I’ve always been a schemer– if you take it by its good connotation, of course. In elementary school, I figured out that the shortest way from point A to point B was a straight line. This was good to reckon early on, because I didn’t take geometry until tenth grade. As a kid, I enjoyed being the fastest, smartest… and richest. This, of course, led to lawn mowing in the dead of Florida summers for a mere ten bucks, lemonade stands that went defunct, car washes that cost more (for my parents) to supply than I netted, and The Job of All Jobs for teenage girls: babysitting.

Babysitting– along with a little house cleaning, a short stint working for a CPA, and an even shorter spell as a dishwasher– helped me make it through four and a half years of college pretty much debt-free. It wasn’t long, however, for me to figure out that retirement by thirty wasn’t going to happen by frying up chicken nuggets for the neighbors’ kids. Especially since the neighbors weren’t rich.

No, I was going to have to get radical. So, I put my degree to use and taught first grade in a public school. Once again my brilliant scheming was on vacation. Yes, teaching will help you retire early for sure. But you won’t retire because you’re rich.

Somewhere in all this, my now-husband took a liking to my ideas and decided to rescue me from other potential suitors who couldn’t handle didn’t appreciate my scheming. He saw a diamond in the rough and wasn’t afraid to use a little elbow grease to polish me.

Part of the shining my husband performed was when he redirected my scheming away from the monetary to the eternal. This is another way to say that we began having children, blessings sent from a very good God. Now, not only was I not going to retire at thirty, but forty didn’t look likely either. But just because I rest in the sure goodness of a sovereign God and hope in his promises, my scheming visionary nature has to have an outlet somewhere.

So, we bought our first house.

When other people buy a house, they usually redecorate it. By the time I was “done” however (these things never really get done), the house had been remodeled. Walls had been knocked down, floors were ripped up, and half the sod had to be removed to make way for fourteen flats of annuals. Then we moved a year later and started over at the “new” house.

The story to encapsulate all the projects done here goes like this: while my husband was in the middle of tearing down the kitchen ceiling to raise it up, install recessed lighting, and rearrange cabinets, I turned on the kitchen faucet and water poured on my head from reworked plumbing in the exposed ceiling. All other projects go something like that. But they all turn out pretty good in the end.

I don’t even want to get into my 800 square foot tricked-out garden that needed an entire truckload of dirt and hundreds of feet of irrigation. Remember that one, honey?

Here’s how it works. My hard-working, theologically astute rocket scientist comes home from work, and I say, “Do you want to hear my latest idea?” He replies by bracing himself and asking for a cookie. I proceed to tell him about a piece of land that I found, a lead on a apartment-to-condo conversion, a Subway chain that’s for sale, or a new phase for my master landscaping scheme. He calls to mind all the downsides and counts up the number of hours of work that this requires. To which I reply, “But we’re not afraid of work, right?”

Right.

I’d like to point out that some of my schemes ideas have turned out profitable. I bought land and sold it for a profit, a la Proverbs 31. And I would’ve planted a vineyard with my earnings, but the Department of Environmental Protection deemed that unwise. Please don’t ask why we have the DEP on speed-dial.

Also, my garden produced prolifically before it got taken over by weeds. (Don’t use non-composted lawn clippings as mulch.) Then, there is the fact that our house value has increased because of its elaborate landscape design and numerous remodeling enhancements. Which is only important if you’re selling it or taking out a home equity line, but that is beside the point.

However, the biggest profit by far is that I have a husband who entertains (and is entertained by) my passionate, visionary plotting. He pulls gently on the reins that sometimes need heavy-handed steering; he convinces me that he actually considers some of my confections; and he leads our family in the way we should go. He’s also very good with a spreadsheet.

I can’t wait until he gets home tonight.