Not perfect, and that’s okay

 

Several years ago, I got  on my hands and knees and scrubbed all the floors in my tiny townhouse.  The laundry was all done, the dishes too.  My house was spotless and shining and it had taken all morning to get it that way.

The doorbell rang.  I wasn’t expecting my neighbor, but there she was. She looked me over, head to toe. You know, that head-to-toe glance you probably hate too.  I’m sure the knees of my pants were probably wet.  I likely smelled of lemon Lysol.  If I had makeup on, I had sweated it off by then.  And then there it appeared, as unwelcome as an audit from the IRS: a smirk. I could tell I had been tried and found wanting in the fashion department.  I remember wishing I had not answered the door.  I don’t recall what my neighbor wanted that day, but I do recall how she made me feel.  I was so glad when she and her husband moved later that year.

This makes me wonder, though, how many times the need to be perfect has gotten in my way of fellowshipping with others.  It’s hard to drop in on people because they’re likely to feel uncomfortable if their houses and hairdos aren’t company-ready.  And likewise, people likely have not dropped in to see me for the same reason.  The result? More isolation.  More loneliness.  Less fellowship and connection.

Just this morning I was trying to sew.  Now, sewing just isn’t my thing.  I’ve sewn clothes and even quilts, but they aren’t anything that would win any contests.  I was trying to sew some placemats.  And they weren’t perfect.  By the time my husband came home, I was more than a little frustrated.  The lady on YouTube had made it look so easy.  My corners? They were pathetic.  I told my husband he should have picked a wife who was better at sewing.  And because I’m a woman, I couldn’t just isolate this incident.  Lots of things I do are less than prize-worthy.  Sometimes when I play piano, I hit a wrong note.  Recipes don’t always turn out to look like the pictures of those recipes.

So then my husband mentioned a hobby of his.  I think the products of his hobby are very beautiful, but my husband told me about all the flaws.  “But your work is uniquely yours,” I heard myself saying.  “Nobody can do what you do quite like you can.”

So that’s how I preached to myself today.  My sewing isn’t perfect, but I think my real friends appreciate I made the effort to make homemade placemats.  Food somehow tastes better when the table is pretty.  Nobody can do what I do quite like how I can.  If I don’t bring soup over to my sick neighbor because I’m afraid he might not like my cooking, then it’s likely my neighbor won’t get any soup, but worse yet, he might start believing the lie that nobody cares.

Of course, people will go to extremes on this.  Some people really do need to clean up their houses and put themselves together better.  But when we let perfectionistic ideals keep us from talking to people, something is wrong.  That neighbor that day showed me she wasn’t really my friend.  I’m so fortunate many other people in my life right now will not judge me for looking like a cleaning lady when they drop in on me in the middle of the day.

So let’s make an agreement right now.  We will not judge each other based on external factors.  We will give each other the benefit of the doubt.  We will treat each other like we wish to be treated.  And WHEN (not if) you drop in to see me, even if it’s just here in cyberspace, I will ask you to come on in and set a spell.  We might even eat imperfect food on my imperfect placemats.