Today I thank God for my eyes,
Whose sight is at each dawn renewed,
Who lift their gaze toward the skies
To well with tears of gratitude.
I am a perfectionist. And, as a perfectionist, I often fall into the trap of believing that what I do or what I give must be perfect--or very close to perfect--before it is of any value.
If I give of my time to someone, I want to be able to give a lot of it; what good is a half-hour?
If I write a book or a story or a blog post or a poem, I want every word to be in place before I share it; what can someone gain from an imperfect thought?
If I write a letter, it must be an "epic tome"; who would be encouraged by a short note?
None of my life has gone the way it was "supposed to go," but I don't love my life any less because of the hardships and new directions. I see so much unexpected good in it, and I want others to see the good in theirs.