We all know a bit too much about imperfect.
It´s all around us. It´s inescapable.
Imperfect is when a college student does not return from class because they´ve been shot.
Imperfect is when the kids in El Salvador´s streets cannot avoid gangs, rape and empty futures.
Imperfect is when families in Syria have access to no safe place on the entire planet.
Imperfect is when the little girl still thinks her parent´s divorce was her fault.
Imperfect is the 17-year-old in court who has tried to stop smoking marijuana for two years but can´t, and all the rehab facilities have waiting lists.
Imperfect is an irregular heartbeat on an EKG that scares me.
Imperfect is the hidden tears on the young face of one I love.
We know too much about imperfect.
Our belief in anything—humanity, reforms, beauty, God—waxes thin and our hearts grow tired of loving. But something inside of us shouts for reason…for don´t you only label things as imperfect because your soul also knows that perfect exists? Isn´t all this chaos of imperfection inversely defining some pristine and yet illusive concept of perfection?
Perhaps there is a “perfect” Love that would make us entirely less afraid. Perhaps there is a “perfect” way by which imperfect beings can be made spotless again through the grace and sacrifice of another. Perhaps there is a “perfect” sequence of events weaving itself above and beyond and through all this imperfection. Perhaps the only way for the superiority of Perfection to be made convincingly manifest is to let the ugliness of imperfection run its course. Perhaps this mess of broken and fallen realities will draw us, without force or coercion, to develop a loyalty within us that will never allow this to happen again.