Perfect

I baked cinnamon buns with my daughter, a task I had long romanticized in my mind. Elbow to elbow kneading dough, gaily rolling it and tittering over a silly joke that she told me as we spread the butter and sprinkled cinnamon and sugar. How often my dreams are not reflected in reality. 

My daughter underfilled the measuring cup. “Not like that! Half a cup, not half full!” Tut-tut. She winced and retracted. 

“I’m sorry, Dad. You said we need half.”

“It’s okay,” I backpedaled. “I was unclear in the instructions. I should have been more specific.” I wasn’t sure if my assurances were enough to counter my tone correcting her mistake. “Just like that. Perfect,” I chimed, more cheerfully than I needed to. 

We mixed the dough and rolled it flat.

“Pull it to the edges of the pan. Perfect! Now, let’s cover it with butter.”

Hesitantly, she scraped a dab of butter and methodically smeared it on the dough. At that rate, it would take forever. I took the knife and grabbed a dollop. 

“Like this. Put an even layer all over.” I offered the knife and she dutifully mimicked my movements. “Perfect!”

Somehow the joy I expected to feel was muted. She wasn’t as engaged as I thought she might be or catching on to my passion for baking. She was following my movements closely, but her movements were mechanical instead of melodious. What was going wrong?

“I cut them into twelve, like the recipe said,” she said. “I kept them tightly wrapped. Only a little fell out.” Her eyes shifted to me. 

“That’s perfect!” Her breath caught until she heard those words. Then it dawned. I’ve been encouraging her with the wrong word: perfect. Perfect means to make something completely free from flaws or defects, or as good as something can possibly be. Every time I encouraged her, I simultaneously judged her performance. Not flawless. Flawless. What have I done? I thought. Guilt and shame flooded over me. I’m very self-critical and now I’ve passed on that trait to my daughter. 

Our lives are never perfect. Our decisions are based on incomplete information and we drive ourselves to distraction with the what-ifs and what-could-have-been thoughts. Living in the past steals contentment from the present, imperfect as it is. And when we worry about being perfect, we are paralyzed in indecision and self-doubt. What if I mess up again? 

You will. You will make mistakes because you will be rushed, be careless, be clumsy, be selfish, be yourself. You will not be perfect. But, you can be good. 

You can and will do your best and strive to become better than you are right now. “Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord.” it says in Colossians 3:23. You are directed to put your heart into everything you do, because God watches over you, and how you work is a reflection of who He is – you are his craftsmanship; he made you. 

I wonder, “Am I doing this right, God?.” I know that I can’t be perfect. Yet, I know that when He sees me doing the best I can, he declares, “I made you and you are very good.” 

Strike the pronouncement of perfect from your vocabulary. Focus on encouragement. “That’s very good. I see how much you are trying!” Before long, you will find that others pick up the melody.