Mikayla loves to copy me. When she gets dressed every morning she says “Mommy are you going to wear pants? If you are then I want to wear them too”
“Mommy are you going to make your hair straight? If you are then can you press my curls down?”
“Mommy, are you going to wear grey nail polish or ‘bwack’ because I need to wear the same.”
She watches my every move and moves like me. She smiles like me. She laughs really loud like me. She loves to sing like me, dance like me – even her crazy wild hair is just like me. Se just wants to be like me.
While it is a bit flattering to have someone want to emote your presence it’s a bit unnerving too for there are more things about me that I would hope she wouldn’t follow suit:
I’m too sensitive.
I have a hot Italian temper.
I have a hard time trusting.
I’m – well – I’m not perfect – and to be honest I hate that the most.
There is nothing like looking into the mirror that is your children and seeing all the things you are and all the things that you aren’t.
There is nothing like hoping they don’t reflect the images you wish weren’t there.
Before I had kids I remember one of the things that would swirl around in this overly thinking mind of mine was:“I need to fix myself so they don’t become like the worst parts of me.”
I tried really hard to not be the things I hated or despised. All with good intentions of course, I mean who doesn’t want to be a perfect parent really?
Who doesn’t want to be all things to their kid?
Who doesn’t want to avoid passing on their errors?
Who doesn’t hope that they can make a difference this go around?
Then it dawned on me one day – if I have to be perfect then they will think they do too and if I can’t make mistakes, then they can’t either.
Not fair to me.
Not fair to them.
Not only is it not fair but it’s not realistic.
I’m just not that good. I’m just not that perfect. I’m just not God.
I’m not enough but He is and that is more than enough.
More than enough to fill in the spaces of my inadequacies – all of them and there are many. Which once again seem to be all the proof that I will ever need to remind me of how much my imperfections and failings need a perfect and fail free God.
I don’t set out to fail. But I will. My imperfect babies will too. And that is okay too. Because if it’s not okay, then Christ died in vain. If I am capable of being a perfect parent, a perfect wife, a perfect friend, if my kids are capable of being flawless then that cross is just a piece of wood where a good man hung for no reason at all.
But in fact it’s because of all of those things that I am not – that He died. He died because I’m not perfect – and He died because He is perfect.
Perfect me – not so much. Perfect God filling in the gaps to all of my imperfection…yeah…that sounds more like it.
He’s enough for all that is not enough in me.
But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. 2 Corinthians 12:9