Perfect

per·fect

 [adj., n. pur-fikt; v. per-fekt] 

entirely without any flaws, defects, or shortcomings.

I try to be perfect.  I expect myself to be perfect.  Regardless of how hard I try, and how much I expect perfection, I am not.  I'm NOT perfect.  I have flaws, I have shortcomings.  I am a work in progress. And its time to be okay with it.

I am a self proclaimed perfectionist.  I expect myself to perform to a certain level, and live to a high standard.  Mediocrity is not acceptable.  I must push myself, I must be the best that I can be.  I constantly compare myself to myself, my goals, and my expectations.  And I constantly fall short.  Its a vicious cycle.  I expect perfection of myself, I work towards perfection, I fall short of perfection, I get frustrated... because I am not perfect.

I am a dreamer.  I visualize what I want my life to be.  I set goals.  Goals are a motivator. They place my focus on a target, and help me to build actions to reach that target. If I didn't have goals, I wouldn't put the effort in to reach them, I wouldn't develop the framework to support the goals.  

Goals are a measuring stick for success. When I reach a goal I know that I am winning. I have attained the prize, I have conquered. Goals are something to work toward and be attained. I have goals for many areas of my life. I have financial goals. I have spiritual goals.  I have professional goals. I have physical goals. As I runner, I have kept myself motivated through goals. My running goals are: to run 1 race a month, to run 20 miles a week, and to run a half marathon in every state.  I'm actively pursuing my goals, and am diligent in my effort to meet them.  I know that these goals keep me from falling back in my running. Because I have these goals I push forward, I maintain my effort, I focus.  But I'm not perfect. I don't meet every goal.  And it frustrates me.  

I have flaws. My greatest flaw is expecting more of myself than I can always give, and feeling bad for not attaining perfection.  Instead of looking at the effort I'm making and the success I'm achieving, I look at the one area I missed. And it captures my attention. I get frustrated because I'm not running 4 days a week.  I'm only running 3, and so I feel like a failure. I get stressed because I'm not achieving perfection.  I lose sight of the fact that this time last year I didn't run. I lose sight of the fact that in the past year I have run over a dozen races, and completed 7 half marathons.  I pay no attention to my running pace dropping from a 14 minute mile to an 11 minute mile.  These aren't the areas which gain my focus- its that one day a week that I don't have time to run.  Its the shortcoming, lack of perfection where I glance.

Its time for me to get in line with God.  He knows I'm not perfect.  And even more than that He doesn't expect me to be.  If God doesn't expect me to be perfect, because He knows I can't be, why do I?  I set myself up for failure.  I set myself up for frustration. Goals are good.  And ultimately they are achieving their purpose. Even though I don't meet every goal, the effort I put into getting there, the level which I achieve, although falling short of meeting the goal, is greater than what I would have accomplished had I not tried at all.

I'm deciding today to change my definition of perfection.  

It's Not a Competition

While wading through the crystal blue waters of Roatan, I met a very interesting divorced woman, also a single mother.  We commented on how nicely our children were playing together, and she quickly began telling me her "sob story."  She was a single mom of 4 children, who's ex husband had an affinity for sleeping with younger women while they were married.  It was a sad story.  As we spoke, I shared a just a few details of my story, not really wanting to divulge all the details to a complete stranger in search of their pity.  I'm not really a pity-party kind of girl.  I always end up pulling people out of the pit, instead of crawling in it with them. So right off the bat, this was an odd connection.

Fast forward a few days, to the beach on Cozumel.  This same woman arrives to the beach, shortly after me, along with her friend.  They find a beach chair right next to mine, and we begin chatting.  I begin talking with the friend, while this woman goes off to situate her children.  The friend and I happen to have a few things in common, and so I share a bit of my story with her; my way of saying, "I can relate."  As the woman returns, she comments to her friend, "My story is worse than hers, isn't it?" I couldn't believe it. Did I really just hear those words?  Are we now moving from a sisterhood of women who have "been there, done that", to a competition of whose husband was worse?  This is not a game that I am going to play!  I let the comment slip past, and continued a rather light and fluffy conversation until they left. But that comment has stuck with me since I heard it.  And it definitely rubbed me the WRONG way!

In contemplating that whole situation, I have realized several things.  First of all, the way she presented herself offended me.  It shut me off to her.  It made me feel that she wasn't sharing to relate or help me, but was looking for sympathy, even pity.  It was all about her.  I made a mental note to myself to be careful when I share my story to others to watch my motive, and how I come across.  Do not share for pity.  If I choose to share it should be with a sincere heart, and to glorify God for His faithfulness throughout a horrible situation.  I should always share with the intent of helping the other, not one-upping her.  As God has brought comfort to me in my affliction, now I must bring that comfort to others in theirs.  If I can keep this motive evident in the way I talk with women, then they will receive from me the words which God is placing in me.  They will receive the comfort and God can use me to help them through their time of difficulty.

Second, I realized that regardless of who had been through more drama, or the worst situation, is irrelevant.  Her pain was worse to her because she lived it!  She didn't live my story, so no matter how horrific it was, it wasn't real to her.  No matter who I meet, their story is worse than mine in their eyes, because they lived it.  What an powerful realization! As God continues to bring me before women who are hurting, women who have been abused, and women who have been betrayed I must remember this.  Their reality, to them, is worse than what I have gone through.  I need to talk with and treat them through this light.  It doesn't matter if my situation was worse, they didn't walk mine.  They are walking theirs.  And to them it is their own personal hell.

Finally I learned that we are not in competition.  As women we have a tendency to see each other as competition.  But wounded women shouldn't wound each other.  Instead of competing for pity, attention, or accolades, we should be joining together.  I feel a sisterhood with each widow I meet.  Each woman who has struggled with her husband's addictions, or has been betrayed,  I identify with her.  I want to link arms, walk together, and help her conquer the struggles she faces.  I don't view her as the enemy; someone who could steal my thunder.  But rather, I lay down my story, my attention, for the sake of her victory.  It is my hope that as you read these posts we continue to link arms and walk together.  That as I share my heart and my experiences you find strength and comfort.  That God is binding us together virtually as a sisterhood of women who are conquering the challenges of life.  

I don't want attention.  I don't pity.  I share because I want to help YOU! I want you to know you are not alone.  There is a woman out there who understands.  I get it.  I'm hear to say what you are experiencing is normal! Its part of the process, so keep walking it out! And I tell my story to bring you hope.  What God is doing for me, He will do for you!

Earthquake!

There is something so unique that happens to us when we walk through a tragedy, whether it be losing a spouse, a child or a parent at a young age.  Unless you have walked through it, you will not understand.  And if you haven't, although you can't personally relate, my hope is that by reading this you will be able to understand what has happened and extend a tremendous amount of compassion and grace to those that have survived a tragedy.  I call it the earthquake.

You are walking through life.  Your feeling good.  You may even been feeling the healing that has been happening.  You recognize that you are solid, you are stable, everything is going smooth.  You are starting to recover and live again.  Then it happens.  The earthquake. One small little nudge in the foundations of you life, and everything reacts.  You feel the earth shaking underneath you, the china is clattering, and books are falling off the shelves!  Sometimes you aren't even able to pinpoint the epicenter of the quake, what caused it, and which fault line was activated.

Just like an earthquake comes suddenly and without warning, so does this emotional earthquake.  Sometimes its a little thing, such as the house being out of order, or a bill you overlooked.  Othertimes its something much larger than that, the loss of a friendship, or stress from work.  But just the same this one  event seems to shake the foundation of your life.  And in the midst of it nothing is working right.  It effects every part of your life, especially your emotional capacity.

In the midst of my earthquakes, regardless of the source, I have this extreme overwhelming feeling.  I'm overwhelmed by the trigger, and everything else.  Walking past a small mess in my house feels like a mountain, one more thing I can't deal with.  And its at these moments that I get extremely impatient with my son.  I cry at the drop of a hat, and generally feel like I can't handle my life.  But in reality I am handling life, I'm handling it very well on a day to day basis- I've just experienced a small earthquake.  The tremor only lasted for 30 seconds or so.  Yet it takes much more time to pick up the broken china, and put the books back on the shelf.

I'm learning to sense its coming.  And in these moments I have learned to seek safety! Run to a door jam, and get safe.  Get away from the source of the quake, and remove myself from any of those objects which come flying off the shelves and agitate me.  If it means leaving a room, or leaving work.  If I have to arrange a babysitter for my son, or let him watch another movie, I will.  I may not be able to stop the quake from happening but I can limit the casualties.

I wish I could say how long we widows are subject to these earthquakes, but I 'm still walking it out and developing an understanding.  What I can say is that it has been 10 months, and they still happen.  They are fewer and far between, they don't last as long and I am beginning to learn to recognize the signals as they approach.

Whether its you or a survivor you know who experiences these earthquakes let me encourage you with this: it is normal! Recognize it for what it is- an overload response of your soul.  And give yourself (or them) the time, space and resources to deal with it.  Grief is not an excuse.  Its a reality.  Its my reality.  And the more I recognize and allow myself to go through the process, the more healed I become!

Stand at the Crossroads

Tonight I sit here, in the midst of yet another impossible situation.  And I want to scream out saying, "Haven't I had enough? Where is my break?"  But one thing I know.... God is faithful.  And as I lay face down on the floor tonight praying, I was stirred to recall all the things God has brought me through.  I was diagnosed with Crohns, God healed me! I had experienced personal betrayal, God helped me to trust again.  I faced difficulties of many kinds in the past three years, and instead of running, God equipped me to stand strong and let Him move in the midst of the chaos.  And through it all He was my strength, and he brought me out on top.

And yet here I am, following the direction He has led me and it seems like everything is shaky and unsure. Yet I am confident that I heard His voice.  So as I lay there declaring His faithfulness in my life, I am reminded that if He brought me through all of those trials, struggles and situations, He is faithful to do it again!

When we reach that point where there is nothing more that we can do to solve our problems, heal our hurt, or make sense of a life fallen apart, He is there.  We need to fall on our knees, and recognize that where our ability stops- His begins!  And that is where I am tonight.  "God I can't do a thing to make this situation come together- but YOU can.  I trust you and tonight I need to hear your voice.  I know that you directed me down this path- which means you will either bring provision or wisdom."

Jeremiah 6:16  New International Version (NIV)

 ¹⁶ This is what the LORD says  “Stand at the crossroads and look;  ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls.  But you said, ‘We will not walk in it.’

Tonight I am at a crossroad.  I am standing.  I am looking.  I am asking God which way to go.  And I know He will be that still small voice behind me saying, "this is the way, walk in it" (Isaiah 30:21).  I commit to follow His leading and find the rest awaiting my weary soul.  I challenge you tonight: whatever you are facing, whatever has brought you to this crossroad, trust Him enough to ask which way to go.  Get quiet enough to hear His guidance.  Then walk in it and experience a rest and peace that only God can bring. 

Rapunzel

I've been really bored lately.  Just the past few days I have been noticing it more and more.  And while Im very content with my life, there is this boredom I'm feeling.  Its not a miserable feeling.  But it seems like I hit a certain point in the day and I start endlessly checking Facebook, texting some friends, and staring at the phone.  So tonight I'm analyzing it.  What is going on?

I'm basically a stay at home mom, although I add in a few morning classes and a some work outside the home, but in reality I am home, with a three year old, ALL the time.  He is my companion, my social outlet, and in the evening no one else is coming home. Its just me and my boy.  And I love that! This is a very special time I have with him.  I don't have to share him with anyone.  Its just the two of us.   I love that I have the ability to be a stay at home mom! When I first had my son that was our plan. And for 18 months I was home.  But then because circumstances changed, I had to go back to work.  And for the past two years I taught kindergarten part time.  Now God has given me the ability, in such an impossible situation, to stay at home once again.  He is the best redeemer!  Just another way He has turned this tragedy around for good for me.  This is a crucial time, my son needs me.  I'm all he has. So I willingly and joyfully give myself to him.

But every positive has a negative side to it.  And the downside here is that I am not 3, I am a very social 34 year old woman.  I live in a tower, like Rapunzel.  Just me and my son in the tower, no doors, no entrance, no ladder.  No one is coming and going.  Its just me and him.  Occasionally I "let down my hair" and reach out to people outside the tower.  Virtual interaction mostly.  Texting.  Facebook.  And now blogging. As wonderful as life is in the tower,  I long to be outside these social stone walls which hide me away from the world. I long to spend a day in the meadow, enjoying the freeness of life.

The tower gets boring. I have a strong social need to go out, get away and spend some time with people my age.  I get very little time to myself, mostly when I'm running, or at night once he is in bed.  But its a very brief and short time.  And again. its virtual social interaction.  I realized the other day while using the bathroom, and my son barged in... that I can't even do that in private.  He's always there. And the moment I'm out of his sight and he realizes it... I hear footsteps, and anticipate the door opening.  I am sure thats normal for a boy who has experienced loss.  Daddy disappeared and so he stays close to me.  He follows me upstairs in the morning when I put on my make-up, he crawls into my bed in the early hours of the morning, and comes downstairs when I'm on the treadmill.  And there is no break.  No one comes home every evening and spends time with our son so I can make dinner, or take a bath, or run to the store.  Nope.  Not happening.  No one comes home each evening to greet me, ask about my day and converse over dinner.  No one is hear to sit on the couch and discuss what is going on in the world.  And I'm starting to feel the effects of that void.

For a very long time I had a sitter coming once a week, so that I could go out.  And it got to the point where I was primarily going out alone, but at least it was a break.  Through the changing of her schedule and the budget I'm trying to stick to, its hasn't been anything close to weekly.  Maybe thats another piece of the puzzle.  I think its time I make a few adjustments, so that I get out of the tower once and a while.  If I can go out, have some repreave, and fill my social tank, upon my return I will scale the wall of the tower with anticipation! Ready for the next adventure awaiting me, whether it be Thomas the Train delivering a load, Bob the builder fixing something, or firefighters putting out fires.

Just Another Day

Here it is again.  Its the 24th of the month.  I anticipate its coming, and am relieved when its over.  Its a reminder, a marker, a measuring stick.  It reminds me of when I lost my husband.  It marks how long ago it was, and all the things that have happened in that time.  It measures where I am in the healing process.  And each time it comes I hope it will bother me less, I hope that I will be further along in my healing, and closer to my future.  All other days of the month pass by as normal, only moments where I reflect on my life that was and the loss I faced.  But on the 24th it changes.  On the 24th I'm focused. Its a continual reminder.  And it keeps coming... every month.  I hope that one day, the 24th will come and go without me even noticing.  That the 24th will be just another day.

Today is a reminder. 10 months ago my husband took his last breath here, and his first one in heaven.  He is whole. He is healed.  He's hanging with Jesus, with my dad, my sister and his best friend.  I don't know if there are pranks in heaven.  But if there are, my late husband and his best friend are doing them;  Sliding down the streets of gold in their socks, and asking Jesus to pull their finger.

Today is a marker.  We've made it through so much since then. I've assumed leadership in the business, and completed almost every task that needs to be done.  I've developed relationships with our employees, and vendors. And I've fallen in love with the business, something I never thought would happen.  On the home front: I've potty trained my son, and he's growing and changing so much.  He's started preschool now, and I faced parent night alone- with very few tears.  I chartered every holiday, and started creating new traditions.  Two more months to go until I have made it through the first year.  It will be a relief to have made it through every event, season and holiday alone; a bittersweet accomplishment.

Today is a measuring stick.  Where am I in my healing process? I still hurt sometimes at the loss and the waste.  I still have those breath taking moments where reality sets in that he is really gone.  I face regret that I gave things away too quick.  That I didn't keep that purple shirt of his, or that I gave his Bible away to his daughter, because now I want it. I was so confused when he left, that I thought I had to erase him and his memory from my life.  But that isn't how it should be, and I am understanding that.  I'm starting to release the hurt of the hard times, and to remember the good ones.  I've forgiven him.  And I'm not angry at him any more.  I'm healing. I cry less, and have much fewer moments of grief, such as the one I experienced last week.

I've started to move away from dealing with and feeling my personal loss, to grieving the loss of my son's father.  I noticed it for the first time two weeks ago.  I was having a moment of grief and healing, and it was so clearly about the void my son has in his life.  I prayed for my son very earnestly.  And I cried.  I cried for my son.  He needs a daddy. He wants a daddy.  And he had a good one.  There is a vacancy.  He feels it and so do I.

I'm in a place where I can honor my late husband again.  Next month our business is joining a local race, and running in his memory.  We call it "Run for the Boss".  We are honoring who he was, and donating money in his name to Teen Challenge USA.  I want his memory and legacy to be a positive one, to his children and to those in his company.

I'm comfortable talking about who he was in an honest way, and not let his weakness cancel his strengths. I'm much more aware of speaking of him in a way that is honoring, for we don't stop honoring someone just because they are dead.  I'm more and more ready to share my story, and increasingly sensitive to whom I share it with and when.  I'm ready to move on in life. I'm ready for the next chapter.  And the best part is even though I'm still on this road of healing, I can still begin a new life.  Healing is a process.  I don't have to be completely through it to start moving forward.