little cuts

your driving need for perfection 
will ultimately 
drive me away. 
that is not the way 
i operate. 
you know it never has been. 
my life is 
crooked glasses, 
mounting piles of laundry, 
constant dirty fingernails, 
and a crisp white shirt 
with an obnoxiously loud 
red Popsicle stain.
look at my children. 
they may have bumps and knots 
in their pony tails
or clothes that never match, 
but guess what, 
joy abounds, 
oh does joy abound. 
i know your eyes. 
they are sharp and piercing,
they quickly spot 
anything out of place
out of order
and can quickly make 
disappear 
anything that appears to be 
uncomely or without 
perfect symmetry.
your presentation of the life you live, 
the kids you raise, 
the profession you have 
chosen, 
you present it flawlessly. 
nothing is out of place. 
i, am not cut from the 
same cloth as you.
you know that.
when have i ever been like you?
i rejoice in my flaws. 
i rejoice in my weakness. 
i like that i am small, 
imperfect,
and not put together,
because the One that 
does hold me together, 
is Christ and Christ alone.
He doesn't even see my stains 
for He has given me 
new robes
and presented me 
blameless before the 
Throne of Grace.
there is a tiny place 
for people like me, 
right at the foot of the cross
and that is where i find 
rest. 
For you to demand or 
look for perfection
in me, 
you will not find it. 
For you to subtly expect me and 
my children to look a certain way, 
to have trimmed fingernails
and fresh hair cuts, 
i'll probably most likely 
not fulfill that in a time table 
you deem appropriate, 
but what i do make sure?
that my children are 
loved and cherished. 
in our home, the house is 
not often dusted, 
there are crumbs  and fingerprints 
everywhere, 
but there is also laughter, 
security, 
and peace.
in our home there are unmade beds, 
curtains that are too short
and broken blinds,
but there is also 
unconditional love, 
the absence of fear and performance based 
approval, 
and gentleness. 
i am flawed.
[of this you know all too well] 
i mess up all the time.
my life is not one crisp clean 
straight line, 
but rather a collection of 
failures, 
broken pride, 
and lessons learned
the messy way.
i walk low,
lower still, 
down by the soil, 
rocks, 
and black dirt, 
because that is where the 
Living Water is found. 
i am sorry that i am not 
strong enough 
to stand up against 
your continuous 
critical assessments 
of me. 
i'm not even sure why it 
even matters 
to you that much. 
it may be some weird twisted way 
of you trying to 
love me, 
but i will finally
 raise my cowered eyes 
and firmly look you in 
yours. 
it does not feel like love, 
do you hear me?
i am done trying to 
please you, 
done trying to make sure my 
kids look perfectly kept 
before arriving at your home
for fear you will pick them 
a p a r  t 
and you will apply 
[unasked or unwelcome]
your antiseptic condescension..
i do not need your approval.
i do not need your cuts, 
your digs, or your advice 
in how i might live a clean 
crisp life. 
i like my messy one. 
i like my beautiful messy children 
just the way they are. 
i am imperfect.
i am imperfect.
i am imperfect.
i do not exhaust myself with perfection.
i welcome you 
to try it sometime..