Perfection Doesn't Aim for the Stars

I know I've wrote about this before, but it's fresh in my mind and my heart again tonight, and this may be more for me than for anyone who reads this.
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I'm feeling a little bummed today. When I tell you why I'm bummed, you might laugh. It's honestly kind of a silly reason to be bummed, actually...

I got a 93% on a test today.

I know, I know, the majority - if not all - of you are thinking, "Man, I would've killed for a 93% on a test!" All of my friends in my undergrad years thought the same thing. I can't tell you how many times I heard them exclaim excitedly that they got a B- on a paper, or complain that the hours upon hours they spent studying still only got them a C on the test. I never studied, ever, and wrote my 5-10 page papers the night before or even the morning they were due...and always got A's, if not 100%.

But the times I didn't get those 100%'s were as agonizing to me as the C's were to my friends.

For me, not getting a perfect score was personal. It wasn't my paper that was flawed...I was flawed. Or else that's what I imaged my professors thought of me. The imagined disappointment on their faces when they read and graded my work was heart crushing. "I can't believe that Sara of all people would've gotten this wrong! I had such high hopes in her," and would shake their heads sadly as they marked off points in red pen. The 93 points I had received meant nothing...I had failed them on those 7 points.

But I could never talk to anyone about it. My friends wouldn't understand how anyone could be sad about an A-, and the only other "smart" people I knew were always a little smug and smart-assed about it. So for fear of seeming smug and smart-assed, I kept quiet, blushing and muttering an answer only if my friends asked what I got on the-most-difficult-test-in-the-universe. Looking back now, I guess the smug students were probably under the same sort of pressure I was feeling, but we didn't know how to explain it.

I couldn't really tell you exactly what prompted my perfectionism. As a kid I was shy and quiet around everyone except my family (who told me often that I was actually too loud), which led to a constant loneliness that I've struggled with since probably 3rd grade. But even shy kids want positive attention. Thinking about it now, I don't think I was really encouraged or praised for much growing up, my grades and maybe piano were the only times I got a genuine "That's great, Sara!" Everything else I did got, at best, a preoccupied, "That's nice, dear."

I got a C once on my 4th grade quarterly report card, and while I don't remember how my parents reacted, I definitely remember disappointment. Not necessarily from them or my teacher, but from myself. School was the one thing I was good at and I had - in my mind - failed. The one thing I gained approval for, and I had almost lost it. From then on out it was A's only; 100's were the best but I'd settle for 95's.

The thing about constant "perfection" though is that if you've already attained it and constantly maintain it, there's really nothing surprising or impressive about it anymore. It mostly becomes a little joke when I don't get a 100; "What?! Sara got a 99?! Oh, the horror!!" Said in jest, usually with a loving twinkle in the eye...but still the little arrows of accusation fly straight to my heart: "You're not perfect. They're not going to love you if you're not perfect. Why would anyone want to love someone who's not perfect? No one loves you."

And these lies started popping up in other areas of my life outside of school. A small stutter or misspoken sentence in a "normal" conversation in a group setting: "Imperfection!" the lies say, "It would be better if you said nothing at all. Better yet, just stay home next time, then you won't have to be around other people who would see your imperfection and therefore not love you." So I stay home. Boys I had a crushes on started dating someone else: "Imperfection! If you had been more beautiful, more noticeable, more perfect, he would have picked you! But don't let him see you, or else he'll see all your plain, stuttering imperfection and won't love you!" So I dress unnoticeably and don't talk to boys for years, watching my crushes all fall in love, get married, and have children with their beautiful wives.

But through the persistent love of several wonderful friends and mentors over the last decade, and I've finally begun to accept the Truth of who God has made me to be, and that He finds me beautiful and worth loving despite my "imperfections", and actually doesn't even see them because He's so besotted with me. By "begun", I mostly mean that I can say it out loud, and if I focus enough that all I see is His face I may actually believe it with my whole heart for a moment or two. He thinks I'm "more than just a beautiful mess" (to quote Matthew West) and it's messing with my heart...in a good way. But the scars still hurt, and lies that have been believed for decades are sometimes tricky to uproot fully. Sometimes when I think Jesus and I have finally gotten the last one pulled out, another root pops up and proves even trickier to dig out. Enter grad school.

This semester I started the Master's of Arts in Library Science program online through Mizzou. I love it!!! I don't know why it's taken me so long to start school again. I love learning, I love that feeling of figuring out something new and making connections to the things in my life that I've just been plodding through without understanding. God gave me as a beautiful gift a highly intelligent brain, and it feels great to be using it to it's full potential again.

And as you can imagine, up till now all of my assignments have earned me a 100%...until this test from last week. Instantly after seeing my grade on the test, my heart sunk and shame started creeping in again. I honestly opened up the test and quickly scrolled down to find the ones I'd missed, ignoring the 23 of the 25 questions that got full marks just to zero in on the ones I got wrong.

And right now I'm faced with a choice. Stew over this grade, and how it will affect my average for the class; or go completely against my own brain and heart and choose to believe something so radical I almost can't think it to type it out.........

I am still loved.....

and if possible I am loved even more so now simply because I dared to think it, despite the habit of self-hatred. It is so much simpler to just give in to habitual thinking, and my mind has been trained to despise myself when I am imperfect. But no...I am loved by my family and my friends, some of which are boys (no Dad, just because they are boys and my friends does not make any of them my boyfriend!! ;-P ).

But most importantly, I am loved by God...and in the end, that's the only thing that matters.

Chosen

Most people in church go on and on about how crafty and sly the devil is. It's right there in Genesis, the first time we see the devil show up as a character: "Now the serpent was the most cunning of all the animals..." But what people may not realize is that God is cleverer than that sly ole devil. I mean, He's God, He created Lucifer in the first place. The fallen angel's problem was that he thought he was better than God was (Ha!). But I know that in the face of my strongholds and lies that tend to plague my life, I forget that God is more crafty. For example...

Today I was rereading one of my favorite books: Celebration of Discipline by Richard  Foster. In the chapter on the discipline of meditation, Foster describes one way that people can use their imaginations to picture themselves with Jesus, walking with Him on the beach in Galilee, sitting and talking with Him in the gospel stories. So I decided to try it. I closed my eyes and started to daydream. But this time, instead of my normal time-wasting daydreams, I chose to daydream about me and Jesus.

Now, this is where God got clever. See, Satan really didn't like the idea that I may realize that I can daydream about Jesus instead of all of the other unhealthy daydreams he likes to feed me. So I'm picturing myself on the beach, looking over at the crowd of disciples and Jesus...when the thought runs through me, heart, soul, and mind: "Jesus wouldn't want me over there with Him."

"What?! How is that God being clever? Isn't that the enemy attacking with lies?" Well, yes, the enemy was telling me a lie; but the thing is, Satan's been telling me that lie for so long now, but this was the first time I actually heard it. It was as if I thought it loud enough that it interrupted my daydream like a slap in the face. Up till now, it's been a lie that has wormed it's way into my mind and heart softer than a whisper. It's always just been a feeling, a suggestion, a hint of an idea. But this time, the enemy got so freaked out by what I was about to do that he forgot himself and practically shouted it. And then it was almost as if God cupped His hand to His ear and said, "Oh, wait, what...what was that? You were telling My daughter a lie? Did you hear that, Dear One? The enemy was telling you a LIE." And then God smirked, cause I heard it and understood. (ok, maybe God didn't smirk, He doesn't really need to. It was more likely a pointed look at Satan saying, "BACK OFF, SHE'S MINE!!!")

And I realized (as Satan ran off with his tail between his legs) that for so long I have been under the assumption that I'm just a tag-a-long, a burden, an extra mouth to feed in the crowd just wanting a glimpse of Jesus. I don't want just a glimpse of Him, I want Him. But I've believed that my presence would just burden Him, that I'd be underfoot, and that He'd feel pressured to make time for me in His already hectic schedule of disciples clamouring for attention. So I backed away, loving Him from a distance, but ignoring any advances He made towards me. "It's alright, I know You're busy. Don't feel that You need to spend time with me to keep up an appearance. You're tired; go, sleep, I'll just love You from over here." If Jesus had really been around, that's what I would've done. Just sit back, afraid to approach for fear of overwhelming Him, afraid to find out that I would actually be a burden, that He would say, "Sara, I'm just too tired right now, can we get coffee maybe in a few weeks?"

Or worse...afraid of finding out that I would just be another face in the crowd. Unknown. Unrecognized. Unloved.

There was another woman like that in the Bible. She actually could've gotten some serious repercussions from touching Jesus, as she was by Jewish law unclean. She'd been unclean for 12 years. Can you imagine...not being able to touch anyone for 12 years for fear of making them unclean as well? Granted, they would only be unclean for a week, but it probably wouldn't make her any friends if she kept touching people. So when she heard about Jesus, and knew in her heart that He could heal her, she didn't want to create a fuss, she didn't want Him or anyone else to even know that she touched Him. She was content to remain a hidden unseen face in the crowd.

But, like me, God did not let her go unnoticed. He stopped mid-stride, turned to look for her, giving her the opportunity to dare and take that first step forward towards Him, and then He called her "Daughter." (Mark 5:24-34). I don't think I would've heard anything else after that. I would've been too overwhelmed. I was just chosen by the One powerful enough to heal, to redeem, to set free, to send the devil fleeing. He stopped just for me. I'm not just a face in the crowd, a mouth to feed, a block on the calendar.

I'm the one He walks towards up the beach, holds out His hand and asks-with a hopeful smile and twinkle in His eyes, "Sara, come with Me?"

How could I say no?