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Straight to the point: I’m a perfectionist. I chase perfection like a shadow… a shadow that hovers in front of me, near but untouchable. Something tells me I’m not the only one to hunt perfection and never catch it.

Here’s the crazy truth: Perfect does exist, and we were made to want it. Perfect does exist, but it is not something we can make, be, or earn for ourselves. As high and dazzling “perfection” is, we won’t touch more than a shard of it here on earth.

Perfect isn’t now. But still we long for it.

Our cravings for perfection here on earth are meant to point us to the place we were created for. Perfect is a face we will leave this life to greet. It’s an inheritance we’ll be welcomed into. It isn’t something we can attain on our own. Perfect is something given.

Someone very dear taught me this. He taught it slow and simply before he passed this summer. And how I need to hear it again and again:

Record of a real life 
Table turning cold time
Set the needle down
It plays the same
Scratch across the black lines
Printed with the song I
Taught it slow to you

Perfect paid me no mind
Never did it say,
You've got me dear
Time did not un-rough me
Wore more on my favorite fleece
But perfect-faking never
Stole a day from me

Knew the best of my life
Was a name who took mine
Danced me through the first side
Of eternity

Spent my breath like sweet dimes
Human days and human nights
Perfect is the face I left this life to greet

Perfect is the face I’ll one day greet

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