An Imperfect Love

Thursdays are typically my house cleaning days. I enjoy puttering around this little casita, making her shine. One of the benefits of downsizing is being able to knock the task out in under two hours if I push it, but I really kind of enjoy taking my time. I am thankful for this place, so I try to think about that as I go through my day, being intentional in acknowledging the blessing.

Periodically it's time to take the picture frames off the shelf and give them a good dusting. There are two such shelves in this little house, one of them in the dining room and one at the entrance to our bedroom. The picture ledge in the dining room displays favorite photos of my children and grandchildren: Mark, Laura, and Flint on vacation in New Mexico, Sarah and Elizabeth in their high school senior portraits, Rachel in her wedding gown, Ben's and Flint's latest pics, and one photo of the entire family on Sarah's wedding day. The shelf in the bedroom has an assortment of favorite photos of our parents, kids... Tom and me.

On days when I spend extra time carefully wiping the frames and polishing the glass, I also spend time thinking about all the precious people who have graced my life. Some of the faces in the frames have already passed into glory, some have grown to adulthood, and some sport more gray hairs. The story of my life is written on those walls, the people who have made my life meaningful and given me more joy than I deserve. I have loved them all. I have loved fully and completely, but it has been an imperfect love.

To my husband:

The day we got married was one of the most beautiful days of my life. I can remember being so nervous. I wasn't nervous about marrying you, that I was over-the-moon- excited to do. I was nervous because I knew that after the vows and the cake and all the well-wishes were said and done, would come the job of making a marriage. I wasn't sure I would do marriage well. Being an only child, I never had to share, never had to compete for my parents' attention... never had to compromise much. I didn't know how all this togetherness and all this give-and-take was going to play out. I was worried I might fail.

Our beginning was marked with so many crazy highs and lows. We were adjusting to one another. "Concession" was a term I was beginning to familiarize myself with, though I was still resistant to employ it. I was selfish and self-centered, and all-together immature. Those were quite the days, weren't they?! We survived though, and we grew.

I think having children made me mature fast. There was no more silly kid stuff. Another little life was depending on me to pull myself together, and I had to plunge headlong into real adulthood on the fly. Our togetherness made room for three. We were elated, and in this union our love was cemented both for one another and for our baby boy.

I wish I could say we seldom fought, that there was never a cross word between us, but that wasn't our reality. I'm not sure it's even possible. Real people living in a real world facing real problems sometimes disagree, sometimes argue... but that doesn't mean there isn't love there too. It's just an imperfect love.

As the years passed, I vowed to be a better spouse. I promised myself and God that I would be the wife you deserved. I always started off strong. My heart was resolute, but then before long I'd fail again. Love is hard. It requires sacrifice and in a way... death, death to self. This is the same death a Christian must experience in order to live for Christ, but Self doesn't die easily, and dying to self just once doesn't cut it. It must be a daily occurrence... sometimes hourly. I hope you know that even during my struggles and my messiest moments I have always loved you.

We are partners, you and me. Not 50-50, but 100-100, as one of our favorite pastors used to say. My hundred always seems to come up short, but it's a goal. I'm still not willing to give up on reaching it. We have seen some incredible moments play out in our almost thirty-five years together, and we have also experienced some real valleys. The one thing I have tried to remember through it all is that life is so much sweeter with you in it and traveling is always better with a friend.

I have loved you to the fullest my heart can express. It has been true and it has been real, but it has been an imperfect love.

To my children:

There are not words enough to tell you how much I love you. As each of you came into the world my heart was so full I thought it would burst. I couldn't imagine it possible to feel more love than I already did in each of those moments, but there was an unending supply always ready and waiting for one more.

You have given me such joy in life. I'm sure I must have told you this before, but all I ever wanted was to be a wife and a mother. That probably sounds pretty old-fashioned to you, especially these days when women are breaking all kinds of barriers, but marrying your dad and getting to be a mom to you four was a dream come true for me. Though I went to school and collected a couple of degrees, my real desire was to make a difference in the world, to leave behind something significant, something lovely. That is what you four are.

I headed into motherhood with all the right desires, all the right goals. I read the right books and bought the right toys. I was going to be a great mom. In this I would not fail. I was sure of it. Then came the sleepless nights, the colic, the hospital stays... and my confidence melted. I wasn't up to the task after all, that's what I told myself. I was inadequate and inexperienced. I knew this was a challenge I could not face alone.

I made a great many mistakes along the way. I lectured when I should have listened. I let my temper flare when I should have just walked away. I held on too tightly when it was time to loosen my grip and let you go. You were and are the best part of me. It was never my intention to drive you. I wanted to direct and to disciple you. I wanted you to become strong and capable, but also tenderhearted and empathetic. And look at you. That is exactly what each of you are, despite my flaws... and thanks be to God.

I loved each of you fully and completely, but it was an imperfect love.

You make me proud in so many ways. You are fine pastors, teachers, parents and missionaries. My heart is overjoyed at the thought of who you are and what you have accomplished. Long after I am gone, the world will still be feeling the effects of your labors of love through the people you touch, the children you raise. You have made my life worthwhile. You have given me purpose, and you have taught me much. I will always be thankful for that.

To my family:

God is good. Though my love for you is full and complete, it is an imperfect love... and try as I might, it will never be anything but imperfect this side of heaven. The Father's love, on the other hand, is true. It is pure, and it is without flaw. He comes behind me picking up the pieces of my inadequacy, smoothing the rough edges, filling in the blanks where I am lacking. His love perfects mine. His love steps in where mine fails. His love forgives, and His love for me never wanes, even in my imperfection. It is in this imperfection that God's grace abounds and prevails.

You have no idea how grateful and blessed I feel to have each of you in my life, and I don't say that lightly. I thank God for that. I thank you for that. Most of all, I am thankful for second, third, and fourth chances, for a God who lavishly grants them more times than I deserve... and for a family who does the same.

Happy Valentine's Day, and though it be but an imperfect expression, I love you all dearly.