There is nothing perfect in my life.
Not my home. Not me. None of my relationships.
The five pairs of flip flops in the living RIGHT NOW.
The children who sometimes fight.
The husband who I spend too much time trying to perfect.
Certainly not the yelling that comes out of my mouth.
or the angry thoughts and frustration that resides inside my brain. (and heart.)
I am not perfect.
but my friends,*
my babies who are not in my arms today, my baby who is in my arms,
my home and the flip flops that are strewn about the floor, the laundry over-flowing, my bathroom counter, which I can no longer see … the husband who puts up with my bad moods …
they are all perfect for me.
I’m not wanting to be perfect. I just want to be good. Not just to others, but also to myself.
I’m working on it, I’ll be working on it, forever. I’m okay with that.
*photo taken Friday night with Love’s camera by a guy who looked like Kenny Chesney.