I'm not interested in perfect.

As I sweep the floor, I notice it there.  In the corner, behind the shoes, the dirt.  It's in the kitchen too, in the back corner under the cabinets.  And underneath the washer and dryer in the utility closet.  I would have to move them to get to it.  I see it.

I sew one stitch too far.  I know I've done it, and I could go back and fix it... cut the threads in progress, pull this behemoth quilt out of my machine, and painstakingly remove stitches, all the way back to the beginning of the line, sew it again... so that it would be perfect.

I have a terrible day.  I am emotional, crying, needing to be alone.  But I have to teach my kids, even if I didn't have to teach them, I have to parent them.  I don't do a very good job, some days.

And it skitters through my mind,  as I look at the dirt I've missed, choose not to rip a seam, accept the hug my children need to give...

I'm not interested in perfect. 

Perfect doesn't solve anything.  Perfect won't guarantee life goes according to plan.

But so much life is in front of me!

These kids, they are helping to sweep.  They make a bigger mess, but they are learning!

My little daughter might get to sleep covered by this quilt by Christmas.  There are uneven stitches.  I will always know they are there, but maybe they won't be, next time. 

And I have a chance, in my own weakness, to show redemption.  To show real life, real emotions, to show and receive grace.  Perfection would never teach them that.

I'm not interested in perfect.

And this is my prayer: that your love may abound more and more in knowledge and depth of insight, so that you may be able to discern what is best and may be pure and blameless until the day of Christ, filled with the fruit of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ—to the glory and praise of God.

 Philippians 1:9-11