Photo By: Laura Ruth
It’s noise and frenzy outside my window as the weed wacker eats my bushes and inside all is quiet. By that, I mean not productive. It’s another one of those days. The kind where looking at a computer screen hurts your eyes and not doing it seems out of the question. What is my hang-up with productivity?
I’ve always felt that pressure to perform. Not so much for myself, but for “those” looking in. Does it really matter? Do they really care? Probably not. The question doesn’t really even need to be asked.
I realize now it’s why I plan so heavily for dinner guests. The new dessert is better tried when no one’s looking (just in case I made a mistake) and that new salad … well, if I dare to try it I HAVE to follow the recipe. I don’t invite you over if the house is a mess. But, I always wish you didn’t care so much about inviting me. What’s wrong with that picture? Maybe I should start.
Then, there are those situations when I invite you in. I don’t even care. My exterior shouts … “See … I’m real!” As if daring the world to judge my mess, I let them in and then I wonder … did it matter? Usually, it doesn’t. My mess says I’m one of them and when it says I’ve lost it … well, sigh … we all have those moments.
For all our appearances we’re still damaged, broken and less productive than we’d like to be. We want the perfect life … the Martha Stewart cover and the perfect interior to match. But, isn’t this rare? Just when I feel pretty, all the way around, I end up landing in some sort of mud puddle. It’s my proverbial way of saying, I’m just not perfect. God invites us … damaged, broken and we don’t even have to clean the house.