“Hi, I’m Pam”. She enters through the big old double doors- laden 

with doggy kisses, looks up to a chandelier encrusted with cobwebs.

“It’s been a long time since I have been well enough to do all this myself”, I admit, bowed head.

Sometimes we need a hand up.

Moments later, she leans into the deep, claw foot bathtub to swirl her magic whitener around the rim. Her helper, on hands and knees, scrubbing away months of sickness, scrubbing the grout of 150-year-old tile. When you walk into my house, and the cobwebs greet you before me, it is hard to believe that I am a perfectionist.

Why is it so hard to admit that I cannot do it all? I have been hanging onto the hope of one day being able to once again, like my 20- something self, holding onto the hope that I will be able to accomplish everything in a day and make a good dinner at the end of it.

The stress of too much responsibility and unreasonably high expectations has helped to erode my health through the years.

It’s hard to admit that I am sick. It’s hard to admit that I cannot do it all. It’s hard to admit that I need help, but as I look around this old house, I realize how out of proportion my expectations have been for myself. I do not hold anyone in my life to the same set of standards.

 I don’t mind seeing the dust on my neighbor’s china cabinet, shoes strewn about…I love her just the same, and am perhaps a little more comfortable in her mess—because I realize she’s human.

What is it about women that causes us to live on a merry-go-round of to –do lists and too much to do, quietly wearing down our bodies? Why is it that I don’t want my good friend and neighbor to come in for tea and conversation if my counters are cluttered or there is dust on the china cabinet, or dirty dishes? Do these things make me less valuable as a person, as a woman of God? Life is messy. Loving is messy. Friendship is messy. Being sick is messy.

Perfectionism can cause us to hole up in our houses and shut ourselves away from people because we feel shame that things are not as we wish. Perfectionism can cause us to feel less in our walk with God, as we strive increasingly harder to free ourselves from sin.

Perfectionism overflows like water running in the sink– flooding the way we feel about our bodies when we look into the mirror.

Perfectionism erodes self-esteem and causes us to set unrealistic expectations which can never be met.

Deep down, there is a wounded girl inside each of each us. The deeper our wounds, the more we try to hide behind being perfect as women. “You’re not skinny enough, pretty enough, brave enough, smart enough, fast enough, wholesome enough. You can’t, you never did, you never will, you should have, you could have”. As children, teenagers, young adults–these words hurt us, hardened us, made us hard on ourselves.

There is a God who says you and I are enough. He created the girl inside each of us, perfectly. The sin of the world wounded her, but the good news is that we can be set free from the bondage and the weight of those things which have caused us to pick at ourselves and see ourselves through a critical eye, those things which have caused us to feel ashamed of the cobwebs, ashamed of our bodies, ashamed of being human.

There is a God who says, “take my hand” and helps us up. He sees the dust, the dirty dishes and all the other dirt we try to hide. He sees it all, and loves us tenderly, without judgment and without criticism. His words are like music to our ears. He sees you and He sees me through the cobwebs and the messiness of humanity.

Today is a beautiful day to start some weeding!

xoxo…

After spending a month at Mayo Clinic, I came home quiet in spirit. It had changed me. Suddenly, things that were once big—seemed small—inconsequential. During this journey, God helped me along the way and beckoned me to look at the deeper, hidden things.

One morning, I sat in the waiting room with another woman. She was wrapped in the blue hospital robe, wearing striped socks. She looked nervous. I was nervous too.  “I had breast cancer 3 years ago. Stage 4. I have been sick ever since” her voice trembled. We made conversation while waiting, both of our bodies weakened by illness.  “My husband made me a bedroom downstairs for the days I am too weak to climb the stairs.”  She grew quiet and reflective. “I just want my life back. I feel like a burden to my husband.”  Her voice trembled, “I have so much I want to do, but I get too tired.”

When the nurse called me to go in for my procedure my new friend stood up, holding her arms out and gestured for me to come toward her for a hug. “You’re going to be fine. I just know it. ” I wept for her for the next two days. In a matter of a few short minutes, I had made a lifelong friend. One that I know I will meet in Heaven someday.

We are all dying, some of us just faster than others. She talked about the love of her husband and children, about her garden, how pretty her bedroom was, about struggling to get through each day and be strong for her family. As I went about my daily schedule of tests and doctors appointments, I noticed the beauty in all of the faces I met along the way—people struggling with real issues, people struggling to hang on, putting on brave faces. People holding on tight to life and any morsel of hope doctors could offer.

I prayed throughout my month long visit. Every morning, while going in for more tests, I cried. Part of it was in the realization that life is very fragile and that no matter how hard we try, our human bodies are not meant to carry us forever. Additionally, I cried that in the event that God wanted me sooner than I had imagined, I felt ill prepared. What had I done for my husband or my children? If God took me tomorrow, what would I have to give them to carry through the years, aside from old photographs? 

The Bible talks about the return of Christ,” Take you heed, watch and pray; for you know not when the time is…” Mark 13:33-37. While this is true of the return of Christ, we do not know the day or the hour that He will call us home. Our daily living should be rich in prayer, gratitude and thanksgiving. This is the legacy we leave our loved ones. Money is not a legacy. Working hard is not a legacy. Our wedding rings or the fancy jewelry in our jewelry boxes is not our legacy. Prayer, gratitude and thanksgiving are the legacy. Our children hearing us put our prayers in words, seeing us give thanks in living each day—for small but mighty blessings… expressing gratitude–these are the legacy.

Upon my return home, I bought a beautiful box for each of my children and husband. Day after day, I write a card or a note, giving thanks for time shared with them, a special memory, scripture, life advice, acknowledging a special quality, or things I have learned along my faith journey. Hundreds of index cards, each handwritten…each, love letters to my loved ones.  

Because we “know not” when God will call us home or when He will return, we should be prepared.

For my many friends who are struggling with health issues:

When you feel afraid, write love notes. Love notes to God, love notes to people you love. The fear will wash away. Things that were once big will seem small. Your love notes will help you look at the deeper, hidden things and God’s Love will change you.