I flipped over the quiz my professor had just returned and I stared at the grade on the top of the page. My first academic assessment in grad school: 46 out of 46 points and the word "Perfect!" written next to the dazzling fraction. "Gee," I thought. "Maybe I can hack grad school after all!" However, as the professor reviewed the quiz with the class, I realized I had given an incorrect answer to one of the multiple choice questions. I also realized that my personal little "victory" wouldn't be so sweet knowing I didn't really deserve that "perfect" score. As he dismissed the class for the weekend, I approached him at the front of the room. "So, you know how you said some folks struggled with that question? Um, did you by chance decide not to count it?" I asked him. He shook his head, puzzled. "Well, then," I continued, "I actually got it wrong. Sorry, I'm just brutally honest." He looked amazed, and told me to do the correction for that question and hand it in the following week.
I knew it wasn't stupid or foolish to be honest. In fact, it was a load off my chest that I had been straightforward. However, I was a bit bummed that it wasn't the "perfect" score I thought it was during those three minutes of glory. I saw my pride, and chided myself for feeling that way. I know I'm not perfect. Gosh, I was so aware of it more and more each day as I struggled to keep up with grad classes, work, relationships, sleep—I felt like I was a huge disappointment to myself and to everyone around me. Because I wasn't perfect, I was a huge let-down. That's how I felt.
This past semester was quite the whirlwind. And, as I look back, I see that I fell into the trap that I hadn't really encountered since my college-prep high school days, the years of me being constantly performance-driven and struggling with the acute symptoms of perfectionism. But this time around, I would beat myself up over typos or unsent e-mails at work, I made myself feel guilty when I was too busy to hang out with friends, I hated myself for not being better about calling home and keeping in touch with family, I cried when I realized I had hurt someone close to me because I thought I was being a burden, and I told myself that if I wasn't doing school work, I should be sitting in my apartment working hard! I reasoned that the most respected people are those who can do it all. Yet with all these expectations, all these high standards for myself—it was just too much!
Deep down I knew just how false it was to desire to get it all right. And what made matters worse was that I was feeling spiritually dry. My quest for perfection had left me feeling weary, burdened, and unworthy of receiving grace. It came to the point where I started asking those closest to me, "Why are you still around? Don't you see I'm not perfect?" And I challenged them to walk away from self-deprecating, broken, little ol' me. But they didn't budge. They told me I was worth sticking around for. Why? Because of grace.
Grace, undeserved favor, bestowed upon me by my God. And the people in my life were showing it to me clear as day! What joy I felt knowing they forgave me and would stick by me even when I was anxious, selfish, hurting, and missing the mark! That broke me down of my pride. Rather, it is still breaking me of the pride that keeps me from being transparent and admitting my weaknesses. I am loved amid my flaws and even because of them. I am challenged to take my broken pieces and do something with them rather than just let them keep hurting myself and those around me.
The day after I handed in my quiz corrections, my professor saw me at the water fountain. "I changed the grade on your quiz," he remarked with a smile. "I wrote almost perfect instead. Hey, you still did really well." I had to smile and chuckle a bit. I did know that being a woman of grace or integrity did not require perfection. In fact, I wouldn't need grace if I was perfect all the time. No one had ever called me to be perfect or expected that of me. I was the only one who expected it of myself. I was reminded once again that I have a good God who sees my imperfections and loves me just the same.
I realize I don't really want to be perfect. If I hadn't messed up the quiz, I probably wouldn't have ever approached my professor and developed a good rapport with him. If I wasn't in need of forgiveness, I wouldn't understand how to truly forgive others around me. If I didn't continue to struggle with my imperfections, I would never need to call on my heavenly Father and ask Him to mend my brokenness. I would never desire to be in a relationship with Him if I had it all perfect!
And that is perfect freedom right there.
