Tip of My Iceberg

I so wanted them to be the bad guys. Then I’d have someone to rail against, an entity to receive the focus of my anger and frustration.

I can’t lay all the blame at the feet of our HOA.

Our house needs painting. Badly. It’s been more years than we should have allowed, but with work and family responsibilities, it never was an overwhelming issue. Our home exists in all it’s lived-in, well-used, hard-loved glory.

The HOA sees the need. And has sent us a few registered letters, informing us of our lack of neighborly responsibility in allowing our home to fall into such a state of ugly.

We need to get it painted.

I’ve not problem with that. I know it needs it–they’re not getting an argument from me on that. So John and I went to Sherwin-Williams Paint, the holder of our HOA’s colors, and were told to pick.

Not easy. We knew gray was on the list, but we didn’t see the book. We picked a pure gray color. Software Gray. Who’s going to fight with gray? We submitted our choice and waited for the OK to move forward on hiring a painter.

It shouldn’t have been that complicated.

We got another registered letter, telling us our color had been rejected. We needed to pick a color from the dad gum book. Three representatives of the HOA board had determined our gray wasn’t satisfactory.

I was fuming. John listened. I went on and on about not wanting beige gray or blue gray, just plain gray. He listened.

I came up with a grand alternative. “Let’s paint it the gray we want, and I dare them to walk up with paint swatches to show we don’t have an acceptable gray.”

“And when they make us repaint because it’s not an approved color, paying a second time, what would you say then?’

His calm was irritating. His logic, irrefutable.

“I’ll tell them they’re all color blind!”

I don’t believe they even checked the color we submitted. I think, when they saw it wasn’t an approved color, they rejected it out of hand.

Which is so unfair.

“This isn’t a hill to die on, babe. Save your energy for what matters.”

He’s right. The rules may seem petty, but they’re the rules. Used to keep order. And not have homes painted neon green. This was neither a life or death situation nor was it a compromise of conviction. The house needs to be painted, and I want it to be gray.

Spending time and energy on things I can’t change, fix or control is a waste. There are so few things that are really worth fighting to the bitter end.

The safety of my family. Helping those less fortunate than I am. People who are abused or traded as slaves because someone sees them as property.

And my faith. Believing Jesus is the Son of God. That’s a truth I’ll defend to the end. It defines and strengthens me like nothing and no one else can.

That’s the hill I’ll bunker down in and stay the course.