Impossible Goals and the Things I Never Say

Wrote a guest blog post for Margaret McSweeney that went live on her site today. Thought I'd post it here too, in honor of the two year anniversary of our gotcha day of our beloved son, Max.
Impossible Goals and the Things I Never SayI grew up in a Christian home, but that doesn’t mean I’ve always understood grace or what it means to be free in Jesus. I’m a perfectionist, and for most of my life my self-worth has been tangled up in stuff I can cross off my to-do list, which usually looks something like this: keep the house picked up, limit myself to one Diet Coke, spend special time with each of my kids, work out, pray, avoid sugar, read my Bible, read a chapter in a book about something important, call my mom—and so-on-and-so-forth, because even though I know salvation is free, I live like I need to earn it.
Of course, I can’t earn it because perfection is always out of reach. Like in a bad dream when the phone call won’t go through, or I can’t run fast enough, or no matter how hard I try, I can’t get home. Or find my clothes. Bad dreams are full of unreachable goals, but I experience the same thing when I’m awake. I set impossible standards for myself (and everyone else), and I’m forever falling short.
Enter a small Asian.
From the moment my adopted son and I met, nothing was as I expected. Max clearly preferred my husband, and worse, I didn’t feel a connection to him. Nothing between us felt natural or instinctive like it did with my biological kids, and it sent me spinning. I assumed I’d be amazing in our new adventure—I was an experienced mom who’d even risen to the challenge of autism with our third-born, and adopting an older child was our clear calling; and like any good perfectionist, I’m nothing if not obedient. Not to mention responsible and steady and self-controlled and loving and wise—or so I thought.
Turns out, when squeezed, I’m none of those things, because when my well-controlled home was disrupted, I got angry. When my little boy wasn’t loving, neither was I. And when I didn’t feel patient or compassionate or merciful toward my orphan, I was confused and ashamed—which made me resent my new life.
I cringe to admit any flaw, and a few years ago, I would’ve kept them a secret. I would’ve added something like be more awesome to my to-do list. I would’ve lived with tremendous guilt when I inevitably failed, and I would’ve feared other people’s opinions if the truth eked out. But seeing how far from perfect my heart and home actually are has forced me to face my wretchedness. 
And talking about my wretchedness has been the key to experiencing the freedom from perfectionism that Jesus holds outstretched.
Freedom to pour out my sin at the throne of grace, and to receive grace.
Freedom to get help from other Christians who have prayed for me, loved me unconditionally, kept me accountable, and celebrated my victories.
Freedom to accept my imperfections and, in turn, to depend wholly on my perfect Savior.
Freedom to grow Galatians 5 fruit—qualities I can’t produce or maintain without the work of the Holy Spirit in my heart.
Freedom to share my testimony without fear, allowing God to be glorified in my weakness.
And I’m happy to report that Max and I are falling in love, and that God has my perfectionism on the run. I don’t claim to be recovered. There are still days when my habitual sin rears its head and I find myself once again chasing impossible goals. But my expectations for myself have changed. My understanding of grace has changed. My ability to receive and give that grace—to myself and to my precious little boy—has changed. And my willingness to tell the truth about who I really am, and who Christ is making me, has changed.
And now life is a little bit closer to perfect.
But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong. 2 Corinthians 12:9-10