Mosaic

I am out of towels. I have thrown them all in. It’s been that kind of a week.

This crummy week has reminded me that marriage is work, kids are work, and that I am a huge piece of work. When life is this much work who could want to play? The silver lining is that at least I don’t have to worry about being perfect anymore.

Oh, I’ve always wanted to be perfect. I’ve wanted to cross that commandment off of my to-do list with a big, smelly poster marker but I’ll never get to because I mess up too much. Despite my good intentions there are weeks, like this one, where

everything I touch

with tenderness, alas

pricks like a bramble*

Last week at church we women were discussing perfection, specifically the scripture that says "Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect" (Matthew 5:48). It was pointed out to me that the Greek etymology for the word PERFECT means complete/finished/fully developed.

A stark contrast to the world’s definition of perfection, which demands that I be flawless.

What a relief!

Flawless is not an option for me. Even if I was photoshopped, airbrushed, injected, implanted, extensioned and filtered I could never be flawless enough for the world’s approval. Thankfully, oh so thankfully, the Lord only asks for completion, for enduring effort, for lifelong betterment. This I can do.

The other thing that was pointed out to me was that the Lord only asks us to be perfect in relation to our relationship with Him. He does not ask for us to produce perfect marriages, perfect children, or perfect homes. We are only assigned to worry about ourselves on this one.

The world might mock a woman who attempts to portray perfection with charity, compassion, faith, tenderness, repentance and endurance, but that is what I’m after. I am not a perfect being but I am becoming perfect one mistaken effort and one crummy week and lots of good days at a time.

There is still plenty of time for me to obtain bits and pieces for my perfection mosaic. Which also means there is time to pick up my thrown-in towels, wash them, fold them, store them up high in the emotional linen closet, and try to carry on free from discouragement.

*haiku by Issa

Photo of an installation in the City Creek Center Anthropologie, where I found the perfect pair of wide-legged pants for my pear-shaped body. Thanks to cardiganempire.com I discovered skinny jeans are the worst pants I could possibly wear for my body shape. Thaaaaaat's great. My wardrobe is also working toward a new standard of perfection. Seriously, could I have learned any more life-saving info this week? What is more important than wearing flattering pants while inching toward my eternal goal?