I started painting the room that is to become my office. It used to be my mom’s bedroom. A month ago, she moved into an assisted living facility. Now, with each brush stroke, I’m turning it into my writing space. My haven.
Over the weekend, I’ve gotten two coats of the dark turquoise on the rough stucco walls. Today I’m painting the trim, determined not to get any of the sand colored paint on the darker walls.
I’ve always enjoyed doing the trim. Probably because I’m a detail oriented person and find this part calming.
However, as hard as I try, inevitably I get trim color on the wall. I grit my teeth when it happens and continue on. I’ll go back and touch it up with the turquoise after I’m done with the trim I tell myself, annoyed that it’s happened. Again.
I have the single window in the small room open. A warm summer breeze flows over me. Michael W Smith’s familiar voice fills the room through my Alexa Dot that I have perched on the windowsill.
I continue my job, determined to be finished with it today. As I paint, I think about my need for perfection. I’ve always had it.
When I was going to school in my mid-forties to become an Echocardiogram Tech, I had an instructor refer to me as a Type A personality. She was being kind. My hubby tells me quite often that I’m OCD. I bristle at that. I’d retort back that it’s the way the Lord made me.
I muse on that as I dip my brush into the can of trim paint. Is that really how the Lord made me? Wiping off the excess paint on the edge of the can, I brush the rest of the sand color on the wide trim board in a sweeping motion, back and forth.
I blow out a breath as thoughts bounce around my head. No matter where I’ve been on my journey, He’s been with me. He’s never left my side. Deep down, I know this.
It was never His desire that I stress and worry about things I have no control over. He loves me as I am. Broken, imperfect, unworthy.
I feel a tug on my heart that has been pulling at me for awhile. A desire to be closer with Him, to accept that He loves me as I am.
I pause and look around at the work I’ve done and a calmness fills me. I realize that even if I don’t have a perfect paint job, it’ll be okay.
I can live with a little imperfection too.
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