True Colors

I suppose in reality, this blog post could have been titled "How To Eat an Elephant, Part II."

We're still talking about painting the Casita, like we initially explored last week, but this time we're going... "deeper," if you will.

A few days ago a dear friend of mine came to visit. She was curious to see the progress on the house. She is an artist by trade and profession, so color fascinates and delights her. We talked a bit about my vision for this little cottage, how it would still reflect my favorote -almost signature- colors of pink and green, but would have morphed a bit, somehow evolving into deeper, more saturated, more... dare I say it... mature colors.

"Ohhh, you've got to write a blog post about this," she encouraged, so here it is.

I spent some of the past two days thinking about why I had chosen those particular adjectives to describe the colors I have picked for the space. It was really quite an interesting activity in self-reflection and evaluation.

You see, when our family first moved into our house on Abiso, the one we lived in for twenty-seven years, Tom and I were in our thirties. It was a different time and a very different lifestyle from how we live now. We had three small children (Sarah had not come along yet), several pets in tow, homeschooling happening in earnest, and a unique opportunity to transform the canvas of an eighty-year-old bungalow into "our" home.

I scoured decorating magazines for inspiration. I drove around the neighborhood looking for house colors that spoke to me. Ultimately I settled on a green house with white trim and pink screens. When I told my dad the colors I decided on, he gave me a look that indicated I might want to reconsider. The house had always... ALWAYS... been nothing but white. He clearly didn't share my vision or my enthusiasm for stepping out in a bolder fashion.

I recanted, but only so much as in the main body of the house remaining white. The trim would be green and the screens, pink, but not just any green and pink. They would be gloriously, lively pistachio and peony, ala Lily Pulitzer resort wear!

And they were.

And it was glorious and lively... and perfect for our phase of life and kids, and all the beautiful, crazy chaos that went with it.

But alas, all good things come to an end. We downsized five years ago, leaving the bungalow behind for a wee cottage, which now affords us another unique opportunity to deck it out in its own lovely hue.

Thing is... I still love my pink and green. That hasn't changed one bit over the years, but the colors have indeed matured, just like I have. The lively has become more the predictable. The chaos, more the settled. After my friend's remark, I thought about the how's and the why's of such a transformation.

I gave thought to life in general and to my life in specific. So much of what I used to think about faith, and family, and inter-personal relationships was based on an immature, perhaps more idealistic, reasoning. In my youth everything seemed much more black and white, clear-cut, no argument needed.

I remember lamenting as a young twenty-something the fact that I couldn't date that sweet boy any longer because he wasn't an LCMS Lutheran. (This was long before I met Tom, who was Episcopalian at the time.) He was a Christian young man for sure, and a lovely one, but we disagreed on Baptism and Holy Communion, and in my mind at the time, that was a deal-breaker.

It may surprise you that, as a member of the Lutheran Church Missouri Synod (LCMS), I no longer feel that way. I love my church body. I agree whole-heartedly with them on doctrine, but I love contemporary Christian music as much as the old Gospel-filled hymns, and I believe that wherever Jesus is welcomed in to touch a heart and change a life, He will. I hope and pray that always happens at my church, but I hope and pray that happens at every other Bible believing, Jesus confessing church as well.

I no longer feel that I must choose a church congregation based on the programs they offer or how my needs will be met. I'd much rather choose a congregation by what offerings I can bring, by what needs I can meet.

As for inter-personal relationships, whether it be with family or friends, I do a lot more thinking before I speak. I do a lot more reflection on how I might have caused the rift, than immediately blaming the other person. I have gained great perspective on the futilty of holding a grudge, and the blessing of forgiving quickly and fully. God has grabbed hold of me and convinced me that His grace is all powerful and all consuming and that if I am truly His follower, I will show that same grace to others. *I'm still a work in progress on that last one, but He who began a good work in me will bring it to completion. He says so, so I believe so, and He and I keep working at it together one day at a time.

In essence, time, and God's work in my life over that time, has done a great deal to knock off the sharp edges, to smoothe the rough places of my heart. Because my faith has matured, so has every other thing in my life. There is more empathy and less blame. There are more apologies and less strife. There are more words dripping of honey than vinegar. There is more compromising than demanding my own way. There is more understanding. There is more thankfulness. There is more appreciation. There is more love.

This is the really cool thing about aging. I know there can be some unpleasant things that go along with it, especially when it comes to health and decline, but, man, the blessings of a deep, saturated, mature perspective on all the things that matter most in this life... I wouldn't trade it... not for anything.

I'm still me, the same me I was in my younger years, but now somehow "deeper."

I guess when it comes right down to it, that's the why and the how behind the change in the colors. They're still me, only...

truer.