For most of my life, I've sought after perfection. I had this idea that beauty was found in perfect things. A blooming flower with all petals intact, a dress that nips in just right at the waist, dishes that match, or a flawless manicure in berry red.
But God has been changing my heart, and with that is giving me a new set of eyes. His eyes. God doesn't look for the perfect. Just the opposite. When Jesus walked the earth he didn't seek the educated lawyer in a full suit, the woman with the best complexion, or the tallest horse with the shiniest mane. Jesus chose to ride donkeys, sought out prostitutes, lepers, the poor, and the absolutely ordinary. And he found beauty in them.
Now God is giving me eyes to see the same way. To see the beauty in the flaw, the heart hiding in the brokenness, the story lying in the disaster.
I still believe in and love perfect moments. A warm cup of coffee on a crisp fall day, laughing with your best friend, or a sunset full of pink and purple and orange. But what I view as perfect is no longer limited to what the world tells me is beautiful. Instead, I see beauty in the story, and the best stories come from imperfect moments.
A chipped manicure is no longer ugly. Instead it tells the story of gypsy children laughing as they play with the 'crazy Americans' in the village, nail polish flaking off as one monkey bar is grabbed a little short, and a young gypsy girl with ribbons in her hair laughing at your clumsiness and running to hug you. The chipped manicure is not perfect, it is absolutely completely perfectly imperfect. That's how I think God sees it, and that's how I see it.
