These jagged edges

I bought a drop cloth yesterday. 

I had two goals for this particular piece of fabric; the first was to be an actual drop cloth for when I painted on canvasses in our family room sprawled out on the floor, and the second was to be a little mat for Shepherd, one that I can set his play pen on top of—in efforts to mitigate the amount of pine needles and miniature pine cones he consumes. 

To achieve these goals, (I still can't spell achieve without spellcheck), I needed to cut this beautiful material in half. Perfectionist that I am, I envisioned two equal halves and one straight line between them. I danced around the fabric throughout my morning chores with a tiny level of anxiety rising within me at the thought of cutting into this beautiful tapestry of cotton. 

I had gotten to the end of my chores list, put the baby in his crib for his nap, and the time had come for me to approach the fabric. Obviously, I am being dramatic here, I understand this is not a big deal—the fabric was cheap enough and no one but me would analyze the frayed edges and know of the size differences or squiggly line that deviated from my envisioned perfection. 

"Lauren, this is not a big deal." Wise Mind always tries to speak reason. I know this, so I am trying to listen to her more these days even though it is my natural instinct to rebel any shred of advice she offers. 

So onward we proceeded.

I folded the fabric, lined the ends, smoothed out the middle crease, and found the scissors. I lined up the edges a bit better, smoothed out the middle crease, realized there was actually a fold on the bottom side in the middle—ugh. I grabbed the fabric, shook out the fold, and re-re-lined up the edges, smoothed out the middle crease once again. I took the scissors in hand, decided on which end to begin, and started cutting. 

I was trying to stay on the fold exactly, and then quickly realized that wasn't the best way, so I picked a single thread to cut along—this seemed like a good plan. Amidst this process, I realized I was making chunky cuts and needed to add a bit of tension to the fabric, on both sides. 

A bit of tension... this felt metaphorical.

So I pulled the scissors tight against the fabric as I cut. I tried to stay along the single thread. My mind was daunted by that level of precision even as I longed for it. Overwhelmed by my imminent failure, I released that goal. I still aimed for that thread, but accepted grace knowing that was more precise than I actually wanted to or needed to be. 

"This is not a big deal, remember." Wise Mind reassured. 

So onward we proceeded.

Jagged, linear, linear, jagged, linear, jagged. That's about how the cut looked once finished.

And, that's about how my life looks. You know, to me at least, the only one actually comparing and visually measuring the halves, or pieces rather, and the lines. 

"There's grace in it, though, you know." Wise Mind always reminds me, gently reiterating the words from Scripture I know to be true; "But He said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness (or jaggedness—how ever you like to describe the deviation from perfection).' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses (that's plural here, notice), so that Christ's power may rest on me." 2 Corinthians 12: 9

I love this verse and wrestle with it all ways and always. The acceptance of grace, actual Big G-Level Grace is often not linear, although it can be, we are invited to it and can approach it and accept it as readily as we choose to come. In our humanity, it is often a jagged journey, one taken through the course of a life. However linear or jagged you roam, Dearheart, know you do not walk the trail toward Grace alone—you are in sufficient company here.