Day 27, January 27

In an earlier post, I talked about the quilts I had inherited from my mother, quilts stitched during the Great Depression, fashioned from scraps and flour sacks. These quilts would never win a prize at a county fair. The stitching is uneven in places, the corners of the squares not aligned with exacting precision.

Early in her career, Barbara Streisand was advised to have her nose fixed. Her less-than-perfect snoz was deemed a drawback to her career. She refused and went on to become a superstar.

Pearls did not start out as luminescent gems. Instead, they began as a blemish, an irritant to the oyster, who covered it over with layers of shell to form the beautifiul gem that is so sought after.

What do quilts, Barbara's nose, and pearls have in common? Imperfection. They are all imperfect, yet all possess a unique kind of beauty.

Would I trade my mother's quilts for perfectly stitched ones mass produced by a manufacturer? No. Would Barbara trade her snoz for a perfectly sculpted one? No. (I'm not sure about the oyster so I'll leave that to your imagination.)

Our appearance-obsessed society tells us that unless something is perfect, it should be thrown away. Perfect clothes, perfect bodies, perfect houses--we are bombarded by the images until we grow dissatisfied with what we have, what we are. Artificial standards of beauty assault us with every commercial, every magazine, every internet site.

Where will this quest for perfection lead? Some cultures discard babies who are born with defects. I was born with one leg several inches shorter than the other. Should my parents have tossed me away?

God judges us by a different standard, asking if we have cared enough, if we have loved enough. Never has He asked us if we have been perfect enough.

So, for today, I am grateful for imperfection, both in quilts and in people.