Perfection

Jun14

I just finished watching a replay of a perfect game thrown by Matt Cain of the San Francisco Giants. A perfect game is an amazing thing to watch, and I’ve been blessed to be able to watch two of them in the last couple of years: one by Dallas Braden of the Oakland Athletics, and this one by Matt Cain. I didn’t know Braden’s was going to happen until it did, because I was watching it live. But I knew Cain’s was going to happen before it did. The atmosphere and the excitement was still there, though. When the fielders step it up just a little bit more to get those difficult outs; when the crowd never sits down for the other team’s half inning; when shots of the pitcher’s family show their extreme anticipation. There’s nothing like it.

It’s even more fun to watch it happen when it’s a team you root for anyway. The A’s are my favorite, but the Giants are a close second.

So why do we all appreciate perfection? Probably because we’re so far from it ourselves. I know for myself, I can’t think of a time when I’ve done anything perfectly. I don’t consider myself a perfectionist, so it doesn’t pain me when I don’t reach it. I have heard that quilters will purposely add a flaw to their work to signify that only God is perfect. I like that. Perfectionism can cause all kinds of problems for people obsessed with it. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to do things well, but when we have to be perfect, we limit ourselves.

Some perfectionists take an amazingly long amount of time to make decisions, because they want to make the perfect decision.

Some perfectionists won’t try to do something because they only want to do what they can do perfectly.

Some perfectionists demand perfection from those around them, and thus they are mostly disappointed.

I like this verse: “He is the Rock, His works are perfect, and all His ways are just. A faithful God who does no wrong, upright and just is He (Deut. 32:4).”

Indeed, only God is perfect.

But Matt Cain was a pretty amazing pitcher last night.

Thankful today for:

369. MLB.tv

370. anticipation

371. desire fulfilled

372. our avocado tree finally bearing fruit–and lots of it!

373. new trash cans 🙂

374. the perfection we will finally achieve in heaven

The Day It All Began

Jun12

We had talked about getting married, but when he actually “popped the question,” I was surprised. I thought we had decided to wait until fall. He didn’t want to leave me wondering while he spent almost two months in the Soviet Union.

I had never had a boyfriend before. At the ripe old age of 28, I was beginning to wonder if it would ever happen. Then I saw him.

It wasn’t love at first sight. He had a beard–I’m not fond of beards. But there was something about his eyes that drew me. He was working in the building next to mine. Soon after I first saw him, he moved in with two of my friends from college. And he shaved his beard. What was handy in the mountains of North Carolina was only irritating in the heat of So. Cal.

We became friends. But that’s all we were. Until it became more. One night after hours of talking, he said to me, “The more time I spend with you, the more I like you.” I’d never had anyone say that to me before. I allowed my heart to hope.

Another day, driving down the highway to pick up something from the office, he grabbed my hand and asked,”What would you think if I did this?” My answer: “I would say that you better not be doing that with any other girl.”

A week, a few weeks, a month (I really can’t remember how long) later, he said, “I don’t want to date anyone but you.”

I had already determined that in my mind long before. Now, it was official. Six months later, on June 12, 1990, he invited me to go up to Arrowhead Springs, the former international headquarters of Campus Crusade for Christ, for a small picnic before he left for the U.S.S.R.

As we sat on the lawn overlooking the smoggy city of San Bernardino, Calif., on a red-checked tablecloth with a book of poetry and a bottle of Martinelli’s sparkling cider, we decided to close our time with a prayer. In the middle of praying, he said, “Hold on a minute, God.” I thought he was getting choked up. Instead, he lifted my chin with his hand. I opened my eyes and looked into his. He had a small black box in his hand. He said something along the lines of, “Will you marry me?” I laughed and said something along the lines of, “Are you serious?” And quickly followed up with something along the lines of, “Yes!”

That was 22 years ago. And I would still say yes today. Even if I knew that everything would stay the same as it has been. It’s not like a do-over. He is God’s gift to me, and I am more than grateful.

Happy engagement anniversary, Hunny! Thanks for asking. 🙂

 

 

 

Thankful today for:

366. My husband

367. Happy memories

368. A sleepover nearly every night for the past 21+ years with my best friend

A 9-Year-Old’s Analogy

Jun11

20120611-082721.jpg

The other night while Morgan and I were out on a date in the pouring rain, she gave me this analogy:

Life is like being in the rain; sin and bad things fall on us, but Jesus is the umbrella. He protects us from the bad things and the sin. Without Him, we would get soaked by those things.

Pretty profound for a 9-year-old, right?

Anyone who has been in a Florida thunderstorm knows that when the wind blows, the rain comes in sideways. You still get a bit wet, but not nearly so much as you would without that umbrella.

We who have Christ are not immune from bad things happening to us. We still are touched by sin. But God is our refuge and our strength, a very present help in time of trouble (Psalm 46:1).

Thanks, Morgan

Thankful today for:
357. The smell of candles
358. Fresh melon for breakfast
359. Lake parties my kids love
360. People who have great ideas
361. Nathan’s crazy sense of humor that makes not-so-fun tasks go by more quickly
362. New clothes
363. New mercies every morning
364. Sunshine
365. Shadows

In Need of Water

Jun8

I have a plant in my house commonly known as a peace lily. It’s real name is spathiphyllum. When it gets thirsty, it really lets you know: the leaves wilt and hang down like it’s bearing the weight of the world on it’s slender stalks. When I see it like that, I grab the nearest unemptied glass of water I can find (they’re usually plentiful around my house) and give it a nice drink. Within an hour or so, it’s perked back up again. It’s a thriving plant, really. To look at it, you wouldn’t guess that it often has to tell me in no uncertain terms that it wants water. I don’t water it on any regular schedule. In fact, when it was getting watered daily, it didn’t bloom. I’m no horticulturist, but I wonder if there are plants that need just a little bit of drought to cause them to bloom.

I think our spiritual lives are like that. We always have a source of Living Water to which we can go on a daily basis. But it’s when we’re in a desert that we bloom. The lessons learned in the hard times are what cause us to grow. We don’t want to live in the desert, where the view of plush plants and grass is missing, but neither should we look at the desert as a place of death. Sometimes our thirst is the only thing that reminds us that we need the Living Water.

“For the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd; He will lead them to springs of living water. And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes” (Revelation 7:17).

*disclaimer: the pictured peace lily is not mine 🙂

Thankful today for:

351. a job well done

352. help

353. a slower schedule

354. a spontaneous play date

355. clean clothes

356. the color green, except when it’s at the bottom of my fish tank