Done is Better than Perfect

When I began working as a seamstress and costumer for a high school fine and performing arts  department, with limited hours and an even more limited budget, I quickly adopted the mantra, "Done is better than perfect." Stage costumes are rarely seen up close, so when you need to crank out 100+ matching pieces, you learn to take shortcuts, leave bits unfinished, and ignore minor mistakes rather than redo them. It's better for everyone to have a decent costume than it is for half the cast to have a fantastic costume and half the cast to have nothing. 

I have definite perfectionist tendencies, so this was a concept that was difficult for me at first. I wanted each student to have a beautiful costume that they loved. And let's be honest, I wanted people to know that I was talented. But what was most important was not any one actor or my own ego, but the cast as a whole. The big picture was best served by getting it done, not getting it perfect. 

I am having to remind myself of this concept lately. There is a lot I need to get done. Like, A LOT a lot. I can't do it all perfectly. And ninety-nine percent of the time, it doesn't matter if I do it perfectly or not. The neighbors will not picket my house if my lawn is not mowed in perfect parallel lines. My guests will not recoil in horror if I forgot to dust the side table or there's a smudge on the bathroom mirror or there's an unwashed dish in the sink. My kids will not rebel if I feed them burgers instead of the promised pizza because I forgot to make the dough. The lawn is mowed, the house is reasonably clean, and the children are fed. That's the important part.

It's hard to admit that I can't to it all perfectly. There may be times when I can't even do it all poorly. But I need to remember to give myself the same grace that others have given me, the same grace I would give to others in my situation. 

Once again, I am so grateful to friends and family who have stepped in to fill the gaps when I fall short. People who have fed my family, weeded my garden, fixed my screen door, given me technical advice, taken over my volunteer responsibilities, offered rides and coffee dates and prayers and shoulders to cry on. Words cannot express my appreciation for your help in getting it done. 

And done is better than perfect.  

Sometimes God Isn't Subtle

This week, while my kids were away at Scout camp, I spent every morning as "Scout Sandy the Storyteller" at my church's Vacation Bible School. 

Our theme was "True North," an Alaskan outdoors setting with the overall mantra of "We Can Trust Jesus." Each day focused on a different Bible story illustrating that when we think/feel/need X, we can... [everybody shouts] TRUST JESUS!

On Monday, I taught the story of Jesus' baptism by John (Matthew 3). We learned that when John baptized Jesus, he clearly heard God Himself announce, "This is my son, with whom I am well pleased." And yet, when John was persecuted and thrown in prison, he sent friends to ask Jesus, "Are you the one who is to come, or should we expect someone else?" John wondered. He doubted. Jesus sent the men back to John, pointing out His miracles and proclamation of the good news of salvation, reassuring John that even when he wondered, he could...TRUST JESUS!

On Tuesday, I taught Jesus' parable of the lost sheep (Luke 15), where a good shepherd leaves his 99 sheep to find a single one who is lost. We pretended to be sheep, wandering away from the shepherd and being lost and afraid in the dark, surrounded by dangers like marauding animals, sharp thorns, and rocky cliffs, until the Good Shepherd came and led us back to safety. We learned that when we feel alone, we can...TRUST JESUS! 

On Wednesday, I taught the story of the Roman centurion whose servant was sick (Matthew 8), and he was frustrated that he was powerless to make him well. But he trusted Jesus so completely that when Jesus offered to come to his house and heal his servant, the centurion told Him, "Just say the word, and my servant will be healed." And he was! It taught us that when we feel powerless, we can...TRUST JESUS!

On Thursday, I taught the story of Jesus' death and resurrection (Matthew 28). We imagined how the disciples must have felt when Jesus died, like it was the end of something wonderful, and how they must have lost hope in Jesus. But we learned how Jesus' death was part of God's plan to defeat sin and allow us to be forgiven, and that His resurrection brought hope back to the disciples. It taught us that when we need hope, we can...TRUST JESUS.

And on Friday, I taught the story of the Great Commission (Matthew 28), when Jesus gave the disciples one last command before He returned to heaven, telling them to "...go and make disciples of all nations." We talked about how impossible that must have felt, without knowing foreign languages or having a fast and easy way to travel. But I also taught the story of Pentecost (Acts 2), when Jesus sent the disciples the Holy Spirit to help them fulfill the job they could never have done alone. It taught us that when we need help, we can...TRUST JESUS. 

Every day this week, I have needed that reminder. When I cried all the way to the church that first morning, I wondered how I would ever make it through the week. But I trusted Jesus. And I made it through. When I went to bed that night in an empty house and got up in an empty house on Tuesday morning, I felt totally alone. But I trusted Jesus. And I got to church with friends who loved me and hugged me and gave me a giant cinnamon roll and I didn't feel so alone anymore. Then on Wednesday, I checked my mailbox hoping to find some documents that would let me move forward with the bureaucratic red tape with a looming deadline and they weren't there, and I felt completely powerless. But I trusted Jesus. And after I got home that afternoon I tried filling out the forms anyway and everything seemed to go through and it was like a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders. On Thursday morning I made the mistake of closing my husband's email with the intent of restarting it to get rid of some weird bugs it was having, and I realized I didn't have to password to reopen it, and I had a complete panic attack and lost hope that I would ever be able to recover it. But I trusted Jesus. And a dear friend helped me troubleshoot and figure out how to fix it. This morning, I looked at my "to do" list and felt overwhelmed at how much I need to do in the very near future, and all I could think was, "Help." But I trusted Jesus. And now as I look at the same list, I can see some things that need to be crossed off, not because I did them, but because I let other people help me. 

I didn't even know how much I needed to be reminded to TRUST JESUS this week. But God knew. When we don't even know what we need, we can TRUST JESUS. Because He does. And sometimes, he's not very subtle about it. 

Human Again, Bloomin' Again

My life with Herb was always filled with Broadway references. If he drove me crazy, I'd quote, "You could die from such a man!" from Fiddler on the Roof. The first nice day in spring always made him sing, "Someone oughta open up a window," from 1776. And any time one of us did some hard work or got sweaty or dirty for whatever reason, the ensuing shower would be followed by a chorus of "Human again, I feel human again," from Beauty and the Beast. 

After a month of walking around in a kind of daze, I am finally having moments of feeling "human again." I feel like I am slowly regaining control of my life, or at least of tiny bits and pieces of it. One day, one small moment. A few days later, a few small moments. 

This morning as I was watching my birdfeeders and drinking a cup of coffee, I noticed my Rose of Sharon bush. (There's a connection here, I promise.) When we moved into the house, this bush was a gorgeous but somewhat overgrown accent next to the swimming pool. When we had to demolish and rebuild the pool, we had it dug up, wrapped the root ball in burlap, tucked it into the woods in the back yard, and hoped for the best. When the pool was finally finished, after nearly a year of not being in the ground, we replanted it and again, hoped for the best. Somewhat surprisingly, it recovered its greenery very quickly, but that first year we only got a single bloom, and quite late in the season. We had our landscapers prune it back and again hoped for the best. The next season it also bloomed quite late, but there were a few more blossoms. I got rid of some more dead wood and trimmed it back just a bit more, and this year it seemed to be following the same pattern of very late blooming and only a blossom or two. In fact, a month ago, when Herb passed away, there was not a single blossom or even bud to be seen. 

But just last week, I noticed that one huge blossom had appeared. And a few days ago I saw one or two more starting to open. Now, as of this morning, there are at least a dozen vivid pink blooms tucked among the lush green foliage. 

I feel like this is a parallel to where I am right now. It's only been in the past few days that I'm starting to see peeks of hope, a few "blossoms" of joy that my heart can accept. I can see a few more on the horizon, not quite here yet, but ready to open up soon. Maybe not in a week, maybe not in a month, maybe not in six months, maybe not even in a year. But after a few seasons, I'll bloom again. It's been a rough season, but my roots are deep. And I am being carefully tended. 

 I will bloom again.