Today was hard.
In the midst..it wasn't.
In the darkness my heart hurts.
For those measuring by perfection.
I lie in my bed, listening to the steady drum of raindrops, the rythmic sound soothes my very soul.
Today I mourned life ending, marriages crumbling, mother's precieved failings and all are screaming, thundering, begging to be seen. Seen in the standard, the light, the image of perfections.
The standard.
That no one has set.
But is there.
Always.
Shining light on the imperfect.
My home, my mothering, my loving, my building, all are nothing.
All are shadows of what they "should" be.
I hear the calling, the failing, the longing for more.
My standard, is faulty.
My God is not.
You see, in the midst, in the mothering, I will never ever be enough.
There will be dust on the shelves, laundry in the machine, dishes in the sink and games left unplayed.
No matter who, no matter the calling, the standard is never met.
My standard is faulty.
My God. He is not.
Through schooling or sending, through working or staying, through grieving or rejoicing, through encouraging or exhorting, through building or repairing....
May we be measured by a standard of grace and not perfection.
Thank you to Janessa Running for the balm of her sweet words and story of grace and not perfection that has me writing these words and thinking these thoughts. The Lord has used you mighty in your sharing.
