Less Than Perfect

Sometimes I am a perfectionist, or maybe just controlling. I like to have things a certain way. Such as when writing my blog, I spend way more time on it than need be. I am meticulous. I analyze every word making sure I haven't overused the same word too many times. I preview what I've written a zillion times before finally, somewhat dreadfully hitting publish. I am always certain I must have done something wrong, whether it be incorrect grammar or the format of the page or placement of the pictures. I am even more conscientious than normal especially since it is on the web for anyone to see.

During Spring Break, I had to be content with being less than perfect. It seemed to be the lesson God was hitting me in the face with the entire week. I didn't want to be worrying about what I was going to blog each day, I wanted to be fully present with my friends in Arizona. So I settled with being less than perfect. I wrote everyday, I tried to make them meaningful, but I didn't ponder over every minute detail. I also settled for not being the first or second blogger everyday. Again, I decided being all there was more important to me.

Back in Missouri, Sunday I went to church with my parents, the church I grew up attending in Versailles. It seemed to follow my Spring Break lesson God was teaching me of being less than perfect. A few weeks ago, a pipe in a water fountain burst, flooding half the church. The congregation had been meeting in a community center the past 3 weeks, but Sunday they were cleared to meet in our church. As I sat in the sanctuary I observed. The normal church pews had been moved while repairs are made, so we sat in white plastic chairs. The carpet was gone, leaving the floor bare until new carpet is installed. The bare floor made the music and preaching echo off the floor, filling the room with extra vibration. Church on Sunday was less than perfect, but our hearts were in the right place, praising and worshipping God. As I sat in church on Sunday I reflected on being less than perfect, and contemplated writing a blog about it, but was afraid of being too vulnerable.

Later Sunday evening, I was driving my 3 hours back to Webb City. I stopped at my usual gas station on the corner in Lebanon, MO. I had just sat down in my car to leave when Alicia Zornes name appeared on my cell phone. In a few short minutes, I knew coming back to school from Spring Break was going to be far less than perfect. Trying to comprehend the loss of Mr. Kevin myself was hard enough, imagining telling 23 kids the news Monday morning was beyond what words could describe. I was thankful when Alicia and Karen decided what we needed most Monday morning was their prayer over us. I was thankful when they stepped out of "principal" mode and demonstrated in our staff meeting that a less than perfect Monday was completely acceptable, as they themselves shed tears over the loss of a beloved family member to our school.

I don't like crying in front of students, so I don't allow myself. For various reasons, I've choked back numerous tears while teaching this year. But Monday, I let the tears fall. I opened myself to being vulnerable to my students, because Monday was less than perfect and my students didn't need perfection, they needed human. As my students cried, some of them wrote their feelings. One in particular stood out, "Mr. Kevin won't be remembered as a janitor, but a friend. He made unwanted kids feel welcome." Mr. Kevin made each and every one of our less than perfect students feel important and special. From what I can tell, and from personal encounters, Mr. Kevin made each administrator, teacher, and staff member feel loved and brought joy into every room he entered. In a life where I strive for perfection and control, I'm learning it's okay to sometimes be less than perfect.