Pursuing Perfection

I am a perfectionist.

I live my life in constant comparison to those who are the best. I have an arbitrary standard for most things, and that standard is often too high and determined solely by me comparing to people and things that are better than me. I don't think I'm a fast runner because I should be faster. I don't think I'm an excellent photographer because I see many people who do it better. I enjoy cooking but think I could do better. I give a talk or a training, and even if other people tell me it was good, something in the back of my head knows there is room to improve. I make graphics and flyers and visuals look great, but that's just because no one else on my team has a high standard for it.  I should stop dropping passes on the Ultimate field.

My room can be cleaner. My papers can be more organized. I can be more efficient. I can be more responsible. I need to stop dropping the ball on things, I should stop forgetting things.

This is how my brain naturally thinks. I find myself in the "jack of all trades, master of none" categories, which, if not careful, can tear you apart. On one hand, you take pride that you can competently accomplish a lot of things. On the other hand, in my insecurity, I wonder: what is there that I am really excellent at?

I am a perfectionist. And if I'm not careful, the lies in my head circle over and over again, telling me to step it up, do better, produce the work of professionals even when you have the resource and experience of a hobbyist. If I don't fight it, everywhere I look, I fall at average or below average. (Part of that is also because I notice every misstep of mine but not every fall of everyone else: sometimes I can count how many passes I missed in a game, but of course, I never count the number of times our team captain causes us to lose a point.) It gets hard for me to recognize my gifts and my abilities, which makes it even harder to step in, serve, and contribute where God has placed me.

On one hand, I will never be good enough: I won't ever be fastest runner, I won't ever be the most eloquent or the most learned. I will never be a perfect staff worker, I'll never be a perfect friend. I'm always going to mess up, as much as I hate that truth.

On the other hand: I was never expected to be. I started typing, "The beauty of grace..." and realized that Relient K had finished that line for me awhile ago: "...is that it makes life not fair." Not fair! The fact that I will never be perfect but God's perfect love covers me is not fair. The fact that I will fall and screw up and hurt and fail but that God looks at me and calls me his Perfect Daughter is not fair. If I am dead honest, I hate the fact that perfection will never be achieved. But there is freedom in knowing that that was never the goal.

That was never the goal. Perfection was never the goal.

Somewhere in my life, in my history, I thought I needed perfection. I remember distinctly thinking that I had to be the "perfect child" amid some family turmoil. What did that even mean for me? It meant I didn't cause waves. It meant no one had to worry about me, spend "extra" energy on me. It meant I didn't have 'issues'.

Lies, oh lies. Because the God who loves me is the God who pours energy, love, grace on me. Who picks up my broken pieces and my tears--he is the one who is Perfect. He never expected me to be perfect. And he is waiting to catch me in my waves, to pour love and more love on me. He expects me to have issues, and he expects to be the one who heals them.

This perfectionist thing...this is a very broken part of me. Ironic, huh? That maybe the most messed up thing about me is how perfect I want to be...but God, you make all things whole.