Some holes had been patched after moving art around, and for weeks little blotches of white patiently waited for me to go buy a quart of paint and make them disappear.
We had people over several times, and I hoped no one would notice the blemishes on the walls. Not a negative word was ever said, of course, but I'm sure someone wondered about the strange, blotchy white plaster faux finish we had chosen.
In the end it all comes down to this: There are times in life you need to cover the past so you can just move on, already.
But then Home Depot discontinued our paint, and what we ended up with was a real mess.
That's when we decided what we really needed was a clean slate.
So I grabbed some left-over white paint out of the garage. It's straight-up grace in a can. I rolled it over the wall and everything seemed new.
The mistakes, the flaws, and the whoopsie-daisies were gone forever. White paint somehow became a spiritual rebirth in my heart. Every brush stroke spread hope over life itself.
Once we were done, it was as if I could breathe for the first time in months. I hadn't realized how much the walls had closed in on me, slowly but surely. But now white paint has tamed them and pushed them back where they belong.
It's strange to stand in this room and realize how happy a coat of new paint can make me. Somehow the sight of white walls causes love to glow and grow deep in my soul.
I decided to write it out. First in pencil and then in black paint, I wrote words that have come to carry deep meaning for me the last few months. They are French, and they say that the most important thing in life is love, to live it and do it and make it real for all the world to see.
It's there now, to remind us all. Everything may not always work out, the paint may not match, difficult people may frustrate us, hard things may come our way, and for goodness sake, we will probably make more mistakes than we would like.
Love, though, like a can of fresh white paint, covers a multitude of sins. And for that we can all say thanks and amen.