Beyond Perfection.

Source: Pinterest.

 A friend of mine gave me a gift recently.

It wasn’t wrapped, and it wasn’t even my birthday.  

Now before I tell you what she gave me, you should know… this girl’s got it together.  She’s always been a little better at this whole life business than me.  She nurses her babies into toddlerhood.  She sews them adorable outfits and cooks healthy, amazing meals with seemingly little effort.  She balances two babies on her hip while teaching her daughters fractions and ancient history.  She paints rooms and builds furniture and plants gardens and knits scarves in her spare time.  And she’s sweet…and funny… and pretty…and gracious.

I don’t see her often enough, as she lives in another state, but we passed through her town on the way from Texas to Oregon.  They’re in a bit of a transition, like we are, and have 4 young children living in a 2-bedroom apartment, but her and her husband offered to let us stay the night anyway and cooked us dinner, then booted her own babies out of their beds so we could get a comfy night’s rest.

We arrived after the third day of 12 hours of straight driving.  We were travel-weary and probably smelled like sweat and Taco Bell, but she threw her arms around us and welcomed us in.    

She was wearing sweat pants, which was wonderful because I was too and I just didn’t have it in me to dress like a human being for dinner that night.  The kids’ bedroom was a happy jumble of toys and blankets and blocks and dress-up clothes and magic wands.  Books and papers piled willy-nilly around the living room.  Dinner took longer than expected, and the bathtub cleaner sat beside the tub with a rag that hadn’t been used.  The bathroom was out of toilet paper, and the only hand-towel was tied around a 2-year-old’s neck, cape style, as he and Caleb and Buzz Lightyear all saved the world from the evil Emperor Zurg.  

We laughed.  We ate bruschetta by the pound.  My son dumped spaghetti on the couch while hers threw it on the floor.  We laughed harder and the kids laughed too.  She left the dirty dishes and didn’t let me touch them.  They were still there when we left in the morning.  We drifted off to dreamland that night in disassembled bunk beds with fingerprint paintings dotting the wall beside us.  I slept sound and sweet in the loveliness of it all. 

My friend gave me the gift of real living.  She let me into her honest, dusty life and it was full of grace and beauty.  She didn’t once apologize for the imperfect state of things – she just went right on doing what she did and let me stand beside her and enjoy the hours as they passed.  She didn’t let guilt or perfectionism ruin a wonderful time of fellowship, and she blessed me beyond measure with genuine hospitality.  

I challenge you… I challenge myself… to let go of the perfectionism that creeps into an otherwise perfectly imperfect you, and let others see the nitty gritty. 

Source:  Pinterest.

Give your friends and loved ones a gift, too.  Let them in.  Bless them beyond perfection. 

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Linking up to:  Gypsy Mama's Five Minute Friday.  Blogging, too, can be full of gift and grace when you write beyond perfection.  Try it, here. 

Five Minute Friday -- Welcome.

Just for fun -- Five Minute Friday, brought to you by the Gypsy Mama, all the way from South Africa.  If you have time, go share her beautiful homecoming journey.

Today's topic is welcome.  I tried something a little different today, just for fun.  And, I have to admit, was having way too much fun to stop at five minutes, so I think mine ended up being more like an Eight Minute Friday.  Sue me.

(Actually don't, all I own at the moment is some stale bread crust, a dried out Sharpie marker, and a broken Swatch from 1984.  Go ahead, try me.)

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Come on in!  Welcome.

Get in here, out of that smoldering heat.  I don’t know how y’all can stand this humidity.  I’m fixin’ to pass out from this weather.  (Did ya like that?  The way I threw those southern niceties in there?  I’m trying.  This west coast girl is just plain out of place down here in south Texas, so I gotta try and fit in however I can).  So glad you came for dinner, though, really.  If you'll just wind your way through the train-track monstrosity that is my living room at the moment, you'll find the dining room. 

Find yourself a seat – whichever one you’d like.  Get a chair quick though – there are only ten spots at the table and, well, you make thirteen, so every meal is a game of musical chairs until we break out the folding chairs and rolling office chairs that have us all gathered together the way we like it, elbowing one another like sardines in a can.  Just go on and step over that stack of precariously balanced photos waiting to be scrapbooked.  Yes there are 700 of them, dating back to December.  Don’t judge.  And, umm, wait, before you sit there…I’m so sorry but that’s where little F sat at breakfast, and, well, didn’t make it to the restroom so the seat’s a little damp still.  And the one beside it is still drying from the vomit – J wasn’t feeling so well last night.  Just go ahead and wedge yourself in there anywhere else you can find a spot.  Don’t mind the belching – we’re working on that.  And don’t mind the desperation in my eyes as they silently plead with you to pleasefortheloveofallthatisholy, send help, or at the very least, get me out of here.  I always look like this, lately.  It’s nothing.  Really.

Why yes, this is a new hairstyle, thanks for asking!  I call it “the accidental dreadlock” look, since really it’s simply a result of neglectful grooming.  I sat up into the wee hours with homesick kiddos, and I’m afraid my hair (and sanity) has paid the price.  I sure hope you like leftovers – tonight’s special is soggy corndogs and frozen fish patties that taste suspiciously like Styrofoam.  I know, a real treat.  Truth be told, I don’t eat much at mealtime, but can usually be found on a desperate hunt for chocolate in the middle of the night.  We would have had chicken for dinner but it takes six whole chickens to feed this crew, and, well, if I can be frank with you, I just didn’t have it in me to wrestle with the guts of six chickens today – especially since I realized I forgot to defrost them, somewhere around the time I realized that I haven’t showered in maybe three days, maybe four.  I lost count.  (N, dear, would you kindly remove your muddy tennis shoe from the table?  Thanks.)  Don’t mind that, a little dirt won’t hurt, as they say.  Just look out for snake guts – and oh, ignore the massive tarantula making its way up the dining room screen.  The boys are just wild about our family mascot.

Corn dog?