Western culture loves perfection. Anything that’s imperfect is rejected or at least offered at a steep discount. When someone asks about a newborn baby, you might hear the cliche, “He has all his fingers and toes.”
In our culture of mass production, we judge quality by how perfectly the widgets pressed out of industrial machinery match each other. It doesn’t matter how boring or soulless or poorly designed a thing is. It’s a quality item if it matches its specifications.
I grew up steeped in that culture of perfection, but the more of life that I experience, the more I’ve found beauty in a kind of imperfection that comes only from brokenness.

How do we know when to quit? Persistence may be futile choice
Little girl’s face and colorful sky have power to pierce my heart
‘Cash for clunkers’ was an even bigger clunker than we first realized
Are your daily decisions giving you the results you want out of life?
‘What’s the worth of one warm smile? Go and ask the dead man’
We who believe life has meaning have lost war for modern culture
Thugs attacking private property aren’t anarchists; they’re vandals
The moon represents what I seek, but words are all I can offer now
After years of silence, it’s time to tell the truth about my father