Perfect

As I was journaling tonight, I wrote the word perfect in relation to a prayer for a friend, and my pen lingered at the end. I wrote it again. Perfect. Perfect. God’s ways are perfect. God’s wisdom is perfect. God’s hand over my life is perfect. God’s faithfulness is perfect. God’s love is perfect. God’s plan is perfect.

My ways are not perfect. I leaf backwards through my journal and see expressions of gratitude and praise at God’s work in my life. Prayers that I had prayed for so long had been answered in ways more amazing than I even hoped for. The way things turned out were practically...perfect. Those times of such visibly answered prayer were followed by my grandiose expressions of surrender, trust, and faith. Yet, as the days and weeks wear on, I become less confident in God’s hand over the details of my life. I start maneuvering to make sure things happen the way I think they should. I think about what I want and what games I need to play in order to get it. I forget that God’s plan is perfect. I forget that I don’t have to claw and fight to survive. I forget that God’s faithfulness is perfect. I forget that God’s provision is perfect.

God is perfect. And His will will be done. Why do I forget? To forget God's faithfulness is to fight it. I don't want to fight God. I don't want to fight the perfect. I want to see His perfect will unfold. And I want to enjoy it. And I want to be part of it.

I'll never be perfect. I'll never be anything if not sustained by His love. But I get to participate in it. The flawed brought in by the Unblemished, the unsteady brought in by the Absolute, the wayward brought in by the Constant. The rebellious and selfish brought in by Perfect Love. I forever created. God forever Creator. Mysterious. Dumbfounding. Perfect. And do I dare tread so lightly? Do I dare tweak what is not flawed. Do I dare insert my ambition into perfection? I hope not. Oh, I hope not.