I met a lady today whose way with me was so refined and classy that I felt like a frump in her presence. She looked immaculate, spoke of her home in such a way that I knew it would look like a show home, and from her words, seemed to have perfect children and a near perfect life. I felt totally inadequate when I walked back into my home with the finger prints on the fridge door, raked my hands through my unruly hair and picked up after my boys AGAIN, despite having told them repeatedly to not leave their stuff lying around the house. To round off my imperfect life, I read once more the letter from the school Principal regarding a recent unfortunate event one of my sons had been involved in. My world was not picture perfect. At least not in the way this ladys was. My boys come home, toss their bags on the floor and begin to chat about their day. They laugh through the stories of what they have experienced. They then head outside to play basketball in the street with a great group of lovely neighbourhood kids and the sound of banter and joy echoes through my lived in home as I prepare their dinner. A friend rings, and I chat with her and hear of her dramas. We laugh, we cry, we pray together, all whilst I put away the laundry. As I sit and reflect at the imperfectness of how I live, I realise that I would have it no other way. We have a home filled with laughter and practical jokes, lives filled with people and their real life issues, joys and problems, and a community of friends around us who care more about me being available to chat than about sitting in a showpiece home. Psalm 16:6 The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; surely I have a delightful inheritance. Its home and its real......and thats what makes it perfect.
Posted on: Tue, 05 Nov 2013 12:10:19 +0000
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