Perfection.

Perfection. Wurth Werth Worth the Trouble?


I have a really smart friend. I have LOTS of them actually, but one of them in particular challenged my entire way of thinking the other day. I've always had this internal struggle coming to terms with my perfectionist tendencies. They don't line up with who I am. I'm fun, charismatic, life of the party, funny, (arrogant?). The need for perfection generally doesn't accompany those attributes. So why is it there? Why can't I shake this desire for perfection? It MUST be part of who I am. Here's what my smart friend said about it all: "Perfectionism doesn't fit who you are. It fits the lie that you believe." WHOA! Hold up. I immediately wrote that down. Note to self: Don't EVER forget that!

So, this sudden revelation prompts me to explore this; when and why did I begin to believe the lie that perfection is required of me? I could spend hours wading through all the different possible reasons. I could find all sorts of people and circumstances to blame. My childhood, a teacher, my parents, my church, a bad friend, old boyfriends, my husband....the list goes on. Ultimately though, the lie of perfection was crafted by the enemy to cause us all to believe that we can never be enough. And while it is true that we alone can never be enough, we must not forget that our Heavenly Father has never expected us to be enough. Since the beginning of time, the plan of the Father was to make us complete through His son. Only in Him can we be viewed as perfect through the eyes of our Father. It is in our weaknesses, our imperfections, that the Lord does his most amazing work.

When (and if) my kids make their beds, I do not help them. They do it all on their own. With their short arms and uncoordinated bodies, they tug and pull and straighten and re-straighten. When all is said and done it looks like I made their beds and then all four of them took naps on top of the covers. Wrinkled-crinkled-unmade-made beds. Now, as a parent, I praise their efforts. I thank them for putting time and energy into it. I wouldn't re-do it and make them feel incompetent in any way. But let's look at this. If they were to recognize that their covers weren't pulled taut and their pillows weren't perfectly fluffed, they may try to make their beds again. They still have the short arms and uncoordinated bodies that got them into the wrinkled mess to begin with, right? So the expected outcome of their second attempt is the same as the first. They will continue to strive for perfection and never be able to achieve it solely based on the fact that they're too small to do the job. What if instead they choose to partner with me in making their beds? I hold one end, while they straighten the other. I tuck the covers into the space between the bed and the wall because my arms are long enough to reach the required depth. It is then that their beds begin to look "perfect." But what's really important here? That the end result is a perfect bed or that they spent their time and efforts partnering with me? I think it's the latter.

Regardless of whether the results of our efforts end up being perfect or not, what truly matters is that all of our efforts are rooted in our relationship with the Lord. When we're walking in tandem with our Savior, the Father sees perfection. And if our Father sees perfecton what does it matter what our worldly eyes see?

When I Feel Lost, I am Found

The “Lost” musical at church on Sunday rocked my boat. I grew up in the church and thought I understood the concept of lost and found, sinner and saved. Jimmy Farley opened my mind to the knowledge that to be lost is to be far from the heart of God. Cue: current life journey. Lately, I've been questioning all I know of God. Well, maybe not what I know, necessarily, but definitely questioning what I don't know of God. I've been trying to further understand aspects of Him that are nearly impossible for me to grasp. His wrath (confusing), His discipline (scary), His policy on hell (terrifying). In the midst of my struggle to understand this, I've lost sight of who God is. I've forgotten to cling tightly to what I know to be true of Him. Loving, Grace-filled, Merciful, Gentle, Forgiving. I've wandered from his heart and strayed from his hand. Yesterday morning it was made evident to me just how great the distance has become between His heart and mine.

In reviewing the “Lost” parables, we unpacked the three different ways in which the lost were found. The sheep, calling for his master. The coin, hidden in the silent darkness. And the wayward son, humbly returning to his father. As I recognize the distance from my Father, I have a choice to make. How do I want my lost and found story to end?

Do I want to be like the coin? Do I feel too lost to even cry out for His help? Can I ever make it back to His heart? Should I just stay in hiding as long as I can until He swipes me from my place of darkness and brings me into his arms? Do I want to be like the sheep? Can I find my way back to Him? Have I wandered too far away? What if I become more lost on my way back? Should I just lay down, cry out for His help, for His search, for His protection and wait for Him to come to me, scoop me up, and cradle me all the way home? Will I be like the prodigal son, grip humility and walk back to Him begging for His embrace? What am I capable of? What is required of me? How long do I want to be away from His heart? I'm quite sure the distance from His heart is creating the greatest feeling of loneliness I've ever experienced and that it is all I can do to not run wildly into His arms and be swept off of my feet by His celebratory embrace.

I remember as a young child at a family reunion being squeezed tightly and swung around in circles by an uncle who had missed me beyond words and that was the only way he could express his joy for seeing me. Words weren't necessary. I was 6 and nothing could have felt better than flying through the air because of a joy so deep, caused solely by my presence. I know the same is true today. Nothing will feel better than returning to my Father's arms, allowing the moment to pass without words, relishing in the delight on His face to see me return to His heart. “Come home, I'm not mad at you. All I have is yours.” I answer, “Here's my heart, Lord. May it stay with yours."