What You’re Missing When You’re A Perfectionist

A few nights ago, I was surfing through television channels, and I came upon a gymnastics competition and broke out into a cold sweat. Here’s why.

Back in 2012, I spent way too much time watching Olympic gymnastics. I cheered at victories, got teary over the back-stories, and yelled mature things like “We were robbed!” at referees who were both oblivious and unresponsive to my complaints.

Photo Credit: Erin Costa, Creative Commons

After the closing ceremonies, I made a decision. I just can’t watch gymnastic competitions any more. I know this statement will not only incur the wrath of the gymnastic community, but I will most likely also receive a warning from the IOC.

But I will hold fast to my decision.

Let me explain.

Over and over again, it was the same story: Someone performed an almost flawless routine and landed with the tiniest of extra steps. Their coaches put their faces in their hands, the commentators said things like “there goes the Gold,” and their mothers begin to sob uncontrollably.

All of those years of training and sacrifice and nothing to show for it but shame.

“It’s just a little step folks,” I said. “For goodness sakes! They were hurling themselves through the air like a human boomerang! Can’t they just do a little bunny hop? Just one teeny mistake?”

The answer from the collective judges was a resounding “NO” as the young loser gymnasts were herded into windowless, black vans and driven straight to a camp in Siberia to spend the rest of their days ruminating upon their losses and eating fish soup and bread.

OK, I’ll admit to being a little dramatic here.

But here’s my problem.

The discomfort I felt from watching the competition (and the absolute perfection required) comes from the fact that my life and faith is anything but perfect. Not only do I rarely stick my landings, but I trip and fall and miss my mark more times than not.

I falter and wobble and blow it on a regular basis. Somehow I get through and finish my “routine,” but it’s rarely pretty and never perfect.

Never.

I’ve had my bouts with perfectionism.

For many years I thought I could do it right, and those who missed their mark, well, they should be pitied. But I’m weary of that kind of pressure and judgment. The longer I live, the less I think Jesus is asking me to be perfect. Rather, he asks me to invite him into the stumbles and bobbles, to lean on him precisely because I can’t do it right. And in the midst of it, what he does ask of me is to love.

Love is always messy.

This is why my new sport of choice is volleyball. Beach volleyball. (At my age, watching not playing!)

The players dive for the ball, get sand in their teeth and down their shorts. The volleyballs hit the line and often go out of bounds. The players fumble a lot of shots, while making many of them too.

Better yet, they have someone next to them who’s always looking out for them, intent on setting them up to make a play and look good. They slap each other on the back when they make a mistake and high five when they do well. And a team can lose a whole set and come back to win to whole tournament!

How great is that?

So that’s why I’m beach volleyball’s newest fan.

It speaks to me of the journey I’m on, feeling no shame for being human and encouragement when I stumble.

And while I’m at it, I think I’ll watch baseball too. In that game, everyone is just rooting for you to make it safely home.

What You’re Missing When You’re A Perfectionist is a post from: Storyline Blog