Beech Tree News Network

Recently, I was watching an interview with a nominee for CNN Heroes.  He worked with young kids who came from troubled back grounds.  He said of his goal, “We’re not striving for perfection here, we just want better than yesterday.”  Coming from a long line of perfectionists, I understand exactly what he means.  Perfect is a hard task master.  Better is a patient, benevolent soul.  Perfection says, “Anything worth doing is worth doing right.”  Better says, “Anything worth doing is worth doing badly.”  That doesn’t mean doing it half-way or starting it then throwing in the towel.  It means allowing yourself to make some mistakes in the process.
    It took me a lot of work and a lot of heart ache before I actually embraced the “Better” concept.  There’s a verse in the book of James that says,”…let patience have her perfect work, that ye may be perfect…”  I finally realized the perfect work of patience IS patience itself.  For me, this is both good news and bad news.  It means patience can be acquired, but it also means it takes work to get there.  I am better today than I was yesterday, but I still have a lot of work to do tomorrow.
    The yesterday me, or maybe I should say the yesteryear me, was very idealistic and impatient.  When an idea entered my head, I thought I should be able to implement it immediately.  I attempted quite a few unrealistic projects, for a person with little to no building skills, and it amazes me today that I didn’t understand then that construction is a process, not an event. 
    The first thing I attempted to build was a cat house—not the brothel type, but an actual house for an actual cat.  The last I saw of the uneven sides and disproportionate studs, they were flying from my hands as I hurled them into the adjoining field by my house. 
    I tried my hand at a bamboo-like garden fence made from creek cane.  I did it so hurriedly, the workmanship was shoddy, and the fence fell down with the first brisk breeze.  The next project was a raised flower bed.  Long before I realized the importance of pre-drilling holes, I tried hammering cedar posts together, and bent and flattened many a nail, including a couple on my left hand.  I became frustrated with that project, but had at least gained enough common sense to put the unused wood back into the barn instead of hurling it into the adjoining field. 
    I got in over my head in projects that didn’t involve wood, as well.  Remember macramé?  You know, purses, place mats, hot pads made from a series of yarn knots.  I started with the table.  It was a bear of a project, and I had yarn strung from one end of my living room to the other for months.  I thought I would never complete that table.  I keep it in a clear plastic storage bag in my closet as a reminder to start small.  I also tried to alter a wool coat down two sizes—way above my skill set; and the rock wall I started around my shrubs out front finally made it to two rocks in height before I threw in the towel.
    Fast forward to the “me” of today.  I started a redecorate on my guest bath about six months ago.  I have to go slowly, because I work a full-time job and I spend a lot of time with my granddaughter, but you know what?  I am able to go slowly, something I couldn’t have done a few years ago.  I stripped wallpaper without peeling off any of the drywall.  I brought the mirrors and trashcan and clothes hamper to work, so one of my employees could paint them to match my color scheme.  I put three layers of paint on my base boards, trim and doors.  I painted the stand-alone cabinet on the front porch then brought it back in to attach to the wall.  I shopped for a new clock and shower curtain, and I finally got everything back together this weekend.  It was a slow go, but I hung in there with it, sometimes at a snail’s pace.  After sixty-two years, I have realized something very important.  Patience is a big fan of slow.