Nietszsche wrote that "Without music, life would be an error." If I were a few hundred years older, I'm sure I would've beat him to the punch on that quote. Music has always been more than a source of entertainment for me. It is my favorite way to worship and spend time with God. It is my therapy after a bad day. It is the one and only reason I can make it through a 6 mile run. And it is a tool that my Creator uses to show me things about myself. He frequently uses it as a mirror, holding it in front of my face so that I am able to see what He sees. I am learning that God's truth about me is the one vision that truly matters.
All this to say that I got some new CD's for Christmas, and as is my habit, I have played certain tracks on repeat for the last 2 weeks. Now, I am somewhat of a music snob. I like people to think my music taste is oh-so-unique and impossibly hip. In reality I have everything from Wilson Phillips and the Jackson 5 to Puerto-Rican hip-hop and ghetto booty music on my iPod. You will find teeny-bopper favorites such as Miley Cyrus, Avril Lavigne, and Adam Lambert on my shuffle playlist, as well as Kelly Clarkson, Katy Perry, and the Black Eyed Peas. Don't judge me--I've got Bright Eyes, Ingrid Michaelson, and Muse on there to redeem myself.
The track serving as the current object of my affection is Sugarland's "Every Girl Like Me". In between the admittedly vapid lyrics is the chorus, which reads, "And I am not perfect, but I know I'm worth it." Make sure you listen to it with Jennifer Nettles' voice behind it, as it has a much greater impact. Eleven little words in the middle of a country song. Not much to write home about, right?
Well, I write home about most everything. And these words have had a significant impact on me. I've heard a theory that people, especially women, fall into one of 3 categories: pleasers, performers, and overt controllers. "Overt" is a key word, since all of these are forms of control. These are the parts we play in order to get our needs met. For years as a painfully shy and insecure teenager, I thought I was a people pleaser. I couldn't stand for people to think negatively of me; one word or comment could send me into a tailspin of depression. As I got older, one of my good friends pointed out to me that I wasn't so much a pleaser as a performer. Yes, I want to make people like me--but only because if people like me, then I must be doing a good job. I am a natural student and straight-A maker. I'm that crazy person at the gym running 12 miles before work so that I "get it done". Dinner is planned and made at our house for a week at a time and frozen into individual portions. I can vaccum, listen to an audiobook on Spanish vocabulary, feed my cats, do a load of laundry, and talk to my husband on the phone all while updating my Facebook status. If multitasking were a country, I would be its Empress.
The problem with being a performer is that unless you have a steady supply of methamphetamines at your disposal, you get tired. All the time. And when you sit down to rest, you immediately feel guilty because you could be using that time to write thank-you notes for Christmas gifts or creating a litter of kittens out of all the cat hair you just vacuumed from the carpets. A 3 mile run isn't good enough, despite the fact that your hip is hurting and your body is telling you to stop. And how dare you go to bed at night when the dishwasher needs to be emptied, there is laundry in the dryer to be folded, and the bathroom isn't sparkling? You slacker!
Point? I get a high out of doing things perfectly. But as I am imperfect, I beat myself up for failing. Much of my insecurity comes from fear of failure. I'm too scared to do fill-in-the-blank because I'm not pretty/skinny/smart/likeable/funny/good enough. I am always falling short.
That's where the Sugarland lyrics come in. As usual, I was listening to them during a run. My usual soundtrack of "ugh, I'm so fat" was blasting over my iPod headphones, and the chorus passed a couple of times before I really heard it. "I am not perfect, but I know I'm worth it". I don't have a perfect body, but I deserve to feel good about myself. I am not a perfect wife, but I can ask my husband for what I need. I am not a perfect nurse, but I can accept the thanks my patients give me instead of dismissing it. And I am far from a perfect child of God, but I still have a place reserved in His lap at the end of the day.
I believe perfectionism is one of Satan's sharpest arrows. He loves to make me believe that if I do things well enough on my own, then I have no need of a Savior. He also takes delight in kicking me when I fail, making sure I feel too beaten down to get up and try again. My Father, however, relishes my imperfections. If he wanted a perfect daughter, he would have made me a robot. He likes that I sing off-key at the top of my lungs in the car. He smiles at the fact that I can't get through a meal without wearing half of it on my shirt, and that when it is raining outside its guaranteed that I will slip and fall in front of a large crowd of people at some point during the day. He doesn't mind that I have no sense of direction and got lost on the way back to my own house on my first date with my husband. He loves me despite the theme park of roller coasters my emotions emulate from day to day. He loves me perfectly, even though I am unbelievably imperfect. His word says that His strength is made perfect in my weakeness. I'll try to remember that next time I'm doing pushups and can't get past 5.
I am not perfect, but that doesn't take away my worthiness. Because no one can take away what it is given to me by my Savior. His peace, His love, His truth--no force can separate God from His children. Remember that if you pass me at the gym, singing out loud to the Pussycat Dolls--there is no judgement here!
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