Confessions of a Recovering Perfectionist.

I have a confession. 

I'm a perfectionist. Through and through.

Or, should I say a "recovering" perfectionist.

But its true, I want things to be perfect. I want to be perfect. I want my marriage to be perfect and I want my friendships to look like well filtered Taylor Swift instagrams. I want my house to look like it came right off my "Where the heart is" Pinterest board.

A few weeks ago, we had a group of people at our place and I of course wanted it perfect. I picked the perfect flowers, planned the perfect meal, straightened up the bathroom perfectly. Set the super spiritual books at the perfect angle on my coffee table. Then I burned the "perfect" biscuits, misread the directions on the "perfect" cookies, and realized my perfect little blue berries for the desert were rotten. I tried to think of a way to nonchalantly toss the burnt biscuits in the trash before anyone noticed but with the lay out of our apartment that was nearly impossible. So I took them out of the oven, turned off the smoke alarm and left them on the counter. Because that's not a mask that's me- full of good intentions and well planned ideas but a little forgetful and easily distracted. (Maybe that should be my new tagline? Mmm, probably not. )

I wanted everything to be perfect for my friends.

Bull. I wanted everything to be perfect for me. 

You know what happened?

We read God's word and openly asked for prayer, people stayed at my house til almost midnight talking about what the Lord has been doing in their lives. In other words the smell of burnt biscuits didn't even phase them. 

The problem with perfectionism is this: True community and friendships are impossible to foster behind a mask of perfectionism. True community is found over a cup of terrible coffee, or burnt biscuits. It's found when we remove the masks and put down the walls and let others really see us. True community doesn't get it's power from statements like "what a lovely centerpiece" or "where did you find this recipe" it's found in tears and in statements like "Really? Me too." 

Jesus was perfect. But not the kind of perfect I'm talking about. Not earth's idea of perfectionism. Our idea is self-serving. Wrapped up in appearences and well thought out hashtags.

Here's what I'm learning.

Perfection is pretty, but it can't cry with you.

It can't respond to your text with a vulnerable prayer.

It doesn't understand the power of "I've struggled with that.."

It literally just looks pretty. And can also be pretty spendy. 

We don't come together as believers to just celebrate Jesus's perfect life, we come together because He suffered a perfect death.