What is perfection to me?--
The bark on an old oak tree,
the colors of a lake just waking up,
the cool waves of the sea?
What is perfection?--the chubby hands of a child,
the evening call of a whipporwill, frisky puppies going wild.
The cardinal in his flaming red suit, showy and brilliant always catching my eye, the embrace of a mother calming the fray, the calloused hands of a man gently leading the way. Perfection is living and loving and seizing the day.
What is perfection to me? The heart emptied of pride now filling with life, the turning of the eyes towards the light. Perfection is the beginning of redemption, the first steps towards "home".
Who can condemn the heart who's relented, repented and real? Not perfect in all of our ways, but perfectly in process of being healed.
What is perfection to me?--It is love covering another's faults, it's holding of hands and carrying on. Perfection is people clean through the cross, all covered in grace, accepting themselves, who we are, who we were, and who we will be.
