Define Perfect. . . .

"At 16, I knew what perfect meant. After all, I had read the definition in the Encarta Dictionary -- and it surely mirrored my perfect life which was simply:

without faults
complete and whole
excellent or ideal




How was my life perfect? I had a large group of friends and never knew the meaning of the word lonely. I was an editor in our school's paper, a very sought-after position. My sister had married, leaving me the heiress to boss around the other kids at home. My school was putting on a big production that I desperately wanted to star in. I knew my chances were good. I lived in a blissful fairytale world. Others thought my life was ideal and so did I. That was five years ago.
And then one morning, the perfect bubble burst while sitting at school in my 11th grade class. I found bumps in my neck. Suddenly, I was in a cold new world of tests and scans and hushed whispers about cancer. I wasn't the Jewish princess of my own comfy palace now; I was imprisoned by a stark new reality, light years from where I'd basked just a day before.
My perfect life was beyond flawed, defiled by tumors spreading in my body, scarred by the chemotherapy and loss of hair, and blemished by my loss of dignity and self-image.
Everything I thought important was gone. I was too weak to go to school, or even have friends come over and visit. I was too depressed to smile and socialize on their level. I gave up my job on the school paper, and my older sister practically lived in my house again, maintaining it while my parents were busy with me. My aspirations to star in the school play faded into the blackness of my perfect past.
There were nights when I stayed up crying, unwilling to accept this cruel joke of fate, the game Someone seemed to be playing with my life. How could it be that I had it all, and then in one frightful morning, all was nothing?
What hurt most was my new perception of myself as imperfect. People's comments and faces made it clear that I was not like them, but I knew it in my heart, even without others spelling it out for me.
So many things worried me during that time. What of my health in the future? Would I ever be really well again? What of my ability to have children of my own? What would happen when it came time for shidduchim and dating? Who would want to get involved with a damaged, less-than-perfect girl like me?
After the hurt, there came the anger. It was one thing if I had done something to mess up my own life. It was quite another to have it all done for me and not have any say in the matter at all. I was hurt and furious with the One who had done this. I had a million questions -- and no answers.
And then one day, I sort of slapped myself upside the head. It was a much-needed ouch -- like someone had pinching me out of a self-induced slumber. I cleared away the mental cobwebs of remorse and self-pity and discovered that, while my circumstances were still the same, suddenly I wasn't.
I made a conscious decision to stop measuring everything by the yardstick of a false perfection. I dug out my school dictionary, crossed out some of the definitions there, and added one of my own.
"Perfect is a state of mind," I scribbled, pushing my pen hard into the thin paper of the book, "flaws are what we perceive them to be and one can still see something defective as being truly wonderful."
It was an awkward, amateur definition at best, but it changed the meaning of my existence.
Slowly, I came to understand that a perfect day could be the day I had fun with my nurses. A great afternoon was one in which I had enough strength to go outside for a bit. All was right in the world when I got a free day off chemo to go to school. I got to buy an entire new wardrobe after going down a few sizes on chemo, and well, that was perfect too!
It was a strange new perfect, so far from that old fairyland, but I grew up enough to know that fairylands aren't real. If I insisted on living in the palace, I had to deal with the knights and the drawbridges and the moat and the King.
My King was One who had a much larger vision of what the perfect life for me could be. Once, I was content to live as a regular high school kid, but when I looked for and found Him right next to me during that trying time in my life, He let me glimpse a small bit of a greater "perfect" than I had ever dreamed of. I once thought my life was a piece of fabric, but the Almighty showed me that His plan was more like a tapestry. I was only a tiny thread in its embroidered image.
I was growing and changing and evolving as a person. Maybe people saw me as flawed, and maybe I was. All I knew was that God was creating a different version of me that would be perfect for the plan He had for the rest of my life.
Thinking back to the time when I thought my 16-year old life perfect, I know that it was like smiling blindly into a crowd. I was on stage and enjoying every minute of it, but had no idea what it was that I was really doing there. When I had to search for a new meaning to the word perfect, I suddenly saw the faces in the audience, watching me intently for my next move. I reached out to God and found Him already holding my hand. He was standing right up there on stage with me, nodding proudly as I acted my part in His production of my life.
I never thought I needed God with me when my life was going so well. I guess I deserved that wake up call so that I could find a better way of living and recognizing His presence every day.
The other kids I did chemo with thought their lives were ruined forever while I knew mine was just beginning.
That beginning led me to meet the man that would become my husband somewhere down the new road in my life. Divine Providence brought him right to my door. Literally. I met my husband when I was 16 and still trying to find the new meaning of perfect. He joined my quest as he drove me to doctors' appointments and together we discovered that we could create our own perfect world.
And we did. We realized that being healthy and happy was more perfect and important than anything. We understood that if other people didn't want to see what our version of reality was, it was just fine, because it meant more for us! We learned that we each had our past problems; we each had our custom-made mail shirts and helmets that protected us from the rest of the world, but that made us perfect for each other.
The day we learned we could have a healthy baby was the most perfect day of my life until the day he was actually born. When I held him for the first time and kissed his little face, I knew that right then nothing was ever going to get me any closer to perfect. Living with him each day, seeing him smile and grow has added many perfect days to the growing pile.
Today the fabric of my life still sports some rips and tears -- like all of us. But over time, I have discovered that it is through these very tears that God's powerful light comes shining through. He's the Master Weaver and He sets the quality standards. So while my silken life might not appear 100% flawless, that's okay. Today it's all really perfect to me."

The Teacup

There was a couple who used to go England to shop in a beautiful antique
store. This trip was to celebrate their 25th wedding anniversary. They both
liked antiques and pottery, and especially tea-cups.
Spotting an exceptional cup, they asked, "May we see that? We've never seen
a cup quite so beautiful."
The lady handed it to them and suddenly the tea-cup spoke, "You don't
understand" It said, "I have not always been a tea-cup. There was a time
when I was just a lump of blue clay. My master took me and rolled me,
pounded and patted me over and over and I yelled out...Don't do that! I
don't like it! Leave me alone." But, he only smiled and gently said; "Not
yet!!"
Then...WHAM! I was placed on a spinning wheel and suddenly I was spun around
and around and around. Stop it ! I'm getting so dizzy! I'm going to be
sick!', I screamed. But the master only nodded and said, quietly; 'Not yet.'

He spun me and poked and prodded and bent me out of shape to suit himself
and then...... Then he put me in the oven. I never felt such heat. I yelled
and knocked and pounded at the door. "Help! Get me out of here!" I could see
him through the opening and I could read his lips as he shook his head from
side to side, 'Not yet'.
"When I thought I couldn't bear it another minute, the door opened. He
carefully took me out and put me on the shelf, and I began to cool. Oh, that
felt so good! "Ah, this is much better," I thought. But, after I cooled he
picked me up and he brushed and painted me all over. The fumes were
horrible. I thought I would gag. 'Oh, please; Stop it, Stop it!!' I cried.
He only shook his head and said. 'Not yet!'.
Then suddenly he put me back in to the oven. Only it was not like the first
one. This was twice as hot and I just knew I would suffocate. I begged. I
pleaded. I screamed. I cried. I was convinced I would never make it. I was
ready to give up. Just then the door opened and he took me out and again
placed me on the shelf, where I cooled and waited and waited, wondering
"What's he going to do to me next?"
An hour later he handed me a mirror and said 'Look at yourself.' And I did.
I said, "That's not me; that couldn't be me. It's beautiful. I'm beautiful!"
Quietly he spoke: "I want you to remember, then," he said, I know it hurt
to be rolled and pounded and patted, but had I just left you alone, you'd
have dried up. I know it made you dizzy to spin around on the wheel, but if
I had stopped, you would have crumbled. I know it hurt and it was hot and
disagreeable in the oven, but if I hadn't put you there, you would have
cracked. I know the fumes were bad when I brushed and painted you all over,
but if I hadn't done that, you never would have hardened. You would not have
had any color in your life. If I hadn't put you back in that second oven,
you wouldn't have survived for long because the hardness would not have
held. Now you are a finished product. Now you are what I had in mind when I
first began with you."
The moral of this story is this: G-d knows what He's doing (for each of us).
He is the potter, and we are His clay. He will mold us and make us, and
expose us to just enough pressures of just the right kinds that we may be
made into a flawless piece of work to fulfill His good, pleasing and perfect
will. So, when life seems hard, and you are being pounded and patted and
pushed almost beyond endurance; when your world seems to be spinning out of
control; when you feel like you are in a fiery furnace of trials; try
this.... Brew a cup of of your favorite tea in your prettiest tea cup, sit
down and think on this story and then, have a little talk with the Potter.

Before I came to college, I wish I had known . . .

That it didn't matter how late I scheduled my first class; I'd still sleep through it.

That I could change so much and barely realize it.

That you can love a lot of different people in a lot of different ways.

That if you wear polyester, everyone will ask you why you're so dressed up.

That every clock on campus shows a different time.

That if you were smart in high school, so what?

That I would go to a party the night before a final.

That labs take up more time than all my other classes put together.

That you can know everything and still fail a test.

That I could get used to anything I found out about my roommate.

That home is a great place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there.

That a lot of my education would be obtained outside of class.

That friendship is more important than getting drunk together.

That I would become one of those people my parents warned me about.

That free food until 10 really closes at 9:50.

That Sunday is a figment of the world's imagination.

That psychology is really biology.

That biology is really chemistry.

That chemistry is really physics.

That physics is really math.

That my parents would get smarter as I got older.

That it is possible to be alone, even when you are surrounded by friends.

That friends are what make this place worthwhile.

That a goodbye is necessary before we can meet again.

That meeting again is certain among friends.