These thoughts have been persisting in my mind. I thought I'd better write them down before they give up on me and go wherever it is neglected thoughts go. So my friend wrote something today which was along a similar thought process. I figured this must be a sign. My friend wrote about Perfection and being a perfectionist. What is perfect? If perfect is our goal then we need an example of this. The easy answer is God. The more difficult question is what is God? Is God perfect? I sure hope so -- He's God. His imperfections are even perfect: the inhale necessary for the exhale; the space between the notes which makes the music; the temporary absence of a loved one which makes the reunion all the more exhilarating. The power of the sweet and sour, the sour enhancing the sweetness of the sweet.
And if the creator is perfect, then are all of His creations not perfect? It seems pretty obvious to me that, if God wanted us to be perfect, we'd have come that way right out of the box, batteries included and all. However, this is the perspective of a person who is an imperfect creation, (or a creation moving toward perfection?), because clearly Scripture tells us our goal is to: "Be you therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect." At which point I imagine the apostles were so disheartened that they were ready to take their ball and go home. "Oh, is that all you want? Perfection? No problem." St. Sarcasm
OK, I made up St. Sarcasm, so let me quote somebody who actually existed, Yoda the Jedi Master, who said, "Do or do not. There is no 'Try.'"
Think of it this way, a newly engaged couple doesn't go to the bride's parents and say, "We've got great news: we're going to try to be married!" Marriage is hard work, so going into it with that kind of 'try' mindset is doomed at the outset. The bride's dad is sitting there, smiling and nodding his head, while whispering to his wife out of the corner of his mouth: "I give 'em three weeks.." Perfection is both the destination and the journey. Your ability to overcome obstacles has brought you closer to the ideal. You were not made perfect, you were made to become perfect. Your offering to God is humble, because you are only human. You are a mere creature, a creation. However, God's immense love for you graciously accepts your humble offering based on its loving intent. When you give love you glorify God, because you are giving God. God is love.
A little girl gets up early with the intention of surprising mommy by making her breakfast in bed. The little girl has limited culinary skills, so she goes with her specialty, which is a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, heavy on the grape jelly. She's not allowed to go near the stove, so coffee is out of the question. Grapefruit juice is the next choice, and it's a big ol' bottle of grapefruit juice, filled to the rim, so the transfer from bottle to Little Mermaid-decorated cup doesn't go so smoothly, resulting in spillage and contamination of one corner of the PB&J. Extra soggy sandwich helps it go down easier anyway, right? The breakfast wouldn't be complete without the addition of chocolate, so a chocolate Poptart rounds out the meal. Perfect! Not surprisingly, the Mom not only doesn't reject the sticky mess presented to her, but is overwhelmed with love at the gesture when she looks into the eyes of her daughter, who is absolutely ecstatic with anticipation at the prospect of being able to please her mommy with this humble offering. It's not the presentation, it's the loving intent of its presenter.
So it is with us and God. When Michelangelo painted the Sistine Chapel, it was probably the equivalent of a soggy peanut butter and jelly sandwich in the eyes of God. Perhaps not even as significant, because maybe Michelangelo's intentions were not as pure as the little girl's. It's probably safe to say that the most valuable works of art -- in the truest sense -- are hanging on refrigerator doors of mommies and daddies all over the world.
I remember watching some documentary about a tribe somewhere in the third world where they created intricate works of art on the ground using various colored sand and rocks. And they were really very beautiful, but the artist would always finish the work by intentionally smearing the final stroke, in order to prevent it from being "perfect." When asked why they did this, why the intentional blemish was added, they explained through an interpreter that it's because only God can make perfect things. They didn't want to offend God by matching His impeccable workmanship. Excuse me?! I couldn't hear you; I was distracted by your enormous ego. Somebody give the bushman a slice of humble pie. We need to keep things in perspective. Without God, we are a speck of dust. Wait a minute, correction: without God, there are no specks of dust with which to make intricate sand paintings.
With God, however, perfection is the direction and the inevitable conclusion. There are many cracks and blemishes on the path to the promised land, all of which are meticulously designed to enhance, strengthen, and enlighten us along the way. After all, we are being prepped and polished in order that we may be made presentable. We, a humble offering to a father who delights in the sincerity of our hearts. All of our broken works, done with noble intent, pile up under our feet, raising us higher and closer to heaven. Just because daddy beams with pride and joy when his child gets the training wheels removed from their bike doesn't mean that he was ever ashamed that they were needed in the first place. Our Loving Father wishes for us to be comforted in His peace, not slaves to the anxiety-inducing external demands. Perfectionists are obsessed with the future, with the end results. God resides in the present, yet knows what has been and what's to come. So, if God sees the future and loves you in the present moment, what does that tell you?
"I am careful not to confuse excellence with perfection. Excellence, I can reach for; perfection is God's business." - Michael J. Fox
Is the Grand Canyon a magnificent display of God's awe-inspiring beauty or is it a giant hole in the ground? It's several centuries worth of "happy accidents." Serendipity is a choice tool of the Almighty. Although you are mistaken if you believe in accidents. Particularly if you are on purpose. And you are on purpose. That purpose being perfection. Have faith that you're heading there, and you'll be rewarded by Him taking you there. God bless you.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
A Re-post of The Perfect Blog Post, (because sometimes I need to remind myself of certain truths)
Today I have spent a great deal of time discussing perfection—the quest for it and its possible attainment.
I will stand up right now (figuratively as I can’t type on my laptop while standing because my lap disappears) and say, “Hi. My name is Hollee, and I am a perfectionist.”
That being said, I will also now admit that I am far from perfect in any way, shape, or form, ergo most of my life, I have been my biggest disappointment.
During a long conversation with a loved one who, in some ways, knows me better than I know myself, I realized what a hard row to hoe this has been—this standard of perfection I have set for myself. Not that I was feeling sorry for myself at the difficulties I’ve encountered since my perfection quest was initiated in my teen years—no, I have no patience with woe is me conversations when I am the woe-er—I merely acknowledged to myself that those difficulties were of my own making and not the fault of any external force.
Nor have I set the same standard for others that I have set for myself, which, when you really get down to the nitty-gritty, means that I have set myself above others since perfection was obviously not possible for them . . . Wow! That thought just occurred to me. That is not good.
But I digress.
This need for perfection has, at times in my life, hindered my ability to start a task because I was afraid I would not be able to do it completely right. It has skewed my vision of myself to such a degree that I mentally pick myself apart whenever I look in the mirror—I literally do not see what I am told others see when they look at me. It has made me choose friends and companions that I felt were not perceptive enough to see my flaws, my defects, my “idiot”syncracies. Yes, that is a harsh statement, but there it is. But in my mind this was logical—if I chose someone who was as smart as me, or as driven as me, or who had my same talents, then they would be able to see when I made a mistake. (Now please take that last sentence in the spirit it is intended, those of you who don’t know me. I do not dumb myself down—I know I am intelligent, ambitious, and have certain talents—I inherited all of those things and I won’t deny a single one. To do so is false modesty.)
My greatest fears in life are being wrong and being made to feel stupid. I don’t fear dying—I am a Christian, I don’t fear being alone—I don’t want to be alone, but I don’t fear it. Admittedly, I do fear clowns, but that’s a whole ‘nother blog post. To the depths of my soul, I fear I may make an error in judgment, in my work, in my life, and I fear that someone may find out some day that, for the most part, I have no clue what I am doing.
That last is entirely illogical, because I have spent my life learning everything I possibly can about what I do for a living, and yet, I have had no formal “schooling” in my craft. I have worked my way up or sideways through the ranks of the writing community for the past 30-plus years—I have picked the brains of everyone that I admire as a writer and gleaned what I could from the fields of work I am pursuing or want to pursue.
So in some ways my need for perfection has forced me to put myself out there—to forgo my fear of having “Stupid” written on my forehead—and asked those who do know how they do that voodoo they do so well. I would have much preferred to just stand next to them and osmosisized the knowledge from them (no, osmosisized is not a real word), but since that is not yet possible, I had to actually ask questions. Asking questions was me admitting to myself and those I questioned that I did not know something. That is and was very hard.
My need for perfection has also driven me to always do the very best I can at anything I undertake—although it has hindered me from being an undertake-er in some instances—that qualifies it as a catch-22.
The question is: “What do I do? How do I accept less than perfection in myself?”
And these thoughts occurred to me as my loved one and I were talking: Is a sunset any less beautiful when you discover that the reason for the multi-colors is pollution? And which is more beautiful—the perfectly unblemished piece of pseudo-wood, or the knotty, nicked, and weathered wood that has a story to tell?
My mother continuously reminds me that a diamond—the most perfect of gemstones—is made from coal which is decomposed vegetable matter. A pearl—my particular favorite—is not, as commonly told—made from a grain of sand. A pearl is formed when something organic, most often a parasite, penetrates the shell of a mollusk and lodges within the soft inner body of the animal. The parasite encounters cells within the mollusk's mantle tissue known as epithelial cells which grow into a sac, envelopes the intruder, and excretes a chemical substance of aragonite and calcite. This is known as nacre or the composite of a pearl.
I don’t know how not to be hard on myself. I have no clue. But I have been told that there comes a time when good enough needs to be accepted. I am not to settle for only achieving good enough—that is a bar set too low for my personality and I am done with settling—however, as long as I can truthfully say that I have given my absolute best effort, then that is good enough. I cannot be all things to all people, I cannot fill everyone’s needs, I cannot do everything myself—I have to ask for assistance, let go and allow someone else to help me (not ask for help then do it all myself anyway), learn from my mistakes, learn from others who have already successfully done what I want or need to do, and accept that there may be times when I can’t do something. I need to learn when “No” is the perfect answer.
I need to look at my flaws and defects—the decomposed vegetable matter and parasites—as, perhaps, that which makes me unique. It is those very things that keep me from being a cookie-cutter human, a Stepford, which gives me depth and contrast, just as clouds enhance the perfection of a blue sky.
I will think on these things—remind myself of them when my perfection bug gets the best of me. That is the best I can do in this instance.
However, I was told today that I am loved for who I am, flaws and all, without reservation, without modification, without an “except for . . .”
How perfect is that?
I will stand up right now (figuratively as I can’t type on my laptop while standing because my lap disappears) and say, “Hi. My name is Hollee, and I am a perfectionist.”
That being said, I will also now admit that I am far from perfect in any way, shape, or form, ergo most of my life, I have been my biggest disappointment.
During a long conversation with a loved one who, in some ways, knows me better than I know myself, I realized what a hard row to hoe this has been—this standard of perfection I have set for myself. Not that I was feeling sorry for myself at the difficulties I’ve encountered since my perfection quest was initiated in my teen years—no, I have no patience with woe is me conversations when I am the woe-er—I merely acknowledged to myself that those difficulties were of my own making and not the fault of any external force.
Nor have I set the same standard for others that I have set for myself, which, when you really get down to the nitty-gritty, means that I have set myself above others since perfection was obviously not possible for them . . . Wow! That thought just occurred to me. That is not good.
But I digress.
This need for perfection has, at times in my life, hindered my ability to start a task because I was afraid I would not be able to do it completely right. It has skewed my vision of myself to such a degree that I mentally pick myself apart whenever I look in the mirror—I literally do not see what I am told others see when they look at me. It has made me choose friends and companions that I felt were not perceptive enough to see my flaws, my defects, my “idiot”syncracies. Yes, that is a harsh statement, but there it is. But in my mind this was logical—if I chose someone who was as smart as me, or as driven as me, or who had my same talents, then they would be able to see when I made a mistake. (Now please take that last sentence in the spirit it is intended, those of you who don’t know me. I do not dumb myself down—I know I am intelligent, ambitious, and have certain talents—I inherited all of those things and I won’t deny a single one. To do so is false modesty.)
My greatest fears in life are being wrong and being made to feel stupid. I don’t fear dying—I am a Christian, I don’t fear being alone—I don’t want to be alone, but I don’t fear it. Admittedly, I do fear clowns, but that’s a whole ‘nother blog post. To the depths of my soul, I fear I may make an error in judgment, in my work, in my life, and I fear that someone may find out some day that, for the most part, I have no clue what I am doing.
That last is entirely illogical, because I have spent my life learning everything I possibly can about what I do for a living, and yet, I have had no formal “schooling” in my craft. I have worked my way up or sideways through the ranks of the writing community for the past 30-plus years—I have picked the brains of everyone that I admire as a writer and gleaned what I could from the fields of work I am pursuing or want to pursue.
So in some ways my need for perfection has forced me to put myself out there—to forgo my fear of having “Stupid” written on my forehead—and asked those who do know how they do that voodoo they do so well. I would have much preferred to just stand next to them and osmosisized the knowledge from them (no, osmosisized is not a real word), but since that is not yet possible, I had to actually ask questions. Asking questions was me admitting to myself and those I questioned that I did not know something. That is and was very hard.
My need for perfection has also driven me to always do the very best I can at anything I undertake—although it has hindered me from being an undertake-er in some instances—that qualifies it as a catch-22.
The question is: “What do I do? How do I accept less than perfection in myself?”
And these thoughts occurred to me as my loved one and I were talking: Is a sunset any less beautiful when you discover that the reason for the multi-colors is pollution? And which is more beautiful—the perfectly unblemished piece of pseudo-wood, or the knotty, nicked, and weathered wood that has a story to tell?
My mother continuously reminds me that a diamond—the most perfect of gemstones—is made from coal which is decomposed vegetable matter. A pearl—my particular favorite—is not, as commonly told—made from a grain of sand. A pearl is formed when something organic, most often a parasite, penetrates the shell of a mollusk and lodges within the soft inner body of the animal. The parasite encounters cells within the mollusk's mantle tissue known as epithelial cells which grow into a sac, envelopes the intruder, and excretes a chemical substance of aragonite and calcite. This is known as nacre or the composite of a pearl.
I don’t know how not to be hard on myself. I have no clue. But I have been told that there comes a time when good enough needs to be accepted. I am not to settle for only achieving good enough—that is a bar set too low for my personality and I am done with settling—however, as long as I can truthfully say that I have given my absolute best effort, then that is good enough. I cannot be all things to all people, I cannot fill everyone’s needs, I cannot do everything myself—I have to ask for assistance, let go and allow someone else to help me (not ask for help then do it all myself anyway), learn from my mistakes, learn from others who have already successfully done what I want or need to do, and accept that there may be times when I can’t do something. I need to learn when “No” is the perfect answer.
I need to look at my flaws and defects—the decomposed vegetable matter and parasites—as, perhaps, that which makes me unique. It is those very things that keep me from being a cookie-cutter human, a Stepford, which gives me depth and contrast, just as clouds enhance the perfection of a blue sky.
I will think on these things—remind myself of them when my perfection bug gets the best of me. That is the best I can do in this instance.
However, I was told today that I am loved for who I am, flaws and all, without reservation, without modification, without an “except for . . .”
How perfect is that?
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