May 17, 2012

Her hair parts straight down the middle.  Front to back with each hair in place on either side.  A precise part.  A perfect part.  A severe part.

I can see where each tooth of the comb straightened her strawberry blonde hair; making little lines.  Little furrows.  She stands at the mirror, comb in one hand and a squirt bottle in the other - looking for any renegade hairs that refuse to follow the crowd.  A furrow in her brow, as well.

This exact and meticulous part is a reflection of my girl.  She received an double dose of perfection upon her birth.  A generous portion from her mommy and a liberal serving from her daddy.  We apologize on a regular basis for this gift.

She looks in the mirror and studies the color of her turquoise rhinestone earrings.  Do they match the blue-green of her shirt?  Almost.  She twists her lips into a pout, considering a change to her jewelry.  She settles on the silver and gold hoops.

"They go with everything, right Mom?"

This meticulousness is evidenced in her school work.  Practicing her y's and h's to get just the right loop.

This accuracy is revealed in her gymnastics.  She has the pointiest toes and the pointiest fingers.

This precision is displayed in her attitude toward herself and others.  Measure up or tears are sure to follow.

She fears being 2 minutes late.  She cringes at not having her homework finished.  She chews on her lip  when faced with a correction.

I long to ease this anxiety and show her that a little failure doesn't cause the world to come to an end.  I wish I could help her relax and go with the flow a bit more.  I want to fluff her hair and free her from this rigidity and perfectionism.  But that's God's job.

And I know that I can trust her to Him.  He has freed her mother in amazing ways.

Her part ... evidence of her discipline.  And her need for grace.  Just like the rest of us.

(0) comments