taking off the mask

I'm a perfectionist.  Like, I mean to the core.  Chances are, once I've finished writing this, I will read and reread it until I've got it to my version of "perfect."  Which, of course, it will not be (especially when it comes to commas).  But I will give it a valiant effort nonetheless.  I've been thinking about perfectionism this morning, wondering why we, as a society, seem obsessed with it.  Is it possible that anyone is perfect or are we seeking the unattainable.  I know I often look at someone who appears to have it all together.  I feel envious and wonder, will I ever be that "perfect"?  Well, I have to say that after thirty-seven years of living on this planet I have yet to create the perfect me.  Any illusion I give off that I am perfect is just that, an illusion.  Much like a magician, I can perform my best tricks.  But in the end, I know in my heart that these "tricks" aren't fooling anyone - least of all myself. 
When I was in college I lived with a gal who, when we prayed together, would often ask God to help us  take off our "masks."  I think of that phrase whenever I try to create the perfect me - perfect hair, perfect clothes, perfect smile.  Who am I trying to kid?   Every other person on the planet knows what I am often reluctant to admit to myself, that I'm not perfect.  So if that's the case, why do I keep this mask on?  Why not take it off and show myself, warts and all.  These days I'm trying to be more vulnerable, share more of my struggles, ask for help when I need it.  But it's never easy.

When it comes to this idea of being perfect, I think back to the story of creation - pre-fall, and never once after God had created something, did he ever delcare it to be "perfect".  Instead, in my translation, it says that he called everything good.  Fascinating isn't it?  God is holy, completely without sin, perfect to the core of his being.  But he doesn't use perfect in talking of his creation.  He calls it good, even very good, but never perfect.  And you know what?  When I look at a tree I see that, in a pure definition of the word, it isn't perfect. I mean it's not like a tree has perfect symmetry, equal number of branches on every side.  But I think it's beautiful because it's not perfect.  I like that the branches stick out everywhich way.  I like that there aren't the same number of leaves on each branch.  I even like the scars that show the tree is a mighty warrior- standing up against the test of time.  And it makes me glad, because, ultimately, I don't think God wants me to be hung up on pefectionism.  So I think, for now, I'll pursue goodness.  I like the sound of that word better anyway.