On Perfectionism

Every second Wednesday morning, you will find me in Kate's kindergarten class. It's Mommy Helper day, and while I am tired by the end of it (bless you, all you teachers. You amaze me), I am also surprised at the insights into humanity I receive while watching children learn. It's not as in your face as being in the junior high lunchroom, of course, but MAN, there is a lot of variety in our souls, isn't there?

Today, my job was to help make a butterfly mobile. Each child was to trace a small, a medium, and a large butterfly onto construction paper, cut out the butterflies, and decorate them in a symmetrical way. Simple enough? For most of the kids, six months into kindergarten, yes. But there was one incident that still has me thinking.

A. is a beautiful boy with lashes that I might kill for. I've never noticed anything unusual about him until today. But when it was time to trace his butterfly, he came unglued, over and over again.

"I can't DO this."

"Will you do this FOR me?"

"I CAN'T DO THIS!"

He would trace over the same section of wing, and anytime his finger moved the diecut he was tracing, he tried to put it right back into place and then retrace that same section.

I said, "Hey, A., it's okay if the tracing isn't perfect. It's really fine if you just try your best."

He said, "NO. It has to be PERFECT. It's not GOOD ENOUGH"

We had the same conversation six or seven times. He kept asking if I would do it for him, and I kept saying, "Let's just ignore the problems and try again," and he would tell me that he wanted it just right. It couldn't be messy.

By the end of the third butterfly, A. was in tears, and I wanted to throw my arms around him, put him on my lap, and hug him tight. I wondered what impulse was making him feel that perfection was the only option. I wanted to heal him of it and watch him do as sloppy a job as most of the other kindergarten boys had done. I wanted him to enjoy just the effort of trying and to forget about being perfect. After all, the end result was not the important thing...it was the process that was important.

As I struggled to communicate to A. that "good enough" can really BE good enough, I felt a strong impulse come over me, an understanding that my Heavenly Father feels the same way about me. How often have I struggled with a feeling of inferiority because of my lack of perfection? How often have I cried and struggled and yelled that I wasn't GOOD ENOUGH? I'm sure Heavenly Father has wanted to throw His arms around me, hold me tight and let me know that he just wants me to give it a good effort, and if necessary, grace will make up for the rest.

Sweet A. He finally finished his butterflies, and they were pretty darned good. I can guarantee that they were certainly good enough.