You Shall Be Like God: Pride of Perfectionismt

"For God knows that when you eat from it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil" Genesis 3:5.

I am a recovering perfectionist. 

Or maybe not so recovering...but like an alcoholic, the perfectionist needs to recognize her addiction, only then can Jesus heal it. Therefore, I made the first step, and can claim the title "Recovering."

Check that accomplishment off my list: "Perfecting Becoming a Non-Perfectionist."

perfection? check

This goal is a crazy thing, because it's not obtainable. It starts out innocently enough. Take engagements, it used to be a man got a ring, knelt on one knee and his love said yes. Now, he stops traffic so he can propose on the interstate.

The sex of a baby used to be announced at birth. Then, with the advent of ultrasounds, at 18-20 weeks, the proud parents would tell friends, "It's a girl!"  Or "We're having a boy." Nowadays? Parents host baby-reveal parties. Guests are invited, and not even the parents know their child's gender. It's a shindig to outdo all other hullabaloos.

Why must everything be sublime? Why do I want to be the paragon of all I do? How did I start down this ant-warren of madness? How did you?

First, we want to be like God--our first sin. We forget that our perfection comes only from God, never from us. Hebrews 10: 14 says, "For by one offering He has perfected for all time those who are sanctified."

According to Matthew Henry, "(Satan) promises advantage from (Adam & Eve) eating this fruit. He aims to make them discontented with their present state, as if it were not so good as it might be, and should be. No condition will of itself bring content, unless the mind be brought to it. 

"He tempts them to seek preferment, as if they were fit to be gods." (tweet now)

How did I start? Probably in my heart. 

Beautiful unless you look close

With an innate sense of inadequacy, I strive to perfect all that I do. I've learned stained glass, but I know I'm not as good as my sister.

I've painted. It doesn't match my mother's.

The bassoon came hard, and I learned to play it mechanically--but put me in a community band? I know I'm a failure.

I did play in cantatas

However, is this the purpose of my talents? God never condemned the man given five talents. He didn't complain that he didn't match up to the ten-talent dude. This middle-guy, investing  what he had, pleased his master.

My glass learning, inspired an artistic friend with more talent. She's now taken off in her skill. My art decorates my home and pleases me. My bassoon? It does give me bragging rights. Who aspires to play that horn? (Forgive me Judith LeClair, Karen Geoghegan--we know I speak metaphorically).

The only thing that makes me want perfection is pride. It's my heart.

I need to learn to be content. My writing gift isn't of the "ten talent" variety like Sue Monk Kidd's, nor will I usurp Francine Rivers. However, words are my "five talents", and I will invest in that. My striving must be to finally learn the truth of I Cor. 10: 12, "...they measuring themselves by themselves, and comparing themselves among themselves, are not wise."

Where are you on your road to recovery? Is your problem lodged in your heart? If you have any hints in conquering it, please share it with us.

Are You a Respecter of Persons? James 2: 1 & 8

"My brethren, do not hold your faith in our glorious Lord Jesus Christ with an attitude of personal favoritism" James 2:1.

" If, however, you are fulfilling the [i]royal law according to the Scripture, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself,” you are doing well" James 2:8.

I attended a church which hired an interim pastor from a successful congregation in a neighboring village. This man could preach a great sermon, and his church prospered. In many ways, was a good Christian leader. However, in my life, he did more to stall my Christian growth than grow it.

The prelude to his sermons or the illustrations in it always contained ungodly boasting. "We have doctors in our church. Lawyers." He would straighten his posture. His stance would widen to better awe us with the prominence of these people.

Our little flock boasted a few teachers. The rest of the members worked in delis or as laborers or farmers. No one to boast about. 

Over time, this man blustered about his boat, his home, his swimming pool, his daughters and his son, I felt smaller and smaller. His good sermons became tainted, and to this day, twenty years later, I have no respect for him or his accomplishments.

Attitudes like his are infectious. Throughout his tenure, our congregations mingled. Never did his church make me feel at home, except for one time. 

My daughter and I attended their New Year's Eve party. We worshiped, heard a good message and then adjoined to the fellowship hall. With plates full of goodies, we found two seats at the end of crowded table. We assumed we'd chat between ourselves, enjoy our meal and leave.

Suddenly, the lady next to me started a conversation. Another person chimed in. A third woman asked about our lives. For some reason, the cool, as in indifferent, congregation accepted us.

Then I discovered the reason. Three seats down, sat the braggadocious pastor. These congregants who never knew we existed had no choice but to note our presence, to acknowledge us.


As an outsider, I can tell you, Christians like these do more harm to the gospel than help. I liked my own little church, loved the dear friends there, so fortunately this interim group did nothing to shake my faith. It did, however, create a distaste for this man's teaching, and an unease in attending church and an aversion to ever recommend the interim pastor's home church--even now, long after he moved on to better things. MUCH better things.

Today I belong to a congregation filled with multifarious individuals--those with cognitive disabilities, prison records, drug addictions. We have engineers, school teachers, legislators, professors and grocery clerks. Doctors and lawyers and dentists and rich and poor all populate the group. 

As a newcomer to the community, I never know with whom I'm speaking. Because of the pastor's wholehearted acceptance of everyone and consequently my church family's love for all, my life is enriched in too many ways to share.

The end effect is a tremendous growth in my faith, my love of Jesus and my desire to share the gospel with others.

Do you envy those who prosper? Do you try to climb the social ladder? Read James 2. It can change your life.

Let 'Er Rip: Don't Fear Looking Foolish

Like the soft winds that hint of a distant storm, the happy notes of an indistinct song wafted over me. I swung on my porch swing and smiled. Someone's happy. Then the strains intensified, and I knew. The Singer approached. Without seeing her, I pictured the young woman: MP3 player to her ear, playing music only she could hear. The singer belted out the lyrics in a manner that would have made Paula Abdul cringe, let alone Simon Cowell. The song intensified, and she wailed like a cow giving breach birth to co-joined calves.

You'd never catch me doing that. The more's the pity.

The world would be a better place if we just cut lose and enjoyed ourselves. Because I refuse to look the fool, I lost out on many things in life:

1. I refused to learn the guitar in high school because I felt silly carrying the huge instrument. It wasn't until my late thirties that I dared picked up the bassoon (talk about the aforementioned cow).
2. I never sing if I can be heard--and it certainly brings me down in church and other places. I used to love it, and singing is a cathartic activity. I have nothing on The Singer--except a loss of joy.
3. In my twenties, I refused to run because I thought I looked silly. Turns out I'm a fast runner. Today, I love it--but it took me twenty years to overcome my fear of looking foolish, and to discover the joys of a runner's high.

How have you allowed the fear of looking foolish hinder you.