Remodeling Faith.

We've dubbed 2012 the Year of Remodel.
It's two fold-we are remodeling the house with new floors, paint, a couple pieces of furniture AND there is a remodel going on in my little soul, a whole demolition party thing that who knows what is going to be the outcome of. I just have faith it will be better than what is there now.
I've always had a bent toward all my "home projects" going swiftly to hell.
Take for example the time I decided to paint every wall in my room dark navy/black blue, like the night sky at two o'clock in the morning in a city with no stars. THAT was awesome. It was like living in a deep, dark cave.
Or the time I was seven months pregnant so I rallied my then oh-so-trusting husband and his dear sisters to paint my ENTIRE apartment mustard yellow. The first time I walked in I realized something was off, something was entirely wrong and I would never be able to live with it. (Maybe it was the yellow up against the hot-dog brown cupboards? Made me feel like I was living  in a giant hot dog bun). Because I didn't have the option of re-painting and asking them to repaint would just look bad, I decided to add a contrasting color: Mighty Ducks green!
Thankfully we only had to live in what I can only assume looks like the Packer's locker room for about a week before we were smoked out by our downstairs neighbor.
She and her nasty habit were a wonderful excuse to leave my embarrassing mistake far, far behind.
Our current home was already painted a kind of nice three-tone brown, which I've tolerated relatively well our five years here, only if you look at the darkest color long enough you realize it is the exact color of dog diarrhea.
I've also learned to go easy on painting the walls that were  still white, like the boys' bedroom. I'm always one to take a risk, but I've learned to be a little cautious-painting the boys dresser a dark, amazing red was a hit, and actually turned out well. Had I decided, however, to put the same color on all four of the walls it would have made me wanted to shoot myself.
Thinking about all of this actually makes me realize I've come a long way. Both the boys bedrooms I am 90% happy with the color of the walls, and I really love the color Joey and I recently painted our bedroom and bathroom. It's a perfectly soothing light blueish green that is as neutral as white, only prettier. And more calming.
All this to say we are planning on re-painting the entire house, except our bedroom, and putting in new flooring. And I'm pretty much scared shitless.
Or at least I think I should be. Because it's already started: I have an amazing picture in my mind of what I want.  It's edgy and fun and unique, what I've now learned to associate with risky. My husband -who after seeing me destroy furniture and walls and who knows what else in all my attempts- has BANNED me from doing hardly anything project wise and has been very effective in communicating with me that on this project we will not be able to re-do the flooring. We will have to live with it. No Mrs. Jones lives downstairs to smoke us out.
So much has changed though. I recently wanted to mosaic two new end tables that we got. I spent a ton of money on little pieces of beads and glass and special glue and grout. Then I picked out six of my most precious black and white pictures, and decided to put them under the glass beads. The whole project would have been amazing, except as I was doing it I just had this feeling I should stop. I should save at least the three pictures I had not covered in glue and beads, and just stop.
I passed my hands over the beads I had spent three evenings gluing down and two popped off. It was a sign.
SO, I spent the next three nights scraping off the beads I had just glued on. I had to throw away three pictures, but I salvaged the ones I didn't have the ability to reproduce, thank goodness (Noah's four day old infant picture by Fawn).
And I was OK.  In the past this would have killed me. I would have been discouraged and frustrated, and felt like a failure. And though I feel those things a little bit, I'm just thankful I stopped in time and I'm still hopeful I'll be able to do something funky and that I'll love with the beads and grout. A year ago I probably wouldn't have stopped. I would have just kept plowing through, because stopping would prove I was wrong, and that my idea failed. Continuing on, acting like everything was fine, was just easier than dealing with admitting that my idea didn't work out so hot.
I am a creative person. I get inspired and excited about decorating, writing, getting dressed. And just because I've had some things, or even most things, completely bomb, I'm trying to not be afraid to hold on to my initial spark of excitement about an idea, whether it be a paint combo, or writing topic, or even what I am planning to do on a very normal day.
The process is going to be messy, but as long as I am not afraid to try, to stop, and to try again, faith tells me in the end, there will be a home that my heart can feel at rest.