One of the boys I nanny graduated from kindergarten this past spring, and his new reading and writing skills have evolved into an interest in journaling. This week he decided to write an entry in his summer journal. He drew a picture, wrote a few sentences, and when he was finished, asked if I would underwrite (correct any spelling mistakes, etc.). I thought back to the school year when he was less inclined to sound out words all by himself, preferring to just get it all right the first time. Now his independent sounding out is second nature. I tucked his example away as a little lesson on being willing to move forward sans perfection. 

I have a long history of journaling myself, complete with my own struggles to embrace imperfection. Eventually my toil over neat handwriting and carefully erased mistakes gave way to scribbling out and scribbling away, and I discovered how vulnerable and liberating it feels to move along without perfection holding me back. In what other ways might we feel pressure for things to be ‘Right’ before moving forward? A recent conversation about it inspired a handful of examples, including: feeling a need to be more healed or regenerate before beginning a new journey; avoiding asking for help until we feel that we, or the problem, are “worthy” of it; shying away from showing up or sharing something unless we can present our best; feeling presumptuous attending church or taking holy supper when especially tangled up in our inadequacies; needing the house to be clean before buying flowers for the dining room table…the list goes on. 

Sometimes we don’t want to do it messily. But the Lord wants us to come as we are. 

I underwrote for my young friend in small letters so as not to distract from his own effort, which holds much more value than the technicalities. I cherish those sounded out words and helter-skelter fonts. They are a charming picture of both having grown, and growth to come. That is where we sit too, and I think we should aim to embrace it. I hope backwards and missing letters will be a recurring reminder of the bravery of moving along as we are. Perfection takes no bravery; avoidance for lack of perfection takes no bravery – messiness does! That’s where we’re called to seek the Lord; it’s where He already waits for us. 

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” Matthew 11:28

Some short thoughts that came to me on vacation this week. While enjoying floating in the middle of a lake, surrounded all around by soft water, I was struck by how water so gently holds you, but also completely supports you. 

As we know, water can also be forceful and frightening—dangerous. Like all elements it has many forms. And maybe that makes its gentleness all the more striking. 

Likewise, the Lord’s awesome power only makes His gentleness more touching. The fact that He could toss me like mere driftwood through the tides and obstacles of life makes His compassionate and patient leading that much more poignant. 

And just as when I relax back into the embrace of the lake—with the joy of sun above me and blue and green world all around— when I rest in His care, I am completely held. 

“The LORD is my strength and my shield; My heart trusts in Him, and I am helped; Therefore my heart greatly rejoices, And with my song I praise Him.” Psalm 28:7

I’ve started reading one of the small, brief books of the Writings called The White Horse.  It’s only 17 numbers long, plus an Appendix that is 4 numbers long, so it’s not a daunting read, and it’s very interesting.  (Depending on the translation of the Writings, you may find that The White Horse is bound together with other small books in “Miscellaneous Theological Works.”)

It’s all about a story that I have to admit I always took for granted, namely the story of the white horse in Revelation 19:11-14, 16.  The dramatic image didn’t sink in until now.  But now I have stopped to think about it.  First heaven is opened.  Then a Man on a white horse, with a secret name that no one knows but Himself, charges forth at the head of the armies which were in the heavens, all of whom are also on white horses, all following Him. His eyes are flaming, His garment is bloodstained, and He has many diadems on His head.  It says He was called faithful and true (just like a hero should be).  He judges and makes war in justice.  His name is called the Word of God, and it also says that “King of kings and Lord of lords” is written on His clothes and on His thigh.   What an image!

So this little book I am reading explains what that one small story in Revelation means.  The whole story looks like it’s going to be about what happened when the previously hidden internal meaning of the Word was being opened up to the understanding of people on earth. 

We read a lot of children’s books in our house. One of my longstanding favorites is “The Pout-Pout Fish” by Deborah Diesen. The Pout-Pout Fish follows the tale (or should I say “tail”) of an Eeyore-esque fish with big pouty lips. As he gloomily encounters his underwater friends, they each urge him to try being a little more pleasant. But the Pout-Pout Fish is stuffed to the gills with excuses for why he is incapable of change:

“I hear what you’re saying, but it’s just the way I am.”
“I’d like to be more friendly, but it isn’t up to me.”
“But I haven’t any choice. Take a look and you’ll see why.”
“With a mouth like mine, I am destined to be glum.”

He follows each of these excuses with the same refrain:

“I’m a pout-pout fish
With a pout-pout face,
So I spread the dreary-wearies
All over the place.
Blub 
Bluuub
Bluuuuuuub”

Poor Mr. Fish. He is stuck believing that just because he looks pouty, his personality has to match. I can’t help but think how often human beings wind up stuck in a similar merry-go-round of melancholy.