- Mar 11, 2019
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A Made up Bed, Symbol of Perfection
I found out at a very young age that life was often disorganized, disordered, and cluttered. For me, there is no rest when these states build up. Being in a large family, not an unhappy situation, but a normal one, which has more than its share of troubles, taught a simple way of coping. I found out, I do not know-how, that if I made my bed in the morning, it seemed to be a center of peace for me throughout the day. Knowing my bed was ‘perfectly’ made up. Sheets tightly pulled under the mattress, a cover smooth, without a wrinkle, and of course, a pillow set the tone for me.
To this day, the first thing I do in the morning is to make my bed. I do this no matter how much my back hurts, I do it. So my day starts with one perfect thing (well sort of) and it gives me rest.
Now I know that my bed is never perfectly made up since the perfection that we often imagine does not exist. Yet it is close enough. The other half of life, the much bigger half, is a different story. I have to learn to deal with lots of imperfections, and I still strive to find perfection in the midst of messiness.
When I look within I find peace, but also chaos, happiness, also sorrow, hope, then there is doubt. Always in motion, even when I am silent in prayer all the above are still there even if muted.
While the grass may look greener in the next field, once it is visited, there is no difference, except perhaps in its arrangement. Each situation, person, family, and personal background is unique, yet shares a commonality that allows us to try to communicate, and we are often more successful than not, but in an imperfect manner.
I can remember a powerful, but quiet moment, that happened to me when I was 25. I was running down to work at our farm and feeling great. As I was running the thought came to me that I had to remember this moment, this second, hold on to it. So that was one moment that was not doomed to oblivion, buried somewhere in my deep unconscious. I think I remembered it because, at that time, I arrived at some sort of physical perfection. I was in great shape. Lifted weights, ran, stretched, and swam a great deal in one of our man-made ponds. I believe that was my peak of physical perfection that lasted the length of that thought, it has been a slow slide ever since.
I guess if perfection is arrived at, it begins to fall apart at that moment. It is just the way of the world. Even art, slowly declines, though it can take a very long time in human years to happen.
Yet it is in imperfection that we grow, become patient, and less demanding. In our failures, and imperfections, we are slowly overtime led to humility, which is the ability to understand aspects of ourselves that we will never have complete control over. If we ever did get complete control, it would be a dangerous illusion, and then others would have to bear the brunt of that. Since perfect people are easily bothered by the imperfections of others and are quick to voice their discontent. From time to time I suffer from being ‘perfect’, not very pleasant, it is a lonely cold place.
God is glorified in our weakness, for it is when we are weakest, that we learn of our need for mercy and the grace that actually is. In monastic life, there is a saying: “A monks life consists of falling and getting up, falling and getting up, falling and getting up, without losing patience, trust, or hope in God’s love, mercy, and grace.-Br.MD