A melted blender and the man on a motorcycle

“Just hide them in the oven!” I yelled to my husband as we were preparing to have company over. We had just had a baby, and were in the “just hide the clutter” stage of preparing for guests (are we the only ones who do that?). I couldn’t let anyone know my sink sometimes had dirty dishes! 

Fast forward to the next day when I was making supper. I was preheating the oven, and began to smell burning plastic. I ran into the kitchen, shut off the oven, and pulled out the dirty dishes I had forgotten from the previous day. Among them was the plastic body of our expensive high-powered blender, now wiggly as it was in the process of melting. 

When my husband, Robert, got home, I told him of the incident. “I’m sorry I’m so stupid,” I said. He just hugged me. “You’re not stupid. We all make mistakes.” No condemnation. No rubbing it in. He even had the good sense not to laugh at this rather funny situation. He just loved me. In all of my messiness. In all of my imperfections. That small moment was huge for me as it reminded me of the Lord’s deep love and mercy. No condemnation. In my mind and heart, I had condemned myself for most of my life. There was no room for mistakes or weaknesses. I had always—for the most part—been able to push through weakness as a machine and not as a person. How could I possibly be loved if I wasn’t perfect? 

I am a recovering perfectionist. I was always a “high-achiever:” valedictorian of my class, on the board of various organizations, started my own business. It wasn’t until college that I was told for the first time that I didn’t have to perform or be “perfect” anymore. I’m sure someone had told me this before, but I either didn’t hear or believe them. I was told that I could embrace my weaknesses and failings and receive them as a gift to draw me to the Father. It sounded awful. Embrace my weaknesses? I had spent my whole life trying to hide my weaknesses or pretend I didn’t have them. Perfectionism had permeated my whole life, including discerning my vocation. When I began seriously discerning my vocation in college, I figured I had to be a nun. That was the “highest achievement” for a woman in the Church, right?  

Then a young man from the Newman Center came crashing into my life (literally, he crashed my car when we were on a date). We had been friends for years, and our senior year he asked me out and challenged me to forget about being “perfect.” He was just going to take me out on a date. After one date, I could get back to my plan of being a nun if I so chose. It was through this relationship (and spiritual direction) that the Lord began chipping away at my hard heart, revealing how heavy and miserable I had made my vocation out to be. I desired marriage, but felt I had to give that up if I wanted to be truly holy, truly perfect.  

The “one date” turned out to be many, but in the end, that relationship didn’t work out. In the years that followed, the Lord continued to heal me of perfectionism and self-condemnation. He brought in some reinforcements, including a man on a motorcycle.  

My friends and I were at a bonfire at a Catholic men’s house when one of the men came home on his motorcycle after work. I asked for a ride home (I love motorcycles!) and it all took off from there. Robert stopped by my house quite often to pick me up for a ride, and it didn’t take long before we were engaged. 

Now we’ve been married for ten years, have four beautiful children whom I homeschool, and we live on a farm with a big garden and a bunch of chickens. My life looks like one big failure to the world. I don’t have a social media following, I don’t make any money because I gave up my business to be a stay-at-home mom, and I still have dirty dishes in the sink. I have never been so “imperfect.” Yet, I have never been so happy! In ten years, the man on a motorcycle has seen my best and my worst and he hasn’t run away yet. How beautiful is the sacrament of marriage! Through it, the Lord has brought abundant healing and freedom to my heart. Freedom from the chains of performance and perfection. Freedom to be me and to be loved in all my imperfect glory! 

My birthday was shortly after the melted blender incident. I got a card from Robert with a homemade coupon inside that said, “Good for one kitchen appliance of your choice.” If that’s not true love, I don’t know what is.