Reasonable Angst

There are two things that evoke a measure of anxiety that range in close proximity with one another. One is getting my hair colored (or highlighted in my case), the other is paint. 
Standing at the paint counter and sitting in that chair and realising there is no turning back. This is it baby.

Both require trust in the abilities of somebody else who I do not really know, and who really knows very little about me.

It's funny really because I generally have a pretty clear picture in my head of what I am after. Why is it then, or is it because of this, that I could regale you with at least a few instances of my complete and utter shock at how my hair or my room turned out.

Are we idealists our own worst enemies? Do we create our quandaries or do they create us?

On to painting my room last week. Finally after agonising over which colour to paint this large, rectangle of a rec room in our basement. 
Don't get me wrong I am glad for the space! But let's just say it has some rather weird  unique features. One cinder block, two mirrors inserted into them, and three a lot of colour happening with stencilling and fireplace plunked in the centre.

My usually creative painter side of me was feeling uninspired about a colour.
 I ended up asking someone who works in the field as she was conveniently here one day to pick up her children. She advised me on a colour that everyone loves and looks great everywhere.

         before... it was green... for almost twelve years! time for a change...

 Finally with a vision in front of me my paintbrush got pep. I rolled and brushed confidant that the stark white of this colour would somehow transform into a soothing hue.(it really was a beautiful colour on the sample, but for some reason on my wall it vanished:)
                            

After  a day's labour and verdicts from my family that weren't helping to boost my waning enthusiasm. I decided this shade was not working at all, figuring I had nothing to lose I took matters into my own hands and began dumping some brown and some turquoise into the can. Eventually I had a colour I felt I could live with and I tackled my project anew, which included scraping the paint off of the mirrors which I had covered up. ( I discovered I rather like the quirkiness  of them and the way they add sparkle.)

As I was doing all this painting I had a lot of time to think and ponder and I couldn't help but rejoice in the fact that unlike we humans who second guess ourselves and continually mess up our lives with the wrong colour. 
our God has a plan for us from the beginning. He created us and knows us better than we know ourselves and even though we don't always get the colour right,  His grace reaches us there and He is not offended at our admitting of our mistake.
When we acknowledge that His design of our lives is always right we can live, embracing the color around us.

He knows we are like that wall; which is likely to get another colour someday.

That continual work in progress, that continual striving of finding the right shade.
                                 after...a bluish gray I think...

 Some walls take longer and are a lot more work than others but when the paint brush is  put away, we can admire the way the colours compliment each other, and look forward to a potentially clean slate.
 We can move forward knowing that as long as we are here on this temporal abode; paint and hair colour are never permanent.