Tip of My Iceberg

Registered letters, poke-the-bear emails, conversations with decision makers and months of waiting. We finally did it.

Our house is painted!

We worked through so many grays. Software Gray, Amazing Gray, Functional Gray, Repose Gray, Light French Gray, Gray Screen. The commonality? They’re all gray.

Having picked out a variety of grays we liked, we took them in for approval and the go-ahead on the paint project.

Not a single one was acceptable. They gave us the book to look through their choices for our house. We needed to pick from that.

I’m not fond of being micro-managed.

What took time was we changed the color from taupe to gray. One bland to another.

Not taupe to royal blue or marigold yellow or sunburst orange.

The rules aren’t meant to punish but to encourage a pleasing environment for everyone. I get that.

Rules don’t always feel like friends.

Once we got all our little colorful ducks in a row, the painting itself took three days. The folks who did it were thorough. Everything from pressure washing all the mold off to covering stucco cracks that happen with the house settling to actual painting. (There was a bit of a glitch when one of the younger guys hooked into my neighbors’ water because our water pressure wasn’t as good as theirs. Didn’t ask. Just took. Not good. They were very gracious about it.)

Some of our neighbors have thanked us for finally getting this done. We love our neighborhood. We had no idea they were being kind about our eyesore of a home.

So it’s done. I can check this off my to-do list for the next ten years.

But those aren’t the only thoughtful notes we’ve received from the HOA.

They’ve also commented on our carefully cultivated weed bed in front of our house.

In my defense, when I knew we were painting the house, I pulled out all the bushes in front because we needed something new. Why not make it easier for the painters and get some color up front.

That was months ago. In Florida, open dirt invites weeds that don’t have a thing to do with landscaping. With the idea in mind that we’d eventually plant something, I left it. And crud grew.

We’re not done yet.

My life reflects these ongoing projects. Shore up this disastrous part of my behavior. Pull down that wall in my heart to make room for right thinking. Transplant attitudes of growth and get rid of weeds of personal lies and destruction.

It never ends.

It’s not just that the projects never end. I reconstruct the same projects over and over again. I’m not getting the interior paint job done right. Like my attitude. The critical, arrogant parts keep popping through my whitewash.

I can’t make myself good enough. This side of heaven, I remain broken and messy. Jesus isn’t asking me to be my own fixer upper. He walks with me through the process. One day at a time.

My life, behavior, needs to be taken down to the studs. Jesus does it with grace and mercy.

So much kinder than demo day.