Perfect Calling

Perfect is not like a butterfly,
That can be caught in a net
Pinned to a wall
Gazed upon.

It is not like sand on a beach,
Waiting to be stepped on
Piled up
Brushed off.

Perfect is not like a puzzle
With many complicated pieces,
Sort out
Fit together
Done.
Only to be taken apart and remade.

It is not a door to open.
A lid to put on.
A made bed.
Clean house.
Mowed lawn.
Balanced checkbook.
Finished work.

Perfect is none of these things.

Perfect is a breeze.
My hand cannot hold it
My arms not embrace
My eyes shall never see
Never see perfect.
Not here, anyway.

Why do I look here?

Funny thing is,
I already have perfect.
All I will ever need
All I should ever want
Complete.
Done for me.
For me.

And not the perfect I seek.
The elusive thief who steals my time
And slips away
Uncaught.

Perfect isn't caught,
It's a gift.

I already have perfect.
Better said, perfect has me.

And it is not in the things I can do
Accomplish
Build
Write.

Rather, perfect is a Someone.
He is Jesus.
Perfect.
He alone, perfect.
For me.

The question is,
Why do I look for perfect here?
Here, where it will not be found.

It is hard work.
Such hard and aching painful work.
Heart aching.
Never can have aching.

I sit and wait for my mind to catch up to truth.
Perfect is calling.
He is calling me.