Perfectly imperfect

I like my mashed potatoes lumpy.

If you are offended, feel free to leave now.  I won’t judge.

I tend to find beauty in places that many do not.  I find beauty in a character-filled and not-quite-perfect table that has been left on the curbside, abandoned and seemingly futureless.  A chandelier, missing some baubles and no longer lighting the night, will find its way out of the trash, into my heart, and onto my Christmas tree in the form of ornaments, into my jewelry box reborn as earrings, and gracing my holiday table as a candlelit centerpiece.

The Japanese hold a philosophy of “wabi-sabi”, embracing the imperfections of daily life.   The old, the timeworn have a beauty that no new “perfect” object can match.

This attitude can be transferred to our own history, our own imperfections, our own experiences.  In Isaiah 61, we see that God will “comfort all who mourn, and provide for those who grieve in Zion – to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair.”

Your life – the good, the bad, the ugly – can become a beautiful thing, IS becoming a beautiful thing.

So if your home is not perfect, if your hair is drooping along with your body, if you make lumpy mashed potatoes, you still have a purpose, you are still useful, you are still beautiful.

And I’ll be right over to share the potatoes.