The thought of painting all the navy walls in our house beige was mind-boggling, overwhelming and unthinkable. It bothered me most because in my deepest heart, I didn’t think it would matter. Years of trying had convinced me nothing could get our old farm house sold, and to embark on an arduous work project for no good reason left me drained at the thought.
But… I knew I’d be in my paint clothes by that afternoon.
While Nate and I were raising our seven children, both of us felt it was more important to teach character than habits. One of my personal quests as a mom was to insist they keep their commitments. If they signed up for a baseball team, they should be at every practice and game. If they took on an art class, they should never miss a session. If they exchanged names with a pen pal, they should answer every letter. And my hassling them about school attendance was legendary. (Vomiting-in-progress was the only valid excuse.)
Now Nate and I had both made a commitment to persevere in getting the house sold, and I was wavering. Sitting in the living room that morning detesting the thought of all that painting, I was doing the opposite of what I’d taught our kids.
Although I would rather have done anything else that day, I dragged myself to Home Depot and bought the paint, unpacked the tarps and brushes, began moving furniture and started taping edges. My mood was dark, and I wondered how many days or even weeks it would take before everything was back in order.
Just then someone pulled into the driveway: my sister Mary. When she saw the situation she lit up like a child making a birthday wish. “Oh,” she said. “I just love to paint! Can I help?”
Although her life is busy with a capital “B”, she carved out four straight days to paint with me, bringing her “favorite brush” and a heapin’ helpin’ of enthusiasm, enough for both of us. Gradually my navy house morphed into a beige one, and the neutral color began to grow on me. As the rooms brightened, so did my perspective.
Could the realtor’s advice have been correct? Would the understated walls allow potential buyers to see their own furniture in our rooms?
Eventually, tired of stepping over the never-ending mess, Nate suggested we get a professional painter to help, and quickly after that, the job was finished. It had taken five weeks of doing virtually nothing else, but in the end I had to agree. The whole place had had a face lift, and with Mary’s help, I was back on track toward perseverance.
After the brushes had been cleaned, the tarps folded and the extra paint stored in the basement, I sat back in my living room chair to ponder one weighty question:
Would the house sell now?
(…to be continued)
“Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.” (James 1:4)
