I’ve worked hard to eliminate the word ‘perfect’ from my vocabulary, especially in her presence. I don’t ask that she be perfect. I don’t talk of striving for perfect. And a passing glance around this house would tell you that not only do I not talk of striving, I don’t actually strive either. Most days we’re just holding on and riding the wave. Perfect isn’t even on the menu.

painting on an easel

But do you know what’s crazy? That word. That one little word, it sneaks in. And as I began to think more about how quickly that word spilled out of her little mouth, I realized how often it sneaks out of mine.

A friend suggests that we meet up tomorrow at the park. My response: Perfect!

I meet my girl at the door and she’s already there with shoes and jacket and she’s ready to go. My remark: Perfect!

I’ve got my fingers woven into her hair and I really want to create the perfect Anna braid and though I’ll keep my desires for my own perfection to myself, when she starts to wiggle, I reminder her to: Sit perfectly still!

Perfect. There it is. There it is everywhere.

Sound familiar?

Meet me over at my dear friend Chris’ blog where I’m finding the grace to just be perfectly me.


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