Let it go, let it go, let it go

I was invited to hear a Holocaust survivor speak last night, and I planned on sharing what I learned with you today, but the event was postponed because of SNOW here in the east.

The funny part is that my kids and I were out playing in the white stuff when the call about the postponement came in. We came into the house, took off our wet clothes, drank hot chocolate, jumped into warm showers and put on warm socks – we basically did everything except check the phone messages.

The friend who invited us is pretty organized, her Blackberry keeps track of the multiple overlapping events of her family, so when she did not arrive on time to pick us up last night I was puzzled.

Perhaps the snow was keeping her, I thought to myself as the boys and I sat with our coats on and waited, so I resisted calling until 30 minutes past the agreed upon pick up time. Her cell went straight to voice mail, and I just knew she’d had an accident on her way to our house.
I told my husband of my visions of her stranded in a snow bank, and here is what he said:

“She’s fine. She’s very organized. You have the plan messed up. Are you sure it is tonight? Maybe you were supposed to drive.”

For a brief moment, I did not feel offended by his assumptions. My Blackberry is my brain, which often fails me, and I can surprise myself (and others) by being weeks early or months late. One of my New Year’s resolutions is a datebook, and so far so good. It was my last year’s resolution too.

Then I got that little ticked feeling. It wasn’t really directed at my husband, it was more of that I-hate-when-I’m-told-the-truth sort of feeling, you know? The inkling you get inside when you hear the facts, but don’t like them. I felt frustrated with myself.

I have a friend named Ed who could not be any more different than me, but could not be any more loved by me. Several years ago, I was lamenting the abyss between who I want to be organizationally and who I really am, and he said the most interesting thing. He said, “Wendy, stop trying to be a 10 at everything. Let’s face it. For you, in this area, a 5 would be success. Work toward 5.”

That was the day that God taught me to embrace my threeness, even twoness. It was the day that God taught me to let myself off the hook and be happily flawed. Perfectly imperfect.

Please don’t hear me saying that we shouldn’t work toward goals because I’m not. Please don’t hear me saying that sin and rotten personality traits are acceptable because they’re not.

Please hear me saying that I used to think my imperfections and quirks made me impossible, but God has convinced me, I’m not.

Let it go, let it go, let it go. May snow cover your driveway and grace blanket your heart.