When I return to something I haven't done in awhile I feel this sense of condemnation for having neglected it for so long. The newness of it again reminds me that time passed now reveals an unfamiliarity that is altogether uncomfortable. I don't like that I can't just pick up where I left off. Instead I have to really work to get back to where I once was. The prospect of this keeps me from really wanting to revisit anything ever again. This is true in so many things I want to go back to, but this year I decided to just deal with it and after more than a decade, I am lacing up my skates and getting back on the ice again. (Now rereading the above, the lead in to this disclosure seems way too dramatic for whatever skills I formerly possessed). My first time back on the ice exposed that predictable insecurity that comes with having not done something in a really long time. I hated that feeling, but yet I went back the second week and laced up again.

I'm learning to embrace the wobbliness and be okay with it. That's a win for the perfectionist in me.

Part of being a perfectionist is presenting myself in the best light possible. I can't have you see anything less than lovely of me, and maybe, just maybe, I'll have your acceptance and you'll think I'm worth something.  It goes against all that is rational for me to acknowledge that while we were less than lovely - dead in our sins and lost - that Christ died for us (Romans 5:7-8). What love is this, that we are worth everything without having to be anything. I don't get that. I don't get why God would love the world in this way. I don't get why He would love me in this way. 

But in the moments when I do get it, my worship deepens. Insecurities are shed. Faith is strengthened, and hope abides. 

One of the things I've learned as an adult is that life never slows down. We anticipate seasons that will free us, but the tyranny of the urgent is ever lurking, demanding our time and attention. When someone remarks "you're so busy," I take slight offense. This has largely to do with my own neurosis, as what it translates to me is "you don't have time for anything else." It's true - I'm busy. In fact, I'm always busy. I don't often have nothing to do. I just don't like people telling me I'm busy. It reminds me of all the things I want to be doing but can't. And that bugs me. Cue the perfectionist.

Jesus didn't allow Himself to be defined by being busy. The story of Christ withdrawing from His busy ministry only to encounter a crowd of 5,000 and have compassion on them intrigues me (Matthew 14:13-21). But He also didn't do everything. He made choices. I'm always tempted to resign myself to busyness and then I remember I have choices to make, and these choices are daily, hourly, and sometimes by the minute. By grace, I will make choices that move beyond my own pride and selfishness, and approach the clarity of mission that Jesus had.

It's the beginning of a new year, and according to statistics, about half of us Americans make resolutions. By definition, resolutions are firm decisions to do or not do something. They are made with intent and require determination to pull off. No wonder the success of achieving resolutions is quite small. I don't make resolutions. At least not officially. As a perfectionist I can't be bound to something unless I can guarantee its success. Such is my downfall. I boast about how fast I am at making day to day decisions, but when it comes to something very personal, I hem and haw - mostly out of fear.

I realize that without being resolute about anything, there is no need for faith. I admit that the faithless life is attractive at times - faith is work! But I take comfort knowing He who began a good work in me will carry it to completion. The perfectionist in me would work it out on her own accord, and ultimately fail, joining the rest of the 92% who resolve each year without success.