Perfection

Tonight at dinner, Eloïse prayed. 

Dear God,

Thank you that I have a perfect mom.

Amen.

When we all opened our eyes, I sort of smirked at the cute naïveté of her prayer. Then, just as I was about to launch into a theological correction about the fallen nature of man, I held my tongue. This was a precious moment that gave me pause.

More often than not, I am hearing things like, "You don't love me!" when I've just asked a child to clean up for bedtime, or "You're not proud of me!" when I've just offered praise to a sibling. Children vacillate between tender kisses on cheeks and balled fists and stomping feet with the ease of a pirouetting prima ballerina. In some seasons, it's all I can do to keep my game face on, between the insults and the whining. But to hear some of those deeper, more intimate feelings from my daughter was a powerful reminder that there is a strong and healthy bond of love beneath all the tantrums. A bond, perhaps, that even makes the tantrums possible, instead of creating distance, apathy, or fear. 

Beyond that, however, she got me thinking about the layers of truth behind such a bold statement. Does she mean that I am a perfect match to be her mother—more suited to her than any other person would be? Does she mean that even in my parenting mistakes and sin, God provides opportunities for me to model His perfect grace and forgiveness? Or perhaps she is remarking on how, of all the mom options out there, she thinks I am the optimal choice. 

I've had a couple of conversations recently about the kinds of pressures women place on themselves for definition, standing, and status. We so often pick a model woman and wake each morning asking if we can meet or exceed her. Or, we build our religion around trying to live up to whatever we've deemed God's perfect ideal of womanhood. The bar can be especially high. Who but Jesus can truly attain perfection?

I won't ever be actually perfect at mothering, working, friending—or anything in this life—but perhaps there is a little truth in Eloïse's statement still. In God's perfect way of ordaining families, in His perfect redemption, in His power made perfect in weakness, I can enjoy the faith of a child and her recognition of my perfect imperfect.