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.

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Conflicting expectations can kill even the deepest love and hope
Hypocritical Republicans wimp out on free market when politics calls
Here’s the jobs growth Obama promised—in federal workers
Effort to boot unethical congressman laudable, but will it really help?
My ego threatens to take over when I whisper, ‘I deserve better’
As the gods of this world die off, we face a profound crisis of faith
Head and heart don’t agree about love, including Valentine’s Day