Today, I am really struggling to accept my imperfections.

It isn't that I ever truly believe I am perfect, I mean lets be real, I am certain that thought has never even entered my mind. Entitled, better than, etc, sure. Perfect? never.

I find myself reading about other people, what they are struggling with or dealing with, and wishing so badly that I could struggle with those problems, rather than my own. Why is it that our problems always seem so impossibly large, or maybe make us feel so impossibly small? So small, indeed, that we look at what others hearts are breaking over and cry out in our soul, "if only that was all I had, things would just be simpler".

Perhaps I could overcome the things that make you fearful. But perhaps that is also the point.

When I was 12 years old, I quit gymnastics for the first time in...10 years. I quit because I was exhausted, spent, and bored. But mostly, I quit because I had been seriously injured for the first time and knew I never wanted to feel that way again. I quit because I was afraid. I was afraid that, even though I had survived the first pain, I may not survive the second. I gave up. I gave in. I know I was only 12, but what a telling instance of how I handle imperfections, how I face fear.

I may be able to face your fear for you, but I will never grow if I avoid mine. I will never be filled with the perfect wholeness of God because why, indeed, would I need his perfection if I had the ability to have my own?

Fear is nothing. It is a thought, an idea of something that isn't actually reality. How can something so intangible be so defining? How can I place all my eggs in the basket of fear and have none left for faith?

I am afraid so often to be honest, so envious of those who bear their souls and I see nothing but beauty. What if I bear mine and you find it disgusting and repulsive? What if you know me only to reject me with your nose in the air at my sin?

I am struggling today. But in the end, I know what always wins.