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.

What evil lives in the heart of man who can kill his wife, kids?
Do you obey petty rules? Or do you fight The Man in hopes of change?
I’m drawn to tales of brokenness, rescue and ultimate redemption
Our greatest apparent strengths frequently lead to our downfall
Trump supporter: Trump imposes crippling tariffs to get rid of tariffs
Just a sandwich: Why do people make everything so political?
We’re becoming so selfish that our old ‘social scripts’ are dying
If you knew when you would die, would that affect how you lived?