Thoughts on Perfection: Part I
(Note: I’m calling this “Part I” because I have a lot to say about this topic. I think. It’s a recurring theme in the picture book manuscripts I’ve written so far, and something I’m continually learning more and more about.)
When I was younger, I wanted to be perfect. I never articulated this. I didn’t have the words for it. But when I look back on some of the things I did and didn’t do, who my role models were, dreams I’ve had and the experiences in life that have crushed me the most… I would say Perfection was the culprit.
But as I got older, Perfection got harder and harder to attain. I would strive for hours. Pull all-nighters. Literally pick at myself until I bled. Or I’d hide — behind make-up, clothes, performance, silence. I controlled, I suppressed, I obeyed, I held back, I gave everything.
And then finally, through a loss that turned my world upside down and challenged everything I thought I knew about how the world was supposed to work, I learned — even if you try to do everything right, even if you try to be perfect — you can still lose.
And that’s when I started learning about the beauties of imperfection.
I turned 40 last December. It began with probably the most beautiful birthday celebration I’ve ever had, followed by a few more intimate birthday meals with family and longtime friends.
Something I kept thinking about as I reflected on this milestone birthday was an encouraging word a dear friend and mentor once shared with me – “Through the tears, we see Jesus.”
Not tears like 😭, but like 💔. A rip. A tear in a clean, white sheet of paper. You can’t undo it, or bring your old sheet of paper back. You can’t fix it, or pretend it’s not there. You just have to get a new paper and start over. But if the paper is your life, you can’t get a new one. You’re stuck with that tear, just staring at you every time you try to move forward with your story. It’s a hopeless, lonely, resentment-filled place to be.
But then my friend said that to me. She was talking about the 60-foot tall, 4-inch thick curtain in Solomon’s temple in Jerusalem, that supernaturally tore in two from top to bottom when Jesus died (Matthew 27:50-55). And also the truth that comes from that – that through brokenness, we have access to something far better than a perfectly maintained curtain, or a pristine sheet of paper, or even a stainless life. We have an open door to the perfect love of Jesus... and the unmatched beauty and freedom that come with that (2 Corinthians 3:16-18, Psalm 50:2, 2 Corinthians 12:9).
I got to experience a taste of that perfect love on my birthday weekend, walking into a room of twinkle lights and evergreen garlands, pink and gold linens winding through candles and roses, and smiling faces of friends in sequins and trains and chiffon. Friends who have sat with me in the mess and the ugliness and can still look at me and tell me all the beauty they see – not despite my brokenness, but because of it.
And it wasn’t just at that dinner, but this whole past decade, that God has been showing me little glimpses of his beauty, things I’m not sure I would have experienced if it weren’t for the openings that were created through the tears (this kind → 💔).
So to anyone with a torn-up paper — especially to all the little ones I hope to write to one day – may the beauty, hope, and freedom of Jesus shine through any brokenness in your life today.
Sometimes imperfection opens doors to things that perfection never could.
