Meyu Changkiri
For the past eighteen years, my family and I have been living in the Pastor’s quarter beneath our church building. The sanctuary is above us; our home is below. Worship services, prayer meetings, song practices, and gatherings take place upstairs, while daily family life continues downstairs. The sound of footsteps during services, the movement of chairs, the echo of singing, and a variety of musical instruments all have been part of our normal routine. Over time, we have grown used to this rhythm. Ministry and home life have blended into one.
On January 2, 2026, the church renovation and painting began. At first, it felt like a routine maintenance project. The building needed fresh paint. Some cracks required repair. Certain areas had grown dull with time. Nothing unusual. Building age. They need attention.
But as the days passed, I began to sense that something more was happening - not only to the building, but also within me. What was taking place above our heads slowly became a quiet sermon in my heart.
The Scraping Process
Before new paint could be applied, the old paint had to be scraped away. Workers climbed ladders and began removing the peeling layers from the walls. The scraping sound filled the air. It was rough, repetitive, and impossible to ignore. As they worked, fine white dust fell everywhere.
The dust did not remain upstairs. It drifted down into our living space. It settled on sofas, tables, bookshelves, curtains, and floors. Every surface seemed to collect a thin white layer.
My wife and children patiently wiped the furniture again and again. They swept and mopped the floor repeatedly. They tried their best to keep the house clean. Yet no matter how often they cleaned, more dust returned because the work was still ongoing.
There were moments when I quietly wished that no visitors would drop by. The house did not look presentable. The church compound appeared dull. Everything felt unsettled. I even found myself apologising in advance, in my heart, for the mess that was not fully in our control.
Then one morning, while watching the workers scrape the walls, a thought became clear: spiritual renewal often begins this way.
Before God brings new colour into our lives, He removes the old layers. And that removal is rarely quiet or comfortable.
When God Begins to Remove Old Layers
We often pray for growth. We ask God to renew our churches, bless our families, and deepen our faith. We speak about revival and transformation. But we do not always consider what must happen first.
Over time, certain things quietly settle in our lives. Not dramatic sins, perhaps - but small compromises. Spiritual complacency. Gradual neglect of prayer. Silent pride. Unresolved resentment. Routine without passion. These layers accumulate slowly. From the outside, everything may look stable. But underneath, the surface is no longer fresh.
When God decides to renew us, He does not simply paint over the old surface. He begins by removing what has hardened.
That process can feel unsettling. I realised that I often pray for renewal, but I rarely pray for the courage to endure the scraping. Circumstances may shift. Plans may change. Relationships may be tested.
God may use people, situations, or even disappointments to reveal what needs attention. Like renovation dust, the effects spread into areas we did not expect.
In such seasons, we may feel exposed. We prefer others to see the finished version of our lives - the polished surface, the tidy environment. We hesitate to let people see us “under renovation.”
Yet a building under renovation is not a building in decline. It is a building being strengthened.
In the same way, when God corrects, convicts, or challenges us, it is not rejection. It is evidence that He is still working on us.
Hidden Corners and Necessary Cleaning
As the renovation continued, broken plaster and scraped paint gathered in piles. The workers swept them together and carried them out of the compound. Slowly, even though dust remained, the place began to feel lighter.
Inside our home, something similar happened. Because dust kept settling, we had to clean more thoroughly than usual. The furniture was moved. Sofas were wiped carefully. Curtains were taken down, washed, and dried in the sunlight. Corners that had been ignored for years were finally cleaned.
Renovation has a way of exposing hidden spaces.
Spiritually, seasons of change do the same. They reveal what comfort has concealed - strained communication in families, fatigue in ministry, quiet disappointments, personal struggles we never addressed. When life is smooth, we manage. When life is shaken, deeper realities surface.
But exposure is not meant to shame us. It is meant to free us.
When sunlight touches fabric that has gathered dust, it restores freshness. When God’s truth shines into our hearts, it brings clarity. He does not reveal weakness to condemn us, but to cleanse us.
Sweeping Is Not Enough
Even after sweeping the floors and clearing the debris, the cement and paint work left the church compound looking dull. The ground still appeared dusty. It needed something more.
One evening, our whole family gathered buckets of water and brooms. Together, we poured water over the compound and washed the surfaces thoroughly. Slowly, the dullness disappeared. The ground regained its brightness. The compound looked alive again. As I watched my family working side by side, I felt grateful - not just for a cleaner compound, but for the quiet lesson God was teaching us together.
That moment stayed with me.
Sweeping removes loose dirt. But washing restores life.
In our spiritual journey, discipline alone is not enough. We can adjust our schedules, read more, try harder, and improve our routines. These are important. But they are not the final answer. True renewal requires inner cleansing. It requires humility, repentance, and surrender. It requires grace.
Only when God washes our hearts does real freshness return.
Another lesson became clear that evening: we did it together. Each of us carried a bucket. Each of us contributed. No one stood aside. Renewal became a shared effort.
The same principle applies in church life. Spiritual vitality cannot depend on one leader alone. When members take ownership of their spiritual growth, when families pray together, when individuals confess and forgive, when leaders model humility, the entire community becomes brighter.
From Temporary Mess to Lasting Beauty
Gradually, visible change appeared. The church walls looked bright and renewed. The trash was gone. The compound was clean. Our home, though inconvenienced during the process, felt fresher than before. What once looked chaotic now appeared welcoming.
The discomfort did not last forever. The beauty did.
This experience reminded me that disruption does not automatically mean decline. Sometimes it means development. Sometimes it means preparation for something better.
In many places today, churches and families feel unsettled. There are generational changes, shifting expectations, financial pressures, and personal challenges. Things may feel dusty. We may feel tired from constant adjustments. We may long for stability.
But perhaps God is at work beneath the surface. He may be removing what no longer serves His purpose. He may be strengthening foundations we did not realise were weak. He may be preparing us for a season we cannot yet see. We must learn to interpret the dust correctly.
If He is scraping, it is because He intends to renew. If He is exposing, it is because He intends to heal. If He is removing, it is because He intends to restore.
A Word for Those in a Difficult Season
Maybe you are walking through your own renovation season. Your life may feel unsettled. Plans may have changed unexpectedly. Relationships may feel strained. You may be facing questions you never anticipated. Everything may look dusty and unclear.
Do not lose heart.
The dust is not the final picture. The scraping is not the end of your story. Renovation always looks messy in the middle. But the middle is not the conclusion.
God does not remove old layers without preparing something new. He does not expose weakness without offering strength. He does not clear away what is broken without planning to rebuild.
As I now look at the freshly painted church, I am reminded that the Master Builder works with intention. He does not simply cover cracks with colour. He removes what is damaged. He repairs carefully.
He cleans thoroughly. And then He restores beauty.
May we not resist the seasons of scraping. May we allow Him to remove what needs to go. May we welcome the cleansing He brings. And may our homes, our churches, and our hearts reflect the lasting beauty that comes after the dust settles.
Because in the hands of the Master Builder, even dust becomes the beginning of something beautiful.
