Perfectly Perfect | Elizabeth & the Catapult
I’m just so perfectly perfect,
except when I’m not.
I’m just so seemingly sunny,
till things get too hot.
And we’re both so foolishly naughty,
until we get caught…
Chances are that our love is now utterly thoroughly shot!
Cause my life’s so perfectly funny
that is till it’s not.
And we’ll be so stupidly happy,
till the cannonball drops.
And my dreams are ever so tempting,
until they go pop pop…
Chances are that our love is now utterly thoroughly shot!
Cause we’re all so perfectly perfect,
but not for long.
And we’ll be so perfectly perfect,
till we’re forced to move on.
And we’re both so pitifully clueless
to what we’ve become…
Chances are that our love is now utterly thoroughly done.
The more you…
Think that you’re right chances are that you’re probably wrong.
— — —
i like this song because it’s funny and sarcastic and cute and sounds like a vaudeville show.
i was thinking today about perfection, perfectionists and being perfect. i’d never, ever in my life called myself a perfectionist because i thought perfectionists always made their beds, cleaned their rooms and got a 36 on their one and only taking of the ACT. and i did none of those things (i didn’t make it up to 36 on my second ACT test, either).
but, during the past 19 months or so, or even just during this past year, i’ve learned that i am, in many ways, a perfectionist. not a hyper-perfectionist who always has to have absolutely everything just so, mind you. there are plenty of situations where an imperfection in something didn’t occur to me until another perfectionist friend or relative mentioned it. i’m not sure to what extent i expect perfection from others — i think it depends on who the person is and whether i think they “should know better.” that happens. it’s a judgmental streak i’m not proud of.
in so many ways, though, i expect myself to be perfect. last summer my cousin got married and i was one of her bridesmaids. i didn’t realize until my mom made a comment on how stressed out i was that i expected myself to be the perfect bridesmaid. i had to look right, walk right, sit right, stand right, talk to people right, talk enough but not too much, behave right … my cousin didn’t tell me this. no one told me this. but i expected it of myself.
it’s similar when i’m working on a project, whether it’s baking something, making a piece of art or writing something. there are situations where i don’t care and do it just to relax or get it done, but then other times i’ll think i’ve failed if my cupcakes or handpies don’t look exactly like the ones in the cookbook, or if my art project doesn’t turn out the way i imagined, or if i have to go back and (gasp!) edit a poem.
but i’m not perfect, and it is irritating and depressing sometimes.
i mean, really, i know i’m not perfect — i know i can’t be perfect in this world and that all of life with Christ is a perfecting process that will be completed only when i see Him face to face. i know that.
but pride makes it awfully hard to believe.
when i mess up i get frustrated and think, “why, God? why did i do that? why can’t i seem to do what i know i need to? why do i fail, and fail, and fail, and fail again? am i not wanting enough to do the right thing? am i not trying hard enough? what’s the deal? how’m i supposed to do this?”
i guess that’s the point. it’s not me.
it’s Christ in me — the hope of glory.
