I wish i was perfect but then i don't. For perfect means rigid, unlearned, inexperienced. Perfect people don't live life, they float though it. NO adventures. NO mistakes. Oh really? No. The biggest mistake is to float through life with no sense of purpose. For NO Battle scars. NO Rewards.
There is a haven i crawl to and lie prostrate at. It is like wonderland. When i get there with all my imperfections, worn out from the days battles. My form changes. I get renewed, and yes i am  made perfect. This perfection supersedes the first one by infinity and more. And i choose it. I choose to be washed and cleansed to perfection by the spotless blood of the lamb. My good works i so strive to do daily are filthy rags i am tired of wearing. Emptiness. Condemnation. Guilt. Competition. Are no ways to live. Shackles or perfection? ******* or freedom? I choose to be free. Peace of mind. Genuine love. Joy unspeakable. Rest. I choose to be ME in YOU. The imperfect chosen by a perfect creator.