I’ve wanted to be perfect for as long as I can remember. It was my reason for spending long days in the practice rooms when I was in choir in college. It was my reason for sitting in my living room in tears because I could do statistics by hand but not in excel. It was my reason for hating myself because there wasn’t enough time or energy to do everything that everyone wanted all the time.
Striving for perfectionism has made me a good employee, but a frustrating wife. I drag my husband with me. I try to put him into my perfect little box with a bed made daily, a clean house, and a dish to take whenever we are invited anywhere. Inevitably, I have failed. I have failed in my attempt to be a perfect daughter, wife, Christian…and I’m going to fail to be a perfect mother.
Waiting *semi* patiently for my little ones to join me out here in the world has me thinking and considering so much. I’m always late. My house is never clean. My to-do lists are often left unfinished. Sometimes I yell and snap at my husband. I’m sarcastic. Yesterday I only wore sweatpants – all. day. I watch too much television and don’t read enough. Instead of opening my Bible in the mornings I open facebook first. Many, many more imperfections can be added to this list. Now, I’m having children.
Children who will watch me and depend on me and see how I handle these things. My children, I’m convinced, will not somehow make me more perfect. They will make me realize how much more I need Jesus than I ever imagined. I’m thankful that He meets me right where I am. That He does not require me to be perfect before I go to Him. Because without those facts, I would be a big ol’ imperfect mess with no help or hope. I’m still imperfect. Still a mess. But I think that leaning into it as it makes me lean into Jesus is the best way to go.