I made an amazing discovery today.
I am stunningly imperfect.
In a good way.
I'd been walking through the woods in Branson (which is easy in Branson, since they are everywhere), pondering life, the universe and everything. I'd just gotten off a phone conversation with one of my best friends, who had taught me a bunch about gratitude and appreciating life for what it really is. I came to some rustically dilapidated ruins that looked like they could have been the remains of someone's attempt to build a porch in the middle of nowhere, on the edge of a cliff overlooking the Ozark hills and Table Rock lake. I helped myself to one of the bent wood surfaces, hugged my legs, and leaned my head back against the dilapidated railing.
There in front of me was the world. Tiny weeds poked through the slats I was sitting on. Gravel spread on the surface around me in someone's attempt to civilize this place. To my right, the hill sloped steeply downward, only to zoom back up again on the other side of the small ravine. The autumn trees covering the slopes were painted red, yellow, brown, and green in a way that can only happen in a Branson autumn. Beyond and to the direction I faced were the waters that shine so brightly in summertime, but now reflected the deep dull grey of the sky. Above, ravens circled and called to each other. It was a classically flawed and beautifully telestial landscape.
Just like me. And everyone else I've had the privilege of meeting on this journey.
We are all imperfect. And that, my friends, is the point.
Think of it. In all of eternity, you only get now to experience pain. Or mosquitoes. Or the irritating sensation of feeling so much for another human being but not having language to communicate it. Only now do you get to experiment with arguing. Or being sick. Now you know what it is like to be late. Or feel frustrated because you say one thing and do another.
I'm all about the quest for perfection. Anyone who knows me knows this. Still, I'm finding that true "perfection" in this life comes from accepting what is - all the trials and fatigues of mortality - with all of your heart. Only when you love what is can you really understand what can be. The true joy of life is not in no mistakes, but mistakes with grace.
To life, exactly the way it is!
Today.
