I was opening a kitchen drawer looking for a clean cloth when a cockroach the size of a baby hummingbird scurried across the inside. “Ugh! there’s a cockroach!” I screamed.

Jenny came running into the kitchen. “Over there! Over there!” I yelled pointing at the drawer.

Jenny swatted at it. “Did you get it?”

“I don’t think so. It got away.”

“Ewwwe,” I said in disgust. “We need to remodel the kitchen. I can’t cook in this place.”

We had purchased the house in Long Beach a few months earlier. For the most part it was in good shape, but the kitchen was a dump. The cabinets seemed to be made of plywood and the drawers required a lot of maneuvering to open and close. When we pulled up the interior of a lower cabinet to install the new stove when we moved in, we found rat droppings. I almost threw up.

“No sense in waiting,” I declared, even though we had already taken on a big debt with the purchase of the house. “I’m calling the bank to see if we can get a loan.”

With the loan secured, I called our contractor, Earl Weaver. Earl is a gentle older man, originally from Pennsylvania. His suspenders look like tape measures.

Earl arrived the next day to survey the kitchen. “We want to take down the wall between the dining room and the kitchen,” I explained. I decided I could design the place myself. Not that I am trained as an architect or a designer, except in my fantasy life, but I sketched out a rough design on a piece of paper anyway, and Earl, his assistant, Alvaro, and I made decisions along the way.

“What kind of cabinets will you want?” Earl asked.

“I’m not sure,” I replied. “Maybe Maple?”

“I recommend Cherry wood,” Earl said.

“I love Cherry wood,” I said. “But we might not be able to afford it. I’m trying to stay within our budget.”

“How about if I bring over some wood samples?” Earl asked.

The next day Earl brought five samples of wood, some stained lighter than others. “Which one is the Maple?” I asked, eying a lighter stain.

“Oh, these are all Cherry,” Earl responded.

“I thought you were bringing over samples of different kinds of wood.” I said.

“No, these are all Cherry, with different stains so you can see the variety.”

“But we might not be able to afford Cherry,” I reminded him.

“I recommend you go with the Cherry wood,” Earl said. It seemed easier to agree with him on this rather then keep pressing for Maple.

“Ok, then.”

When it came time to install the windows, Earl gave me a card of a woman he uses to purchase windows. “But this is a housecleaning service,” I said reading the card.

“That’s her other business,” Earl clarified. “The window business is on the other side.”

“Well that’s handy. We need a housecleaning service.”

I called Adriana the next day. “Our contractor, Earl Weaver, gave me your card. We’re going to be purchasing windows from you, but I notice you also have a house cleaning business and we need a housecleaner.”

“Oh, yes, Earl Weaver. He’s my pastor,” Adriana said on the other end of the phone.

“No,” I corrected her, thinking she must have had someone else in mind. “Earl Weaver is a contractor.”

“No, you see. Earl is like me. During the day he has one job, and at night and on weekends, he is a pastor.”

Not that I am religious, but for some reason, knowing my contractor is also a pastor, gives me great comfort.

Pass the cherry wood, please, Pastor Earl.