This is my piddo.
Yes, he's eating cereal with a spoon. Here's something to know about my piddo...there's no leading up to the performance of a developmental milestone...he just does it...perfectly. This does make me worry a little...just in the sense that I feel that if he can't do it perfectly, he just won't do it at all. I know how this works out for humans in real life...tragic. This is just the most interesting aspect of Quinn's personality. This has happened a lot of times: with sitting, I would sit him on the ground and he would just fall over...then one day..."Hey mom, look...I can sit all day!"; with crawling, he would squirm backwards and be so frustrated--he did this for two months almost, then one night, "Hey mama and dada, I just crawled perfectly over to the cat food that you are now taking away from me...whaaaa!"; with walking, you could count on one hand how many times he tried to walk with out support (and no, he never really did use the tables and chairs as helping devices) and then one day,
pitter patter pitter patter pitter patter "did you just walk down the hallway and into the kitchen and you are still standing?"; and now, with eating with utensils, he's always known what it's for, he could feed you, and you knew he could use it himself (I saw him a couple of times), and then, "One whole bowl of cereal eaten with a spoon!"
My little budding perfectionist.
Scarey, huh?
Do I sound like a bragging, boasting parent? I hope not. I'm amazed at him and a little worried--a little practice never hurt anyone! This I've learned with great pain. I am a reluctant perfectionist...which simply means, I don't want to do anything that requires time and practice unless I can do it perfectly the first time. I'm a good athlete, but I always chose the sport that came the most natural to me while forsaking the ones I could've been just as good at but that required more work. I've had a hard time learning that constructive criticism is just that...constructive. It makes you better. Sometimes this constructive criticism occurs with a poor grade on a final paper (and by "poor" I mean anything that is below an A-...I know, ridiculous). While I was in seminary, any grade below an A- sent me reeling into a state of depression...it was a scarlet letter on my perfectionist veneer. A low grade carved in stone that I wasn't smart or good enough and that I should just drop out. I'm not exaggerating, either...ask Daniel! This is sad. It took me four years to learn to say, "Oh, a B+, okay...I guess I could've worked harder" or "I guess this isn't my strong point..." My professors weren't separating me to the left, casting me into utter oblivion and condmenation (well, hopefully not) by giving me a grade that was lower than my usual ones, they were just saying, "Ehhh..this could've been better...read my comments".
My worse judge is not those who I perceive to be condemning me.
That judge is me.
My friend Kate Norris painted this really interesting painting that I saw a few months back. I stared and stared and stared and realized that I hated it. Not that it wasn't a superbly painted picture (it was, she IS SUPER TALENTED) but it was the message, I felt judged by her painting. But then I looked closer and thought to myself...nah, this isn't someone else judging me...As I stared into the painting and looked at the rather enormous pointer finger pointing out at me, I realized that the only way that hand could be pointing at me in that position was if it was my own.
Brilliant.
Don't you think?
I think our basic drive and desire to the idea or ideal of the 3rd use of the law, is so we can try--and I do mean
try-- to appease the voice of judgment coming not from God but from ourselves. With one stroke of accomplishment, we can respond to that supreme critic with a resounding, "HA! I'm not as bad as I think I am...In fact, I'm pretty okay, aren't I" But this is where the trap is laid and hidden oh-so-well. Once we start down this path, we're headed straight toward pride. Oh, yes, that familiar old friend...Once we become puffed up enough, the next time we fall it is even more devastating then the previous time. Because Pride has led us to believe that we can--oh-yes-we-can--do this on our own; that we have overcome our fleshy-ness and have progressed to a higher level of what-ever-you-want-to-call-it.
But this is a lie.
Isn't it?
What a vicious cycle. But where is the hope, where is rescue? Well, it's in Jesus. I know, no surprise there...right? Jesus came and told us, "You are sick and you can't do this on your own". He didn't stop there, leaving us only with a diagnosis to our problem, He gave us a solution, "I am the way, and the truth, and the light". It is only by Him, in Him, and through Him that I can turn (figuratively) to that wretched voice in my head and say not "NO, I'm Okay!" but "Yeah, tell me something I don't know! I know I'm a failure, I know I'm a sinner, I know I can't do this on my own and that I need help! Do you really think telling me 'you're gonna fail...' is some sort of ground breaking news? Well...IT'S NOT!" There is power neither in wrestling with the black knight (Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress) nor in trying to avoid him/it ("la la la la I can't hear you or see you..."), but in facing him straight on. I can't appease my condemning voice, or avoid it, or beat it in a battle; but I can certainly startle it to death by knowing what it thinks is privileged knowledge unto itself.
The truth will set you free.
You are sick; we are all sick.
Being overwhelmed by the love of Christ that you love Him back doesn't make your sickness, your sin okay; it makes you okay in spite of your sickness, your sin. You don't have to be perfect to be loved; it's by His perfect love that you are loved in your horrible, miserable failure.
What does this have to do with Quinn? Well, this may make me sound like a horrible parent, but I want him to fail at some things. I want him to fail and then I want to pour out love on him. I want him to trip up, to stumble so that I can help him back up. I want him to know that it's okay to fail and that failure is inevitable. I want him to question his faith, even if that means to walk away; because when he returns (and I believe he would return), he, like the prodigal, will be embraced by the One and Only Love that loves you in spite of your failure and not because you are perfect. I want Quinn to be able to say,
"I just might fail at this...
But that's okay."
