that time whenever
a needy person was discovered, he and his crew painted one house a year at no charge
to the recipient. As he told Fran, "This year you are ?it'."
Ever the streetwise consumer, Fran refused to believe the ludicrous offer. Thinking
it was a scam, she needed input to shore up her conviction that no one in his right
mind would paint an entire house and not charge a nickel. Knowing what the going
rate was for the week long project, she was certain it wasn't possible. Offers like
this didn't occur in a little town in New England.
She was finally convinced to trust the painter's word and accepted the gift. The
following week a crew in two trucks showed up early on a Monday morning and
began to strip the sides of the house. They returned each day, setting up their
ladders, paintbrushes in hand, working at the job until it was complete. There
was never a charge.
The house stands proud in its new coat, withstanding the wind and rain. Fran
thought she was left alone during tough times, but God didn't abandon her.
He knew that her children needed her, so He sent along the right man for the job.
Fran's trust was renewed and, for the first time, was given the glimmer of hope
that she would withstand the buffeting winds of her new life as a single parent.
She had been blessed with God's promise that she would make the long, difficult
journey to the other side of the chasm of her struggle. The first step had been
taken with the stroke of a brush.
Irene Budzynski, R.N.
Source: Heart Touchers and Heartwarmers 4 u
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