He knew where He was. But I didn’t.
I would fault myself for that but I’m not doing that anymore. What good comes of my present self disparaging my past self for not having grown to my current-ness? I deserve to be treated better than that. Especially from myself. I am treasured by Divinity.
Growth is the desire. Perfection is not. The pursuit of perfection hunts down growth and locks it in a tower. The need for perfection trapped me in its incomplete clutches. I couldn’t see the forest through the trees. I had to be perfect. I had to win life. I had to be enough for everyone and everything that perfection had required in my life.
But guess what? That’s not sustainable. That’s not real. That’s not even good.
And since the trees were blocking Jesus in the forest, I was lost too. He doesn’t want my perfection. He wants my sidling up next to Him. He wants the little children scrambling onto His lap. Where’s the perfection in that? It’s clumsy. And awkward. And ungraceful.
And exactly what it’s supposed to be. Indescribably beautiful. Real. And unaffected. Artlessly primed for organic growth. For becoming less scaffolding and more architecture. For shedding expectations in favor of substance. Not a vague assumed substance dictated by some culture and my imperfect heart, but the unshakeable confidence that I am loved. The strength of knowing that I am securely wanted. That all my ungrown imperfection is on a discovery expedition. Rather than taking a perpetual exam. I proctored that test for years. The manual kept getting fatter and more unwieldy. The requirements began to contradict each other. I suffocated under the weight of the roles of both defendant and judge.
Meanwhile, Jesus is in the forest, among the trees, telling me to climb into His lap with my grubby fingers and tangled hair. He is not lost in the Scriptures behind the verses. We are playing Marco Polo these days. The sunlight filters between the boughs and shadows dance on our faces. The shadows scare me sometimes but He squeezes my hand, tells me I’m safe, and shows me the transient beauty of the moment.
And if I lose Him again in the trees, He has not lost me.