Do I love my imperfections? Am I trying to make them disappear? Am I too delicate? Too outspoken? Do I talk too much, or not enough? Why am I so concerned with how people think of me, but also so determined that they will not judge me? I want to be accepted. But only by the right people. Only by those who appreciate my imperfections. How did I get here? I surely don’t belong, or really deserve this.
I want to fall in love with my imperfections. I want to listen to the rain with Elizabeth.
I don’t have time. I have too much to do. I have to read for class, write my essays, prepare sermons, bible studies, mission moment stories. And even those I don’t do well enough. These things are good, they are tasks which will improve my skills, and make me a better…________.
But my imperfections are what I love about me. They are how I identify me. I may be too self involved, but I am myself. I am allowed to be an expert. If I need an afternoon to study my imperfections then perhaps I should take it.
We live in an imperfect world, and we are fooling ourselves when we say that we can make it perfect. It is impossible. And truly, we would not want to live in a world which we had made perfect. As my toughest critic, I now absolve myself of being perfect by my own power.
Love to spend some time with you as you come to love your imperfections, too.
Love the way you talk, with a hesitation, but strong. Love the way you spend time praying in color. Love the way you cook for your friends so that time together is spent in fun. Love the way you can see the good in those who try to hurt you. Love the way you love.