I’ll be honest. I’ve started this post at least twenty times. Each attempt has had a different opening line, a different anecdote, a different flowery description. I’ve considered metaphors, narratives, and even a string of dialogue.
But there’s a sinking feeling in my heart as I conjure up each idea. Is this the best way to start? Is this the one right way? Would someone else have said it better?
These thoughts are debilitating. They claw at me and drag me down. Because I know that they’re right. No matter how I begin this post, there will always be a better way. There are always stories that are more engaging, analogies that are more interesting, language that is more precise. I know that if I come back to this in ten years, I’ll probably be able to make a list of all the ways I could have made it better. I will never be able to obtain the perfection I so desperately want.
And maybe that’s the point.
Because here’s the thing: somewhere along the way, I think I lost the plot. I bought into the lie that my value is solely dependent on the quality of the work I’m able to produce. That the destination is all that matters, and I should be there by now. Somehow, I started to believe that the things I gave the world–the stories I want to write, the things I want to say–only mattered if they were beautiful. Shiny. Perfect. Like a carefully styled bowl of plastic fruit.
But we serve a God who defines perfection in a different way. A God who created crooked trees and knobby knees and flightless birds, and calls it all good. A God who is patient in the midst of the misbeliefs we carry, faithful in the way He shines light on them, and gracious in the way He corrects them, for our good and our healing. A God who values our faithfulness more than any shiny success we might achieve.
“But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.” 2 Corinthians 12:9 (NIV)
God Confronts My Misbeliefs
When I began my journey as an author, I carried a heavy burden of perfectionism with me. (And I still do, in a way.) I despised the advice ‘write it poorly,’ and at the same time, I found that I couldn’t help but do so. There was so much I didn’t know, so many things I needed to grow in, that my writing turned out ‘poorly’ anyway. And instead of viewing this as the normal human experience, I saw it as a permanent defect within myself. I pressed on with my writing anyway, but seeking growth and constructive critique only reminded me of how ‘not perfect’ my writing was.
And then, through the grace of God, someone asked me the question, ‘what does it mean for us that Jesus came as a baby who needed to learn how to walk, talk, and use a hammer?’ It’s such a simple thought, such an obvious point, but I had never really considered it before.
“And Jesus grew in wisdom and stature, and in favor with God and man.” Luke 2:52
Is it possible that Jesus’ incarnation was about more than just his death and resurrection? Do the first 30 years of his life matter to us, too? When he came to be with us, when he willingly took on human nature, he took on our limitations and vulnerabilities, too. What does that tell us about the value God puts on those things?
Jesus chose to become a baby, fully dependent on his parents and his community for his most basic needs. He chose to learn the way we learn–through falling and trying again–and experienced life the way we do. He learned to stack blocks and kick a ball. He learned how to use his hands to build things as an act of love for his neighbors. He learned to work hard, and showed us that there is goodness in all of these things.
As humans, we tend to shy away from our imperfections. We hide them, cover them up, terrified of what others might say if they knew about our struggles. We don’t want to embrace our limitations, we want to shatter those limits and achieve greatness.
But Jesus invites us into a new way of being human. He beckons us toward a different kind of perfection, marked by our trust in Him and our willingness to learn, to stumble, and to rise again. He says, ‘my grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in your weakness.’ (2 Corinthians 12:9)
Through all this, I began to see that my imperfections are not barriers, they’re gifts. By his mercy, he’s slowly teaching me that I don’t have to achieve anything to be a valuable person, I simply am valuable to him. I can depend on his grace and allow him to transform me. I can embrace my limitations, because they are stepping stones on my journey to become more like Christ. I learn patience, perseverance, rest, diligence, and trust. And these are good things.
People hate their own art because it looks like they made it. They think if they get better, it will stop looking like they made it. A better person made it. But there’s no level of skill beyond which you stop being you. You hate the most valuable thing about your art. -Elicia Donze
The Beauty of Imperfection
Of course it’s good to work hard and work well, and there’s nothing wrong with striving to create something of genuine value. However, as followers of Christ, our perspective on work is transformed. It becomes an act of stewardship, a way to love our neighbors, and a means to honor God with our gifts.
When I shift my focus from seeking recognition for my writing to stewarding the talents entrusted to me and crafting stories that carry meaning, I discover freedom.
I come to appreciate the beauty of dependence—dependence on God’s guidance and dependence on the support of my community. I learn to embrace the intrinsic goodness of my humanity and savor the precious gift of life that God has given me.
By his grace, I’ve gotten to a place where I can say, ‘this is hard for me, and that’s okay. I’m still learning. God has grace for me at this moment, and he is teaching me. It’s good to be human. God loves me.’
Because in the grand scheme of things, if I craft the most beautifully written novel in the world, but I look no more like Christ than I did when I started, what have I truly achieved? Success is measured in my growth as I’m being conformed to the image of Christ.
Written by Nicole Parsons
Nicole Parsons is a Christ-follower, a wife, a homeschooling mother to three lovely boys, and an author. She loves learning new things and discussing big ideas. When she’s not out exploring nature with her boys, you can find her behind the pages of a good book (or catching up on her much needed sleep).
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