I just read the post of a friend who calls herself an imperfectionist. I LOVE IT. Imperfectionism is my new minor. It may even be my new major, but probably not because then the house would be totally out of control and school would never get done so I think I’ll just stick with minoring.
I always call myself a recovering perfectionist but I think I like this term much better. It reminds me of my daughter (yes I have two sons as well and eventually will write about them!) who likes to go to the nursery and buy anything that is a garden decoration that is broken. Yes. Broken frog–buy it. Adorable bunny rabbit except for the broken ear–gotta have it! Broken puppy dog tail–it’s in the basket! Why?? “Because nobody else will want it mom!” Used to drive me nuts. Of course I never let her buy it. What is the use of a broken garden ornament? What indeed?
Wow. And all these years I’ve thought perfectionism was emulating godliness. Where did I ever get that idea from? Christ came to bind the broken-hearted, to free the captives, to release prisoners from the darkness ( of solitary confinement perhaps? Satan wants us to be isolated, because then we begin the detrimental occupation of self-pity).
Christ would go to M & R’s and buy the broken bunny and love it. Okay maybe not love it. Because it’s just an inanimate object. But He does love us, more than anything.We’re just like those broken terra cotta animals. And He’s wild about you! He wants nothing more than to love you and have you love Him back. It’s just that simple and yes, just that satisfying. Christ isn’t looking for perfect people! Aren’t you relieved? I sure am. I wonder if He would call himself an imperfectionist. Not to suggest He is imperfect, but He is the diligent seeker of the flawed, the broken, the needy. Us.
One thing is for sure, when He is done with us, we will be perfect. And while I’m loving this new description of the new me, I sure will be glad when I really can be perfect without driving myself crazy. I think the next time we go to the nursery, I will let my sweet girl come home with a broken friend. What a sweet reminder of how much we need Him every single moment of every single day.
And with that, I’m going to bed–Charles Dickens and my pillow are calling me. Good night y’all.
Decidedly Different 