Finding Peace in Christmas Past

It’s 12:05 a.m., December 25, 2011.  I promised myself I wouldn’t stay up this late, but I am here anyway.  Tomorrow I’ll be so tired and unable to fake a smile in front of everyone come afternoon.  But I must get one thing under control before I go to bed.

I arrange all the kids’ presents neatly on their Thomas the Train table.  I just finished wrapping the last one.  The green Peanuts paper is for the boys, the Snoopy-covered red is for my little girl.  They make a pretty picture on the table.  I consider snapping a photo, proof of hard work and commitment in this season of emotional chaos, but I am too tired to grab my camera.  I simply sit on the steps for a moment to let my thoughts settle.

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My Joyful Recovery From Perfection

Perfectionism seems to be woven into my genetic code, and yet, I have made a joyful recovery from perfectionism with God’s help.

As a firstborn in my family, I was responsible practically from the day I was born. Since our culture rewards perfection in many ways, I pursued it with all my might. Unfortunately (yet predictably) that caused me to suffer from several seasons of depression.

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