I cannot stand the word perfect. It reminds me of the time I didn't fully answer the essay question on my history exam so I didn't make a 100. Or the time I made those green beans just a little too salty. Making things perfect, quite frankly, makes me nervous because of everything it entails. Is it perfect physically? Is it completely accurate? Does it look good to the person I'm making it for? Does it taste good? Just asking myself all these questions stresses me out. However, do I really need to ask them at all? Does the word "perfect" really entail all of these things?
There's this painting hanging in my parents' home that I did when I was a freshman in high school. My dad absolutely adores it. I took the idea from Andy Warhol paintings that I had studied about and turned it into this fabulous piece depicting my family's love of baseball. It's cut into four sections, each with a baseball hat inside. Three San Francisco Giants hats have color schemes such as complimentary, split complementary, and triadic while one Los Angeles Dodgers hat is upside down and monochromatic. It's probably my dad's favorite thing that I've ever painted. It's hung in my house for over 5 years now. However, every time I look at it, I see every imperfection and error I made. I see that the lines in between sections aren't perfectly straight, that one of the hats has a funny shaped lid, and so on. I can't stand to even look at it... but my dad loves it.
My dad doesn't love the painting because it's physically perfect. He wouldn't be able to if that was what makes everything perfect. He loves it because of the fact that I made it. I put my time into that piece of art. It doesn't matter to him when I make the statement that the shading is off on the hat in the upper right-hand corner, or if I think one of the lines is too thick. He doesn't care.
I have had to teach myself over the years to not be a so-called "perfectionist" because perfection is different to everyone. That meal I cooked a few weeks ago for my brother and his girlfriend may not have been all that great, but it was perfect to them. And the greek letter shirt I sewed for my little may have a few crooked stitches, but to her, it's perfect because her big made it. Perfection lies in the eyes of the beholder. With perfection to each their own.
Psalms 119:96. "I have seen a limit to all perfection; Your commandment is exceedingly broad"
