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.

As I quietly watch my world burn, I’m painfully aware this isn’t fine
Changes are destroying culture, but we can build beautiful dream
Cancer unexpectedly took Lucy before old age could finish her
Goodbye, William (1999-2015)
Still relevant six years later: ‘We’re the Government — and You’re Not’
My books are time machines that tell you where (and who) I’ve been
House design reflects our vision and helps shape who we become
Until we experience awakening, we’re blind to truth in our hearts
Yes, Trump is scary and crazy, but fear the immoral system, not him