in the residue of beginnings

I've been sitting here staring at this blinking cursor for about 15 minutes trying to think up something clever to blog about. I know I am probably making this more complicated than it should be (typical for me, you should know), but I struggle with beginning things sometimes. You might be the same way. It's like beginning a journal. That first page is so white and clean and perfect ... you almost don't want to mar it with black ink. Theoretically the rest of the journal hinges on that first page so I better make it good, I reason. But I guess if that intimidates me to never begin anything, something is wrong.

You see, I am stricken with a disease called perfectionism. And it's not as glamorous as it may sound. I consider it a plague, in fact. I can't see things without wincing at the potential failure. I am more likely to keep my hands to myself than reach out to see what it feels like. I content myself with staring through thick glass windows instead of trotting down the front porch steps to enjoy the rain or sunshine. Because, who knows? I might make a huge, terrible, unalterable mistake. (yes, that had a twinge of sarcasm in it...)

It seems naive in these little black words on the computer screen. But it gets bigger in my head. I'm tired of living life with this illusive raincloud staring over my shoulder. I was reading in the gospel of Matthew this morning and perused over some verses that are beginning to morph into an anthem for me.

"You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden. Nor do people light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a stand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven." (Matt. 5:14-16)

After reading over these verses a couple of times to fight off the familiarity, I thought to myself, "Why are you living under a basket?" It may seem safer, but it's also stupid. And it will eventually suffocate you. God made you a light ... so shine. This could mean different things for different people. But a few things are core. One being our works. They are supposed to be good works that are obviously, but not blatantly (see Matthew 6:1), visible to the world. As God's workmanship (we are the light), we were created to walk in the good works which He prepared beforehand (Eph. 2:10). Figuring out what "works" He has prepared for me is where I trip myself up though. Again, this doesn't have to be complicated or confusing. I am finding that the simple, daily obedience to God's Word is what He desires.

The second principle is the glorification of our Father in heaven. It's really not about me or my works -- but about God. He is the ultimate objective here. My purpose on earth is to shine my light, but He is the reason and also the means of illumination. "For God, who said, “Let light shine out of darkness,” has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ." (2 Cor. 4:6) Any light that I reflect is produced by Jesus Christ who enlightened my heart with His grace and truth.

I think some of my perfectionistic fixation (wow, what a mouthful) is rooted in my pride. I want to appear a certain way to people. I want my report card to speak of success instead of failures. I want to get off the ground with no bumps or bruises. No dents in the paint, so to speak. I only want people to see me shine when I look perfect. Well, that is just never going to happen. And in the beauty of God's grace, that's ok.