Fifteen framed black and white pictures. All the grands. And an almost granddog.

The kids made me cry on Christmas–always a goal. If Mom sobs, the gift was a hit.

We have no pictures of all the grands anywhere in the house. The ones we had were outdated–the older ones were underwhelmed by their youth; the younger ones were stymied by their lack of presence on our walls.

The day before the exodus from our semi-epic Christmas, the project was to get the pictures on the wall. I have been known to have framed art or photographs for years before putting them up.

This would be finished. Whatever it took.

Jonn and I purchased a bunch of those sticky things that leave no marks on the wall when you take them down. Not that I was going to ever do that, but it was nice to know that my walls would look spotless if that were ever the case.

Plus there was the guarantee that each strip would hold four pounds. And these portraits barely weighed a pound apiece.

I’ve not got a great eye for style, so I was encouraged to put them up in three rows, five across. I thought uneven lines might make the end result more appealing.

I got the stink eye for even mentioning that.

Placement on the wall was determined. A level was used to make sure the lines ran straight–no eyeballing. A tape measure was brought to bear to make sure they were at an equal distance from one another. Very organized.

Until it wasn’t.

After the first six went up, the fourth one on the wall fell. Putting it back up with those little sticky things–which guaranteed to hold–didn’t help. That picture kept falling.

And then another one fell.

Fortunately, none of the glass broke as they tumbled off the wall. That was a positive.

No matter how firmly we held those frames in place, they refused to stay up.

So much for the stickies. I told John we need to rely on good old nails. Who cares about a hole in the wall?

This is a grand picture (pun intended) of what my approach to New Year’s resolutions is like. I’ve got a great plan with an end goal that will be spectacular. I get input from others on what might work best. I listen to advice from those who know better than I do about such things. And I move forward with a plan.

The plan works as long as my stickies (my willpower) hold up.

Rather short-lived.

My attempts to make broad changes in my life are only as good as my ability to make good choices. On any given day, the bad choices feel better.

My competencies mean nothing apart from my character.

The new year represents a new beginning. A clean slate.

As a messy person, clean slates don’t last.

God doesn’t operate on the clean-slate principle. Once He wipes a life clean with His forgiveness, it’s permanently clean.

No stickiness can mess that up.

 

 

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