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Perfect

I used to think that if I wasn't perfect, then it was my fault if the world fell apart. All the time I needed to be beautiful, clean, smart, capable, moral, in control, because that meant I was worthy and deserved to be loved. Ugliness and messes and emergencies scared me because of what they said about me: you deserve to live in a world like this. Yesterday, after a week that started out with a best friend in town and then a flareup and then a severe cold, I wandered around the house missing another day of work, smelling terrible, just proud of myself for doing laundry. My hair stuck out all over my head because I've been too tired to get a haircut on any weekend. The roses my friend bought me before she left were in a vase in the living room. And then suddenly heaven, as I stood in my bedroom watching the curtains waft inward on the clean, cool breeze and the swish of branches. The autumn sunshine made the leaves glow ruby-red. The touch of God was everywhere, in the crickets chirping, in the sunshine that cast not just light but shadow, in the silence and the rustling. My brother called and arranged to visit me that evening, which made my day. I don't know why I don't realize this until I'm at my worst, but it turns out God doesn't care if I'm at my worst or my best. He's good with me the way I am.

Comments

Jamie Robinson said…
Beautiful, LeeAnn!!!!! :)

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