The Perfection of Imperfection

Even as I write the title, I am moved by truth. Imperfection is actually perfect. It blows me away to fully consider this. I am, by far, the most imperfect person I know. I can be selfish, rude,  self-serving, and shallow - and that's the tip of the iceberg. I eat when I'm anxious, sad, happy, and mad. I laugh at inappropriate things and can cry at the drop of a hat. I know I'm not supposed to care what you think about me, but I do. I am guilty of things that would very likely surprise you. And this is where I am today - imperfect and in that is it's own perfection.

Oh, I know how it sounds to the most religious of you. Glorifying in my sin. Celebrating things that are wrong. But, oh my dear friend, that's not how it is at all. My sin breaks my heart. I would that I was different - so very often. I grow. I learn. And by the grace of God, I change. I like to think I improve - and I believe I do. I simply do not know how to be where I am except by where I've been. Those imperfections? Those flaws are part of the very reason I know Jesus and are surely evidence that I needed a savior. I could not, cannot overcome my weaknesses on my own. Frankly, I'm just too imperfect for that.

So many things are coming together in my head this morning ... realizing I feel hurt by someone taking me off of their friend list, absorbing a mind-blowing Scripture passage, facing some negative consequences of positive action (reference the unfriending part), realizing not everyone will like me or agree with me... and reckoning with that. It's o.k. It really is. You don't have to like me. You don't have to agree with me. I'm not here to please you. And that means you're not here to please me - or anyone else for that matter.

In a Perfect World 
by Stephanie Redmond, 2018

In a perfect world

We’d all be perfect.

There’d be no sin, no guilt, no shame.

There’d be no wrong and

You couldn’t be disappointed by me

Or me by you.

In a perfect world

You wouldn’t talk behind my back

Nor I behind yours.

Love would cover all

And there’d be no need

For “You hurt me”,

“I was wrong” and

“Please forgive me”.

In a perfect world

Sheep wouldn’t stray and

Shepherds would care for the one who did.

There’d be no tears, divorce, or even death.

We would love richly, worship freely, and

Live happily -

Ever after.

In a perfect world

I suppose we’d have no need for God,

Would never seek His face or

Know the power of His grace.

Thank God this world is not perfect.

When Death Seems Best

Today my heart is full of sadness for a woman I never knew. A woman who was only 55 years old. A woman who began what became a multi-million dollar company in her New York apartment making handbags out of burlap. A woman who was married and had a 13 year old daughter. And today she ended her life. 

What kind of mental hell must someone who has seemingly everything be in to make that choice? I don't know her. I don't judge her. I hurt for her. I hurt for those who actually knew and loved her. I hurt for others out there who believe they have no choice left.

I live my life on a mission to help women find greater joy. I want to tell all who will listen about a Savior who loves them so very much. I yearn for people to know their true value and their worth. And there's a secret - your value has nothing to do with position or bank account or looks or marathons or perfect homes or education or true love. You are valuable because you are you. It's the who you are not the what you are.

To the souls reading this who are faced with so much pain, such deep depression, such a deep belief that things will not or cannot get better that they want to end their lives, I want to give you a message. I pray it will offer hope. You are good enough just like you are. Jesus loves you no matter what you've done or haven't done. There are people who want to help you and are trained to help you. Call them. I pray that you will find comfort for your weary soul and live to see joy and hope restored.

NATIONAL SUICIDE LIFELINE: 1-800-273-8255

I waited my whole life to feel good about myself

I’m sitting here, one foot propped on my patio table, wearing a cheap pink, bendable, cowboy hat with an even cheaper rhinestone band, wondering when I first felt less than. When did I begin to feel not pretty enough, not smart enough, not rich enough? Well, let’s be real, we weren’t rich at all. But when and better yet, why, did that awareness creep in and start to infect my sense of self-worth?

.

One of my first truly embarrassing moments happened when I was no more than six years old. It was on the school playground. Like all the other little girls in 1968, I had on a proper little school dress. My dresses usually had big white collars and mama joked that she always knew what I’d had for lunch because it was all over my collar. It must’ve been early in first grade. A group of us were playing on the Jungle Jim (Gym?) and I decided to do my great “hang upside down” trick. All of a sudden, a group of boys started cackling hysterically, pointing and yelling about being able to see my underwear. Maybe that was it. I don’t recall shame or embarrassment before then.

I remember not liking this photo at all
and feeling bad about myself.

Maybe it was the time my mom was swimsuit shopping. She was still in her twenties and I thought she was beautiful.She was  beautiful! I don’t remember everything about that shopping trip, but I do remember her complaining and being upset about herself. Maybe it was then.

Or did it happen through a series of events? Mom not liking her knees. Me deciding and saying that I didn’t like my knees – in sixth grade, when I was slim and had on an adorable brown denim mini skirt with a butterfly applique.

I don’t know when it began. I don’t know how it was perpetuated.  All I know is that for my entire adult life and a good many years before then I didn’t feel good about myself. I felt good about certain things about myself but not me so much. And I’m pretty sure I thought it would be detrimental and possibly even unchristian to actually like myself. Unladylike. Improper.

I liked my smile. I thought I could be funny. I used to like my overall shape but I also thought I was too overweight for a bikini on my honeymoon. (I was a size 10 and quite fit.) I was a dancer. I was a swimmer and a lifeguard. Looking back, I'd even say I was pretty cute, too. I remember people commented on my looks. Men looked at me. But I didn’t feel worthy. The boys I liked liked other girls more. While trying to be seen, I also tried to hide.


I know I was reasonably smart. I made decent grades and was a leader. Still, I didn't feel accepted or popular. Why? And it's funny because I hung out with a pretty popular group and they were smart, too. I was able to skip my Senior year and start college instead, but that made me feel lucky, not smart. I could sing, but didn't rate myself well compared to others. 

The story is complicated. It took a few turns. Some good, some not so much. In my search for acceptance, in my desperate state, I got involved with someone who abused me emotionally. As a result, I let myself believe a pack of lies. My husband has done everything he knows to reassure me and yet for most of our marriage, I’ve felt unworthy of his love and attention. I was continuing the abuse myself, judging myself for being abused and denying myself the love I deserved ... from me.

My absolute favorite outfit these days! 

I could write a book about all the details, but my guess is you already know a lot of them, for it’s your story, too. Blame doesn’t fix it and losing weight without addressing the other issues will most likely be temporary. At the end of the day, you have to get to the point where you can see your strengths and applaud them. Take note of your weaknesses and work around them. Find someone who can help you unravel the lies and see the truth that you are valuable just like you are. That's my goal today. I want to speak truth into your life and urge you to stop abusing yourself. I want to loosen some of the strongholds on you and say, "Get free! Love yourself!". 

Somehow, in what feels like a miraculous chain of events that includes those things I just mentioned, I gained the determination to let me out of my prison. I have been letting my excess weight go. I feel secure in myself and safe. I don't need the weight to protect me any longer. I have let go of the need for others to approve of me (mostly). I have found joy in trying new things and answering my calling. And just this week, I looked in the mirror and realized I like me for the very first time in my life and I’m almost 57 years old. That's a long time to wait to like yourself, people. God loves you - as you are. The least you can do is love yourself. Sure, you're flawed. We all are. But tell me this, how can you expect others to love you if you don't even love yourself? 

Still can't believe how much has changed -
and it doesn't all show in the mirror!

So, what about you? Could you maybe just decide to start today? Stop judging yourself so harshly and start approving of yourself. Stop measuring your value by your clothing size or your weight and start looking on the inside – where God judges us. Stop punishing yourself and start rewarding yourself.

I implore you to find a new way. 57 years is too long to wait. In fact, one more minute spent hating on yourself is too much. Stop it and START discovering how very awesome you are!

Coffee for Two ASAP! (or risk arrest)

My heart actually hurts. My chest feels heavy, pressed on. I’m having trouble figuring out how I feel, understanding what happened and what I (honestly) would do differently given the opportunity.

I don’t think the police officers are to blame. . . necessarily. I mean, they had a complaint from a business. But, couldn’t they have just escorted the guys outside and talked to them? Were handcuffs necessary? See what I mean? I’m having trouble processing.

I’ll yield that I wasn’t there and accept that there may be things I don’t know. In fact, that’s my cop-out response. I count on that because then I don’t have to do one dadblame thing. Not one. I can just sit silently and let the world continue to rotate on its axis and revolve around the sun. Like Pilate, I can wash my hands of the entire sordid affair.

Picture your local Starbucks. You agree to meet a friend there. You get there before he does. Dude’s always late. You and your buddy that rode with you shake it off and decide to have a seat and wait on him. There are people there. You’re just hanging. Then you notice the girl behind the counter kind of looking at you weird. You’re actually used to that. It’s a thing. You look a little “different”. She picks up her cell between customers, makes a call. No big thing, but you keep feeling her eyes on you. Come on! You’re just waiting for your buddy, talking to your other buddy. Dang. Same thing you’ve encountered all your life.

About the time you’re really getting creeped out by the coffee chick, in walk 2 cops. They head for the counter. Coffee chick glances your way now and then while talking to the cops. They turn, look your direction and head your way. What in the…? This is a new one.

Soon after that, while cops are talking to you, your buddy finally arrives. Yeah, you could’ve used him sooner. Everyone in the place is whispering, looking your way, wondering what’s up. Then the cops put handcuffs on you and escort you out. I mean, aren’t you glad you acted cool? Responded “appropriately”? Good thing you watch the news!

Now, I don’t know if that’s exactly how it went down, but according to a witness it was something pretty close. Question: were the police called on these guys for not ordering coffee? For sitting in an establishment without paying for anything? Really? I don’t think so. I think it’s because they were black and didn’t order anything.

I meet people at Starbucks all the time. I often wait until they get there to place my order. Sometimes I never order. We may just have our meeting and leave. In fact, I’ve often pondered how cool it is that Starbucks lets people just hang there all the time without ordering. I mean, I see it, I do it. Often. But, then again, I’m a middle-aged white woman. I dress well.

Inside my brain, I hope hope hope that I am wrong. I want these men to be known problems. I want there to be an actual danger to their presence. Not because I want coffee chick exonerated, not at all. I just want us as a culture to not be this hopeless. This far gone. This shallow for crying out loud.

I understand fear. I’ve been victimized a time or two. I lived through 9-11 and even have some understanding of the value of profiling – to some degree – until I think of my Assyrian sister in law and her beautiful family, my nieces, her sisters, her brothers, their kids. ereHHere I sit, finding it hard to believe that someone called the police on two innocent people because of their skin color and I’m having to face my own issues. I didn’t believe it could be just what it was. I’d like to think I would’ve stood up for them if I was there, but should that even be necessary? Shouldn’t their word have as much value as mine?

I hate coming to grips with the fact that I may be part of the problem. I hate that parents of good kids have to worry about their children’s safety because of their skin color. And I wasn’t going to say anything either. I was going to go about my day. Then I read the account of a woman who observed the incident and felt the kick in my own gut. Then my pastor friend who adopted several Ethiopian children shared his fears. Another kick. I have to speak for others. I have to, in the name of the Lord I serve, say NO. This isn’t ok. He died for every single one of us. He delights in us. I am compelled to say, regardless of the details of this incident, but for all in general, it’s not ok to treat people like this. There’s a mountain of things I don’t know and I don’t understand, much to be learned but in this moment, I stand.

Note: This is not a commentary on Starbucks. It could happen anywhere. 

Restored

Blessings on this Sunday morning. As I sit here this morning, cozy on my couch, sipping coffee with my essential oils diffusing, I find myself remarkably grateful. It is my habit to give thanks but I don’t know that I fully embrace the attitude of gratitude, if you will. I call myself “The Joy Coach”, but I don’t always feel the joy. And truth be told, last year felt like hell to me. Even so, I continued to give thanks and trust that God was doing something I couldn’t or didn’t understand. And though the steps forward were hard to even recognize at times, I did keep moving forward, one, literally, painful step at a time. 

But on this day, this blessedly ordinary day, I am grateful. Filled with thanks. AWARE and alive. I can see the work God has done through my pain, both emotional and physical, and frankly, I’m a bit awestruck. He’s turned my mourning into dancing and He’s given me a new song in my mouth.

This morning, as I sit in the still and quiet, while it is still dark outside, aware of little beyond my immediate breathing and the gentle hum of my house, I began to reflect somewhat on the 23^rd Psalm. This Psalm is used to comfort the grieving and yes, I have found enormous comfort in it. But this morning was different. There is no sadness in my soul. As I was praying, I was simply aware of some things that moved my spirit.

The first was that God has led me beside the still waters. It’s been said that sheep won’t drink from turbulent waters – and who can blame them! – they need still water to drink. Throughout Scripture we are referred to as sheep and Jesus calls Himself the Good Shepherd. (John 10) At this place in my life, after a season of considerable grief, I am suddenly aware that I am beside the still water. I can drink and be replenished and it’s good. Thank you, Jesus.

Next, I realize that Jesus has made me to lie down in green pastures. I can rest! And there is plenty of provision. Jesus not only led me beside the still water, but also made me to lie down in green pastures. I can eat and drink and rest. No striving. It occurs to me that after my long, tiresome journey, He was indeed restoring my soul. When I set my eyes fully on Jesus and followed His lead, I had all I needed. I didn’t have to grow the grass, or calm the water. I didn’t even have to find the way on my own – He led me. <3

What great joy this Sunday morning to be able to rest in Jesus. To be able to trust His leading. There is gratitude. There is joy. And there is a peace that passes all understanding. Thank you, Lord, for your faithfulness, patience and goodness.