This week has been a testament of my perfection (or lack of).
An Imperfect Me
Somehow last week became a celebration of Derrick being home (He was only gone a week; Army wives must be rolling their eyes at this situation). I had a whole day planned for this past Saturday – and Derrick had chosen not to know what was going on. I prepared cards with pictures and information that would reveal to him what was next on the agenda. Lunch with Whitney and Aaron. Art Museum. The Social Network. Olive Garden with Derrick’s Dad.
Everything went wonderfully. It was a great day, including some of both of our favorite things. Lunch was a good time, catching up with friends. The Art Museum was an interesting cultural experience; it was fun to see what kind of art everyone liked. The movie was good. And dinner with Mr. Billy was the perfect ending to the day.
Let’s fast forward to 11:14 that night. We’re sitting in Derrick’s car, my face red and tear stained. I keep apologizing for acting like a girl. I hate acting like a girl. The patience from a few blogs back had decided to come crumbling down, despite my desire to always be classy and calm, optimistic and supportive.
“It’s just not fair.” I cry. “After a wonderful day like this…we have to come home to my parent’s house…and I have to say goodbye to you. It’s stupid.”
He doesn’t really say much. He just looks at me with that kind, patient look. Which can be frustrating, but gives me the invitation to continue, expressing my instant guilt at the above statement.
“I love my parents. They do so much for me and us, and it’s not that. It’s just not fair. After a day like today we should get to go to our home together. And not say goodbye” He may have commented, then I continued. At this point, I didn’t want to say goodbye. I wanted to be married. BUT the magnitude of marriage was also closing in. “Once we get engaged, then I have to plan a wedding. So many details. And I won’t live with my parents anymore, and I’ll miss them. And then we have to decide where we’re going to live…We have to buy a house.” Sobs. “I don’t have money for a house. I don’t know where we should live…and taxes. I don’t know how to do taxes. I don’t even understand my insurance. I’m a horrible adult.” Pause for reflection on what’s going on. “I’m sorry. I’m crying. I’m acting like a girl.” (This goes on for about half an hour).
Yes. The walls had come crashing down. Impatience. Guilt. Fear. Excitement. Imperfection.
A Patient Boyfriend
Derrick assures me that I’m not a horrible adult; it will all work out. That one day we won’t have to say good-bye, but he agrees that it is hard sometimes. He holds me. He tells me that he loves me.
And there’s the truth of the matter. I try to be perfect. To put energy into supporting Derrick and all those I love. Into being strong. I try to be the best and hide my imperfections. Be patient. Don’t get upset. Don’t get frustrated. But even in the midst of me being an emotional mess, he loves me. And I dare say that we actually loved each other more in that moment and after that moment.
There’s a beauty in vulnerability. In letting those closest to you know your heart, without the walls protecting it. I prefer hiding my issues, handling them privately and quietly; other people have enough to worry about without my problems. I feel selfish whenever I reveal my personal burdens. But maybe it’s okay if I’m weak every once in a while. If I let my guard down. If I’m imperfect. (Although hopefully it won’t happen again anytime soon ():)
A Perfect God
I love that God is constantly there for me. I think that those of us who are perfectionists, who try to take the weight of the world on our shoulders, should especially relish this fact. When I need someone to fall apart to, when I need someone to cry to, be weak with, when I need to crawl in someone’s arms…God is always there. Always.
He doesn’t judge my vulnerable weakness, and He already knows my heart. He knows my desires, my frustrations, my hopes, my dreams. I feel so blessed that, as strange as it sounds, I can be selfish with Him. He loves being my best friend, and He wants me to cry to Him.If I get frustrated with someone or something – I don’t want to take it out on them, because most of the time it’s just my emotions and the moment – but I can talk to God about it. If I’m tired of working to be patient or kind, I need some strength and rest – I can talk to God about it. If I have a dream, a hope, a burden – He’s there to share them with me.
He died for me so that I could come to Him. What a beautiful freedom! (If you don’t have a relationship with God like that, don’t wait another moment. He wants to be there for you too!)
Come unto me, all [ye] that labour and are heavy laden,
and I will give you rest.