when perfect isn’t working

It sneaks in as a little voice in your head – starting as admiration, but quickly turning into the green-eyed twin monsters of comparison and jealousy.

You were having a rough day, and stopping by her house made you feel better – at first. Until you started noticing she already had snacks made out. There were no piles of laundry on the floor, the couch, or probably not even hiding in the dryer. And she was all sporty looking and ready for a walk.

The drive home and entrance into your own house seals the deal. The undone laundry, exhaustion, and lack of a dinner plan – other than a ‘buffet’ of ‘whatever y’all can find in the fridge’ taunts you. FAILURE. A quick recap of the day reminds you that while you were busy having your mini-meltdown, your still-not-potty-trained child was eating her boogers in public.

But, really, it’s not the lack of listening, fear of botulism by boogers, or friend I know well enough to know she’s only 95 percent perfect, that put me in the driver’s seat heading off the crazy cliff.

It’s me. The complete reliance on the voice of destruction – the one that comes to steal and kill and destroy. As soon as I let the voice in, I don’t just turn to it. I sprint full force to it’s beakoning. And then I can’t stop. I leave the door wide open for it to operate my every thought.

The destroyer voice hides behind lovely things – the longing in my soul to want things beautiful and organized and to just have it together. I try so hard, but even in the brief moments when I arrive at that place, it never satisfies. It’s just a mirage.

I hide behind my accomplishments and what I can get done instead of nourishing relationships. I make busy and perfect my idols. And I almost burn down the house because I forgot I shoved the dirty dishes in the oven before the next time I turned it on.

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Today, I needed some quiet space. To get back to potty training and letting my blonde heads help with saucing the apples that don’t care whether or not they’ve been rotting on the counter. To wash my soul with the words of the one who comes to give me abundant life. And to forget about washing the windows.

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