Imperfection: The process of Love.
I don’t know how to write happy feel good pieces. It’s why I have been on a writing drought for months now. But I wanna talk about the unhappy things that are the little big things.
Baseline.
Reset.
Context.
I have a girlfriend.
She met my dad and mom.
I met her mom.
She met my brother.
And it’s been 3 months +
I keep waiting for the shoe to drop.
I keep wondering when we will end.
I keep searching everywhere for when she will see me fully.
Because surely she must be blind ? She will wake up at some point ? She will see my ugly side ?
The Tea.
My baby is stunning.
Yet she is someone I didn’t think was fine.
Insert imperfections here.
I didn’t think she was ugly, but I was out looking for a miss world contestant and she didn’t fit that mold.
Self Confidence.
One of my biggest desires in life is to have kids that melt my heart.
Kids that I can live out my limitations in their strength.
There are so many areas in my life that I feel that I was in the wrong place at the right time.
I truly believe I could have played sports professionally.
Definitely could have played soccer but I was born in a country that did not present a clear path to that.
When my peers were in soccer school training at 7 years old. I was trying to be like my brother and be a great local champion in academics in my primary school.
I was a bookworm mostly that measured his value by the As he got.
I didn’t start playing soccer until late and even when I did, I was a goalie.
So I often wonder what it would look like if I knew the path to professional soccer early and put the same consistency that I put into school into it.
I also didn’t know how to handle beauty, handsome or whatever you wanna call it.
It took me maybe 30 years of my life to finally admit publicly that I love ass.
So much of my life, I wanted to be the perfect guy. My idea of perfection was rooted in character.
So much so that I labeled myself as someone with an addictive personality and used it as an excuse to stay away from anything that I could get addicted to. When I say anything, I mean anything.
I don’t drink alcohol.
I don’t drink coffee.
I have no interest in drugs, or I didn’t allow myself even entertain it.
Never smoked anything, never put anything in my body that is remotely considered a drug.
Heck, I don’t even take ibuprofen!
I have always loved women though.
So much so that my first serious question when I decide on commitment is often:
What will you do if you find out your husband cheated on you ?
I bottled up this affection or desire or give or whatever you wanna call it for years.
In primary school, I would beat girls partly because I saw them as a threat to my academic goals. I preferred to be feared and kept at a distant. In reality, I process that period now differently.
I think even as early as then, I was building a neural pathway to suppress the feelings and affections that I felt. I grew up around the sentiment that women were the downfall of great men.
So since I desired greatness,
All I could think of was the Bible’s solution- flee temptation.
I didn’t want to be in the same area code as any woman that I was attracted to.
Oh. Kids.
I think of all these experiences, denials, etc that I have had and the idea of shaping a young son into a man. It’s a terrifyingly exciting thought.
I am grateful for my dad. He raised us with a blueprint that I am incredibly thankful for.
My desire is to evolve it with a partner and invite God to break the molds that maybe limiting or shape our mold to fit the bundle of joy that He provides us.
Pretty and Petty.
For a vast majority of my life. My perception of my purpose here on this earth is to raise children that honor God and climb on my shoulders to reach well beyond I can only dream; and especially depositing the gospel through actions, words, and intent.
I wanted my kids to be so fine… Largely because I know the starting point for getting them ahead is to gift them incredible pretty genes.
There is such a thing as pretty advantage.
I digress.
I said all that to really say this. I saw my girlfriend’s imperfections and I would not allow myself choose her under any circumstances.
My first encounter with her. We were in the same group of friends for about 2 weeks. When we were departing, I pushed her away,
“There is a less than 1% chance of us being together.”
I broke down in very clear and logical factual ways why she should move on and not allow herself focus on any memories or feelings from the times we shared. Never mind the fact we couldn’t really stay away from each other. We kept gravitating towards each other like magnets.
I knew even back then that she was a perfect fit but I didn’t want it because she wasn’t perfect.
Imperfect Love.
This piece is already long but here is the punchline:
The person you love should fit. She should make sense, maybe not always logically but you will know what I mean when you have love(d). But, she must not be perfect.
The very definition of love relies on the accepting, the embracing, the reconciliation, the accounting for/of the shortcoming of the beloved.
Why do you love your dad? Is it because of what he did or because of who he isn’t or what he didn’t do?
I know where your mind runs to.
God is perfect yet we still love him.
Yes we do, and because He is perfect, loving him costs us. You cannot live a holy God and wallow in sin. His perfection demands work, demands growth, demands change of our imperfection.
And His love for us, cost Him his son as a bridge to allow Him embrace us, mere mortal, imperfect beings.
I love HER.
I just spent Christmas with her in Seattle. And we almost broke up.
We almost broke up because she said:
I can’t keep living like this.
She was coming to grips with my imperfections and the cost of choosing me.
And I was giddy because I finally found an opening, I finally found a reason to run away. This dream that feels unreal is finally gonna burst.
Yay! I am right again even though I want so bad to be wrong.
Wait…
I did just say I love her.
I think I will be saying that for the first time at least out loud in this note.
Baby, I love you.
I’m not sure if it’s sweet or romantic or not but I mean it.
I love you.
I know I do because I do not turn my eyes to your imperfections. I see them as clear as day but they have now become like scars. A reminder of the cost that I willingly embrace. A cost that feels like cow dung in comparison to the woman that you are, the woman that I get to love, the woman that I get to envision my life with.
I’m getting emotional.
I didn’t think I would get back to a place where I would allow myself envision building my life with a woman again.
Yet, even if this ends today, however much hurt it will bring, I have already won.
To be the object of your affection, to be twice lucky to feel this emotion. To be in this state where my brain and my heart agree unequivocally.
God, I don’t deserve you.
If like me you are deciding. Remember this:
Love is like lightning in a bottle. It’s possible but not designed to be like a mud puddle which everyone has a recipe for. You can chase it or not, in the end, it finds you or not. Always on time, and when it knocks your door, it’s more magical than Santa’s box under the Christmas tree. S/he shows up and gives meaning and purpose to YOUR journey that led to her. You realize that you had to hurt the exact way you did or not. You had to fall and fall or hit the jackpot on first try. Your path to her is yours alone and it’s designed like destiny to fit for just your garment of life.
Love is
Imperfectly beautiful, and her scars make the potion.