Last night I snuggled tight with Brownie in his bunk. It was late, time for tucking in and prayer. And make it quick, I thought, because I will soon fall asleep and there is still a sticky, piled-up kitchen yet to clean.
The prayer was much the same as I've heard before. Thankfulness for the day, please no bad dreams tonight. And then, it was different...
Thank you for your commandments and help me to obey and help me to be perfect.
The air went out of me.
I asked myself a million questions all at once. What have I done wrong? I rarely even utter the word "perfect." Our church doesn't preach perfect.
Yet somehow, in his almost six years here on Earth, he has believed a lie: perfection is possible. It is, in fact, the goal.
He finished the prayer and I scrambled to recover, grasping for magical mommy words to snuff out the lie.
Baby, there was only One who was perfect. Please don't ever think we expect you to be perfect. All the trying in the world won't make you perfect. It's why we need Jesus.
And then I told the same thing to myself.