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@jane-maree @ashira @selah-chelyah @seekjustice @r-m-archer @eden-anderson @i-david @parker @chalice

*poof* I’m here! Monday was chaotic, so Tuesday shall be the day you receive your weekly dose of scripture form ye olden moi.

Today, I actually have two passages:

The Lord your God is in your midst,
a mighty one who will save;
he will rejoice over you with gladness;
he will quiet you by his love;
he will exult over you with loud singing.
– Zephaniah 3:17

And he said, “There was a man who had two sons. And the younger of them said to his father, ‘Father, give me the share of property that is coming to me.’ And he divided his property between them. Not many days later, the younger son gathered all he had and took a journey into a far country, and there he squandered his property in reckless living. And when he had spent everything, a severe famine arose in that country, and he began to be in need. So he went and hired himself out to one of the citizens of that country, who sent him into his fields to feed pigs. And he was longing to be fed with the pods that the pigs ate, and no one gave him anything.

“But when he came to himself, he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired servants have more than enough bread, but I perish here with hunger! I will arise and go to my father, and I will say to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son. Treat me as one of your hired servants.”’ And he arose and came to his father. But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and felt compassion, and ran and embraced him and kissed him. And the son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’ But the father said to his servants, ‘Bring quickly the best robe, and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet. And bring the fattened calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate. For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.’ And they began to celebrate.
Luke 15:11-24

And the bit I would like you to glean from them is this:

So, I suffer from what could easily be referred to as the “Impossible Standard.” Basically, you know, that perfectionism-level-type thing where you can only be satisfied with the absolute best. In everything. I’m essentially President Business form the LEGO Movie.

“Badcop, do you see what I’m talking about!? All I’m asking for is total perfection.”
– President Business

Slip up once, and man, you better get a raincoat because the storm is coming, with lightning and thunder and scathing insults that come down on you like acid rain – not even onto other people necessarily, but also onto yourself. And I know that I am definitely not the only one who places such a heavy burden on themselves and others. It’s an impossible weight to lift – it strains your soul, beats you into the ground, and tramples on you like so many thrown out onion peelings, because simply put: we are imperfect, and so long as we live in this fallen world, we will remain so. For those of us who strain and fight and bloody ourselves for the idea of absolute perfection, this is a hard pill to swallow. But it shouldn’t be.

I suppose, perhaps, the reason why I personally feel so inclined to try my best is because I feel like, otherwise, I am not enough. I give value to myself (and others) based on performance, on deed, on action. It’s like an uphill climb, and those who are at the top are the winners. The rest are losers, by default. So I strive for the mountaintop, because obviously, I don’t want to be a loser. I mean, who wants to be a loser?! It’s humiliating, and disappointing, and I feel like everybody must see me the same way as I see myself: a failure. God included. I never think this consciously, of course, but it etches its way into my soul and sends me on a wearying chase for the elusive butterfly of perfection. And, in obtaining said butterfly, receive the gem of God’s approval. Instead of having the ever-lingering feeling that God is looking down on me with disgust, waiting for me to take one step in the wrong direction so he can be done with me completely, I long for that assurance that I am not a failure and that He loves me.

But here is the thing: God has never looked on me with disgust. He has never looked on me with hatred. Even at my worst, when I’ve tripped and fallen and spat at Him and His forgiveness and yelled at Him for things He didn’t even do, when I ignored the promises He’s given me and refused to believe that He is the wonderful God that He is, when I kicked and screamed and cried and still begged Him not to leave despite the way I’d been horribly treating Him, He wasn’t just staying with me – He was holding on to me. Because what I’ve done has no bearing on who He is.

God is a loving God. He is our Father. He is the never-changing binder of the universe, Creator of every good thing, Father to the fatherless and Defender of the weak. He knows that we need Him, because He is the only perfect being – the only person who can satisfy our deepest desires for love and joy and peace. He is a just God who intended for our world to be this beautiful, glorious thing, and even when His paradise fell, He stepped down from His throne to save it. To save us. Regardless of all the horrible things we’ve done. His actions had no bearing on whether or not we deserved it, because we didn’t. We don’t. We never will be able to deserve it. And that’s okay. Because there is nothing we could ever do that could change the fact that He loves us, and if we want Him, there is nothing that He wouldn’t do to come running out to us, covering us with warm embraces, bringing us into His palace where he has prepared a feast for us. He loves us enormously. He exults over us with loud singing. Drag-you-through Wal-Mart, embarrass-the-snot-out-of-you, pick-you-up-on-your-shoulders-and-cheer kind of singing. He runs to you with hugs and kisses, celebrates and brings you His robe and ring when you come to Him, parading you through the streets, overjoyed that you have finally returned home. It doesn’t matter what you’ve done. There is no reason left to cry. The sorrows of yesterday are forgotten, because you’re here, and you’re home, and there is no greater reason in the world to celebrate.

So lay down the Impossible Standard. Perfection is a million miles away, and that is alright. God sees you where you are, and He loves you all the same, and He celebrates you. He celebrates with you. He wipes every tear from your eye, hoists you onto His shoulders, and shouts so that the entire world can hear His voice proclaiming, “For this my son is dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.”

We will be perfect one day, but that day probably isn’t going to be today. But all is well. Lean on your Father, and He will lead you gently through the rain – trip and fall, and He picks you up; weep, and He will wipe away your tears. The road of life is long, but He is with us all the way, because He loves us.