Yesterday’s story was put together hastily. I was on my back having recently been discharged from the hospital. There may have been spelling errors. I didn’t check. I suppose I could have skipped a day but I was reluctant to break the one hundred and two month long run of daily messages. I have persevered through snowstorms, lost power, three family weddings, vacations and sickness. I wasn’t going to let an outpatient procedure derail me. 

It is inevitable I suppose for the quality of our engagement to vacillate. Moods and physical health vary, which impacts our ability to serve. Some efforts have better results. 

The surgeon who is bringing back my hearing is in the OR each Monday. I would optimistically hope that his skills never dip with passing circumstances.  Yet how can I ask of him what I cannot achieve myself? 

My daughter works for a company designing surgical robots. I suppose that is one way to guarantee excellence. 

There is an undeniable double standard at play. If my sewing students are pleased with a lopsided pocket, I share their joy. But if I buy a garment off the rack a wonky seam is less appealing. Are the standards for beautiful dependent on age? If you are six years old imperfections are endearing. But if you are an adult it better be right. 

In the waiting room I sat with a Mennonite girl whose grandfather was having spinal surgery. A tractor fell on him, and it was some time before he could drag himself out to press on the horn for help. We talked about quilts, and chickens, and homeschooling. Yet it was the weakness that brought us to that place of meeting. Her grandfather's pain, my hearing loss. I prayed for him, and I suspect she prayed for me. 

Maybe our imperfections are part of the plan after all. 

Love Lori