Perfect Only in Imperfection

Perfectionism is my greatest enemy. In a society that constantly seeks it and a Christian environment that demands the flawlessness of 150%, I was surrounded by it. The cracks in my porcelain skin could not stand the burn of rejection when trying to be vulnerable. In the famine of the oils Acceptance and Love, it's easier to writhe beneath the cool shade of a mask; a mask much more appealing to others then the beautiful disaster behind it.

For as long as I've been alive, I've fought to be the perfect person. In my family, in my church, in my  community--and the horrifying reality is I succeeded for the longest time. I had the approval of everyone; all the little old intercessory ladies adored me--compared the white of my charade to the charcoal truth in the genuine faults of others. I was the perfect kid in my family. As a way to keep me from going astray, my family held me to a higher standard than anyone else, reminding me I didn't want to turn out as the black sheep in our flock.

I feasted on the approval of man as most addicts of perfectionism do.  If I was doing something that might flash the Quasimodo sobbing behind the painted smile, or if I was compared as equal to the outcast, I would work twice as hard to leap past and defy the stigma of imperfect. I always asked people what they thought I should do with my life or what they thought of me, then jumped through every hoop to become the ideal person in their eyes. Never praying, never asking God what He thought of me, never seeking HIS approval.

If I failed or stumbled, you cannot fathom what I would put myself through as punishment. The flagellants of the Dark Ages couldn't have gone through more heroic acts of penance to save their own souls as I did to mine.

Perfect, perfect, stumble, penance, penance, penance, penance; perfect, perfect, etc. That was the cycle of my life.

And you know what? I was utterly miserable. I spent my life perfecting spotlessness that I ended up blinding myself to just how dirty I really was. There were even a few scary times I felt I didn't need the blood of a Savior to flow daily--I repented once at 9 and was now pumping the barbel of salvation on my own. "I can take it from here," said the little ant ready to move the 2-ton elephant that blocked the path.

I judged those who didn't know how to be as spotless as I was on the outside; I did it to protect the vulnerability of what lurked beneath my surface: fear, rage, hatred and bitterness, being a liar, a thief, a cheat, a murderous adulterer at heart and a fornicator.

But in 2011, I got to know Matthew. He was a guy who wanted to brave the journey of knowing me inside and out; I chose to give him access, not realizing I would never be able to turn off the fountains of my imperfection from flowing. Before I could stop it, he peeked underneath the mask and saw the bare ugliness of who I was--but he did the opposite of my life-long fears. He didn't judge me, he didn't look disgusted, he didn't run away. When he smiled at the budding virtues and strengths trying to push their way up through the cracks, I realized something for the first time: he wasn't wearing a mask and hadn't since the day I met him (it's one of the reasons I was able to find fault in everything he did up until that point). There was true, raw beauty in his genuine approach to life and righteousness.

As the picture of Christ for His Bride embodied in Matthew grew stronger, I realized the way in which God felt for me for the first time in my life! The lubricating oils of God's Love and Acceptance began to caress me beneath the false face. The rusting chains of my addiction to perfect and the high of man's approval started rattling. I had never known a love like this through a person before--NEVER. But God used Matthew to make me decide right then and there I wanted that mask off.

Since God stitched us together, I've been on the journey of removing the charade piece by piece, exposing the truth of who I am. Even though I am terrified of showing people the real me, and terrified of what they might think of what I look like beneath it all, I am realizing something:

God said I'm beautiful; and in my imperfections, Christ makes me perfect. I've gotten to the point in my life that if Matthew was to look past love and see the truth of my ugly brokenness and decide to walk away, God's love would continue to sustain me. Matthew helped introduced me to something Divine, but now I have made the choice to continue on that journey with or without him. I don't have to have it all together to know God adores me and wants me and made me as I am. It's a relaxing thought.

I'll admit, the rehab of perfectionism is the hardest. Sometimes you start slipping back into the addiction and you don't realize it until it's too late; being on guard against it is a 24/7 act. But I'm here to expose the truth by saying I have done things I regret, I have sinned--in every area of my life. From relationships and actions to situations and circumstances I have gotten something wrong. But what makes me different is I pick myself up and try again, not hide the fact I got it wrong, the way I used to handle things.

I'm NOT perfect. I CANNOT relate to perfect. People still striving for 150% can ridicule me--but I know their are cracks behind their judgements too.

Another person is no better then the next; we all have our flaws and we all make mistakes--sometimes it's just that ours get broadcasted and magnified and so we feel we are less qualified then the one exposing that patch of ugly they hate to see in us.

If this is the case in your life, dear readers, remember one thing: EVERYONE has cracks of imperfection in their beauty; the faster we realize it, the faster we can begin to drop the hypocritical masks and rely only on our Savior to redeem perfection in our lives. That is the way I'm convinced God intended it since the fall of man.