Our story so far: There comes a time in every mountain climb—and every renovation project—when exhaustion sets in and the craggy cliffs appear insurmountable. That time came for us when the days were literally the longest days of the year and nothing seemed to go our way.

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Friday, Tyler assembled the ceiling fans for the great room. He discovered the fan he’d scored on an open-box deal no longer had the necessary screws for assembly. So he carefully salvaged the one leftover screw from the box in which the brand-new fan arrived, and he drove to the hardware store to purchase duplicates.

Only he dropped the screw in the crevice of the truck console.

If you’ve ever shaken my husband’s baseball-mitt hand, you know it’s not built for salvaging tiny screws from narrow openings.

He talked a clerk at the hardware store into lending him a magnet. “We don’t usually loan tools,” she said, as she reluctantly handed it over.

He fished the rebellious screw from its hiding place and bought 20 news ones. Just in case he dropped another one in a crack somewhere.

At this point on Friday afternoon, I began feeling a tickle in my throat, signaling I was in for a cold (which was par for the course the week had been), but the rain had finally stopped. Tyler called our electrician, who wasn’t otherwise engaged (serendipity), and he agreed to install one of the fans before we all called it a day.

The electrician completed his work, and Tyler called me into the sanctuary of the church.

When I walked into the great room, I was like the mountain climber cresting a hill. The view of the summit—so much closer than it was at the bottom—was amazing.

The fan was majestic. Artistically designed. The perfect color.

After a long week, things were looking up.

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Tomorrow: Chapter 29 concludes with a look at the revamped sanctuary lights. Check it out here.