But alas, I must admit it to the world. I got a table out of a dumpster. I wanted a table, and I dug it out of the trash. I'll never get an upscale New York studio at this rate.
*dodges rotten vegetables*
But I did say I made it amazing, didn't I? And I did! Read on, if my ethos hasn't been entirely demolished at this point.
At first, I needed the table, but didn't have the time to fix it up properly. One glance showed exactly why it had been thrown out in the first place: whoever owned it had dogs which chewed it to smithereens. It was ugly, a cheap, tan table that belonged at a flea market--being used to sell merchandise because no one would buy it like that.
So, I threw a square of fabric over it and made sure no casual observer would see any part of the actual table. Then I covered that in plants, and made it a lovely, useful piece. And when we moved, I sat it outside until I could figure out a more permanent solution to the problem.
At that point, we began noticing another problem. We had no table in the house at all, except the craft table David had bought me, which was being used as a computer desk. There was no place for us to set our drinks or food, no place for Jeremy to set up for gaming, and no place for a dining table of any size. A card table would have been too big. But that hideous little critter outside was perfect. Except that it was hideous.
I finally dug into my craft supplies and managed to find my sandpaper. An hour of rough sanding, and half of the chewed places looked better. I went for a rough-carved idea, sanding all the distinct edges down. Then, I perused Walmart's mismatched paint section and picked up a pint of grey indoor-outdoor 2 in 1 paint/primer. Finally, today, I painted the stew out of that table. I filled the tooth marks with paint and smoothed it over with the bristles of the brush.
But it made me think about something....
I have another table that would be great to use, but it's in storage and has been since before we moved, because the glue that holds the legs together isn't strong enough to hold the weight of the marble top. Yeah, it's an antique marble-top table.
But it's more worthless than this dumpster table, because I can't try to fix it in a way that would hurt it's looks. It would take someone with a lot more skill to fix, and even then, it would have to be treated with kid gloves and couldn't take a beating like this one.
It reminded me of my own pride. I often try to be that pretentious marble table. I won't allow myself to be humbled to the point where I'm actually useful. I won't let God re-make me into someone He can use because I'm too busy trying to look good to everyone else.
Both tables needed work to become useful. Both had potential to fulfill. But only one is, and it's not the snazzy, chic one. Such is the way of things in the upside-down kingdom.
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