USA: From good enough to wow
An abrasive story of grit and polish
“How are your hands today?” Andy asked.
It was thoughtful of my husband to consider the condition of my chronically achy joints before assigning me my next task. He’s a builder and an engineer at heart—the brains behind this whole camper-build. Although I’m not necessarily talented in manual labor tasks, nor am I reliably strong anymore, I am his trusty sidekick. I may not be the Assistant Project Manager, but I am absolutely an assistant TO the Project Manager.
Building an expedition truck is not exactly my idea of a good time on the best days, but some days my fingers are so stiff and tender that gripping particular tools is very painful. Generally, I can grit my teeth and push through it, but then I pay for it doubly the next day. He has learned to ask and assess first. My limitations are often frustrating, but I appreciate his patience and support.
“They’re a little stiff from all that ratcheting earlier, but not too bad. What do you have in mind?”
“Do you think you could grip an orbital sander for a while?”
I opened and closed my fists a few times and wiggled all ten fingers. Not bad. Plenty of functionality.
“Sure. I could do that today. What needs to be sanded?”
“Those two remaining slabs of countertop. I already did the passenger side of the kitchen because I had to fasten it down when I put the sink in, but we still need to do the driver side, plus the dinette table.”
I nodded.
He balanced a big slab of Corian atop the stack of four studded tires that will go with my little Honda when we are ready to part ways with it. It was wobbly, not an ideal perch, but the one pair of sawhorses we still own was already occupied. Since we are still camping between two very separate worlds—formerly homeowners and soon-to-be travelers in Walter, our big yellow truck, the rest of our belongings are either in Walter, in my car, in the cozy camping trailer we are borrowing, in plastic tubs on the grass, or laid out on a tarp. The stack of tires was the best work surface available.
We are so pleased with the countertops we picked out, streaked with pale blue and grey, flecked with white, and stained with muted splotches of a rusty color I can’t quite put my finger on.
I assumed Andy just needed me to dust them off and give them a final buffing. They looked pretty good just the way they were, at least to me.
After nearly 32 years of marriage to this guy, I should know better.
“I’ll have you start with 180-grit, then move to 220,” he began. “I think I’ve got some . . . hang on, let me look . . .” He dug through a plastic grocery sack of sandpaper. “. . . yeah, here’s some 320.”
This was not going to be a simple buffing.
“Next, you’re gonna hit it with these soft pads,” Andy continued. “I’ve got a 500 here, then 1,000. A thousand will take care of most everything but go ahead and finish it with this 4,000. That’s when you’ll really see the color pop—and it’ll also show you anything you missed.”
Like I said, I really thought the Corian already looked pretty good. When the delivery truck brought it to our shop—back when we still had access to our old property and the woodshop we built there back in 2004—we marveled at how pretty that pattern of Corian was going to look inside Walter’s habitation box.
Marring that lovely surface just seemed so unnecessarily abrasive.
“Isn’t it pretty good already?” I ventured, despite the fact that he is the expert. The only building techniques I know well involve colorful plastic Lego bricks.
“No, it definitely needs more work. Both slabs have scratches and imperfections all over. They need to be completely refinished before we can install them.”
I bit my lip and nodded.
“Let’s have you start this first one upside down. Do the outside edge first, then the underside where our fingertips will touch. After that, I’ll help you flip it so you can do the top and blend the lines down to a nice, smooth round-over.”
I remembered hearing Andy talk in his many woodworking classes and seminars about the infinite number of flat planes between a horizontal and a vertical surface. It takes a lot of work to knock down enough of the perceptible hard lines—evenly—to make a perfectly rounded edge.
Before going back to his own project, Mr. Woodworking reminded me of the differences between the orbital and regular settings on the sander, explaining something about the rotation direction and random patterns and which would work best in each application. He’s very good at explaining things and other woodworkers love him, but I only vaguely followed the basics of his little speech, without much meaningful understanding, if I’m being completely honest. It’s par for the course with me, unfortunately.
Slab One
Grabbing a round sheet of 180-grit sandpaper, I pressed it onto the sander and gave it a good pat. Then I ripped it right back off like a noisy sheet of Velcro and tried again, this time lining up the holes better. Every time.
When I flipped the motor on and guided the sander along the edge, the tool took on a life of its own, fighting against me as if it didn’t want to do the work any more than I did. Quickly, though, as I reacquainted myself with the sander’s vigorous vibrations, the formerly smooth surface (or what I had taken for a smooth surface) turned chalky and rough. The color faded to a fraction of the beauty I’d perceived only moments before. I learned to switch between the two modes to work at and around the scratches until they disappeared. Before long, the whole outer edge and the underside of the lip was dusty and ugly.
Success.
I wondered at the seemingly backward logic of the universe—in order to make something polished and glassy, you must first rough it up and break it down.
Once I’d finished with the 180-grit, I turned the power switch to off. The whirring sound died down as the handheld machine slowed its motion; then the dust collection vac’s steady whooshing and high-pitched humming petered out to a full stop. My ears rang, still remembering.
Rrriiip.
I pulled off the 180-grit sheet and reached for a 220.
Align.
Pat into place.
Rrriiip.
Align again.
Pat into place again.
Whirrrr . . .
Whooosh . . .
Hummm . . .
I settled into the rhythm, knowing it would be a long-haul job. I needed to overhaul the entire surface shape and texture of two large slabs of Corian countertop material. That amount of change takes time.
Although I methodically covered every inch of the surface, the 220-grit round didn’t make things look or feel much better.
Neither did the 320.
By the time I’d reached the 500-grit level, the first of the soft buffing pads, I couldn’t see much of a difference, but my fingers told me change was definitely happening. The scratches were gone. The rough places were smooth. I covered every inch, then moved up to a thousand.
Rrriiip.
Align.
Pat into place.
Whirrrr . . .
Whooosh . . .
Hummm . . .
Finally, after a tedious half-hour of meticulous and repetitive work, I was ready for the final step. The 4,000-grit buffing pad didn’t feel the slightest bit abrasive. It was smooth and soft. Using it felt more like polishing than sanding. And as Andy had predicted, the color returned. It was a small sample, though—just the outside edge and the two inches of the underside lip. I had merely completed the first side (the easier side by far) of the first slab (the smaller of the two).
I called for my husband to help me flip it over so I could begin on the top surface, the one that really mattered, the one that would show. By then the sawhorses were available, so we set them up on the shady side of the truck and relocated the slab.
On such a big surface, each step required much more time and effort than before. I needed at least two sheets of each grit of sandpaper to cover it all. My hands rattled and buzzed, the tingling continuing in my fingers whenever I turned the sander off between rounds. The midday sun rose high in the sky and beat down mercilessly as the mercury climbed to a hundred—again. I shifted my body position, trying to stay within whatever remaining pockets of shade I could find.
It was slow work. Step-by-tedious-step. I wondered if it would look much different than the original when I finished. Was all this work just to remove the few scratches and imperfections I had barely noticed before? I could have been fine with it the way it was. Andy was the perfectionist. He has always had to have everything just right. The standard of quality in his workmanship is legendary. Sometimes it drives me crazy. I’m not perfect, and I don’t mind living with imperfect stuff. Scratches don’t bother me enough to justify all this work, I caught myself thinking, especially not in this heat. I felt the all-too-familiar grumbling rising up.
When I got to 4,000, however, everything changed. The colors popped. Were those grey and blue and rust flecks always there? I only remember a few white ones. Did the colors look this deep and layered before? The countertop appeared to have at least three dimensions instead of just the standard two. The surface I thought was so pretty—before—was dull and plain in my memory, compared to what that 4,000-grit pad was revealing.
I ran my fingers over the soft, rounded corner. It felt like glass. Better than glass.
I lowered myself to my knees and peered down the length of the slab. The areas I’d completed reflected our humble campsite like a lake at dawn.
It was worth the work. Our simple Corian suddenly looked every bit as luxurious as real marble or granite or quartz, at least to me.
I hadn’t realized how much room there was for improvement. Since my only experience had been mediocrity, I’d been willing to settle for so much less. I hadn’t known that, with some time and effort, it could be that much better. Not knowing the possibility for the beauty to come, I’d grumbled and complained, at least internally, at the tedious step-by-step, no possibility for shortcuts, hand-and-brain-numbing process.
I just didn’t know the change could be so significant. I didn’t know it would be so worth the effort.
Slab Two
After a break in the shade to chug some water and give my hands time to stop tingling, I was ready to tackle the next slab of Corian. This time I knew the process would be worthwhile.
Even when my hands got tired.
Even when the sun beat down.
Even when the tedious steps seemed so repetitive.
Eager to see the results, I hurried through the process.
180—check.
Rrriiip. Align. Pat down. Repeat.
220, 320—check, check.
On to the buffing pads—500, 1,000—check, check.
4,000. Done. Mirrored glass. Perfectly rounded edge. Smooth as a baby’s . . .
Wait.
No.
There it was. My fingers found it even before my eyes did. A scratch. A deep one. In my haste, I’d missed it.
I knew no amount of polishing further with the soft and pleasant 4,000-grit pad would make the scratch go away. That pad was only for finishing, after the abrasive work was already done. If I wanted to heal the countertop and bring it to wholeness, I’d need to re-do that entire section, step-by-step, from 180—perhaps going down further to 150 or even 120. The scratch was deep. My glossy surface would have to be roughed up again.
I hesitated. The project had taken me most of the day already. I was tired. And hot. And my hands were stiffening up. Maybe I could just let it slide. Maybe Andy wouldn’t notice. Of course he would notice. Maybe he wouldn’t say anything. Maybe he would bite his tongue and assume I had just missed it somehow, that I had tried my best. But it would always secretly bother him.
Forget Andy; it would always bother me. This was my project now. This was not my best. My fingers would find it again and again and I would be reminded that I could have made a positive change; I could have done something really great; I could have fixed my mistake, but I chose not to.
Ugh.
Rrriiip.
I would sand out that scratch.
I would make the change I was perfectly capable of making. I would fix my own mistake. Like the courageous woman I interview below, I would rise above my petty excuses (and my not-so-petty ones, too!), take it step-by-step, do my best. For Andy. For me. For us.
7 Questions
As we talk about taking the steps and putting in the work to affect positive change, even humbly admitting our shortcomings and then tenaciously getting back on track again, I can’t help but think about my friend Tanaya Everbe.
I met Tanaya in the fall of 2019, at a women’s retreat in Cannon Beach, Oregon. We connected immediately. Although we have lived very different lives, rarely ever seeing each other in person since the day we first met, I’ve maintained an admiration and respect for her that is unflagging. She’s had to struggle so much, overcome so much, work so hard against such difficult odds.
But she continues to try. She continues to show up—not only for her kids and the people she meets, but for herself. As a long-haul trucker, and a fitness, nutrition and mindset coach, as well as a BODi partner; Tanaya loves to connect with other people. She puts herself out there publicly, even in her most vulnerable moments (like posting videos of herself getting in her workouts inside the restrooms of truck stops!), as an ongoing inspiration to the rest of us, even though I know it sometimes makes her cringe to do so.
Tanaya is a bundle of joy who glows from within. Her excitement is contagious and rubs off on all around her. Without further ado, my friend Tanaya Everbe:
Where were you born and where do you live now?
Portland, Oregon is where I was born, and I lived in Oregon until the Covid-19 pandemic hit. At that point, I sold everything I owned and became a nomadic long-haul truck driver. In February 2024, I bought a house in Elma, Washington, and thought I’d found home. Turns out, the universe had other ideas and I’m selling my house because I found home in Columbus, Ohio!! I've been desperate for a house to turn into a home ... but the house is empty, figuratively and literally. The "home" I found in Columbus is a community of people who allow me to be exactly me.
Of all the names and titles you have answered to over the years, do you have any favorites, and why?
My name, Tanaya, is my favorite name! But also, Everbe. I created the name myself, with the help of God and my church choir. After my second divorce, I felt nameless. I didn’t want to claim any of my previous surnames and went on an 18-month quest to find my identity! It was in the song “Your praise will ever be on my lips”1 that I found my identity, when I felt the voice of God affirm that Everbe is who I was meant to be. My son, who was 18 years old at the time, gave me the financial resources to pay for the legal name change for my birthday!
Can you tell me about one person who has had a significant positive impact on your life?
I’ve had so many people positively impact my life over the years. Growing up in an abusive home, I knew nothing about how to be a good person except what I didn’t want to do as modeled by my parents. I sought out mentors, teachers, and friends who taught me how to be a good human and a great parent! There are dozens of people that circled around me in different seasons of my life that significantly impacted who I am today!
What feels most like home to you and why?
Home to me is where I feel loved, accepted, appreciated, and cherished! I thought when I bought a house, it would feel like home, but I quickly realized that home isn’t a place, it’s a feeling. Home can be anywhere I lay my head where I am loved and valued!
What is one thing that makes you ridiculously happy?
Hugging humans! I love physical touch, and I give the most awkwardly long hugs that melt away anxiety, stress, bitterness, and fear! When I hug someone, and they whisper “you give the very best hugs”, it makes me ridiculously happy!!!
What is one thing that makes you terribly sad?
The negativity that feels so easy to spread in this season of humanity. The hurtful and seemingly careless way others choose to speak about humans. No matter what you believe, if you spread hate, your beliefs aren’t being honored!
What is one important thing you have learned over your lifetime?
Love costs nothing. I say ‘I love you’ to my friends, and I never miss an opportunity to lift another human up! Whether in the checkout line at the grocery store, my children on a daily basis, my friends across the country, or a homeless person on a street corner… kindness is FREE and love multiplies and has never diminished someone else’s spark! Be kind. Find peace. Love freely. Cherish this one precious life!
Finally, I asked Taunaya to provide me a photo of her choice and she sent me this, from a recent BODi event:
Can you see her sparkle? Can you feel her enthusiasm and energy jumping off the screen to inspire you?2 Yeah, she’s like that. You can—and probably should—follow her on Instagram at @everberising, or on Facebook under her name, the one and only Tanaya Everbe.
Thanks, Tanaya.
It’s not about countertops
If you’ve made it thus far in this post, friend, you already know. But let me sum it up anyway, just to be clear:
Change is possible. Healing is possible. But it takes more time and dedication to detail than we would prefer. It’s tedious. Sometimes you have to stand in the middle of it all, even when the sun is beating down, even when your hands are tingling and your ears are ringing. You don’t get to skip any of the steps. You can’t rush it, or you will pass over something vital. If you discover you’ve missed something, you will be tempted to say good enough, but with a little more work, you could have something glorious. Later on, down the road, when something happens to mar the finish you worked so hard to create, you will be able to smile and say, oh well. I did my best. And you will have peace.
For those big things in life, bigger than a slab of Corian countertop, my recommendations are this:
Pray mucho.3
Seek wise counsel from someone who is smarter than you about these matters—better yet, seek out several such people.
Write it down—your thoughts, your questions, your goals, the steps you plan to take.
Trust the process; steps toward a goal will slowly move you toward achieving that goal.
Check your progress occasionally, looking for anything you may have missed.
Take care of yourself, stopping for rest and hydration and connection frequently.
Humbly admit and at least attempt to fix your mistakes.
Enjoy the beauty of the change that occurs; it will likely be better than you could have ever imagined or hoped for.4
When you have done your best, let yourself rest; you have done what you can5
What change could you work toward this week? What steps could you take? Which of your mistakes could you go back and attempt to fix, tedious as the work might be?
Blessings on your journey, friend.
Until next week,
Sherry
P.S. For those who have been wondering about my foot (the one that got run over by a parade float a month ago): it is still tender to the touch but seems to be healing up well.
P.P.S. And for those wondering about our latest nomadic progress: we are still at the same place as last week, still trying to get the rig livable so we can move to our next campsite. But today Andy finished constructing our bed! Every day, we are taking steps, making progress. It’s tedious, but it will pay off—perhaps better than we ever hoped for!
To hear the song that inspired Tanaya’s unique last name, click here.
If you would like Tanaya’s support and inspiration on your own fitness, nutrition, and mindset journey; you can contact her here.
“Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done. Then you will experience God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus.” Phillipians 4:6-7 (NLT)
“Now all glory to God, who is able, through his mighty power at work within us, to accomplish infinitely more than we might ask or think. Glory to him in the church and in Christ Jesus through all generations forever and ever! Amen.” Ephesians 3:20-21 (NLT)
“Never pay back evil with more evil. Do things in such a way that everyone can see you are honorable. Do all that you can to live in peace with everyone.” Romans 12:17-18 (NLT)
Sherry, our lives have some interesting crisscrosses...I used to work at a Corian countertop place when I was 19. I loved the post; I listened to it in my car. Just what I needed on my 25-minute drive!