Perfection is something I have not quite mastered (although I’m not about to admit it to my family). I wake up each morning sure of my perfection only to be slapped by the reality that I can’t do it all. Can’t isn’t really the word I should use. It’s more of a won’t thing for me. I can’t get it all done, quite simply, because I won’t get it all done.
There will be plenty of excuses to stop my momentum and take a break – and I find a way to use them all.
There will be just as many excuses not to get up and get started again – and I find a way to utilize them all.
It will be easier to blame my husband for not doing his part, my children for being too rowdy, or the weather for not falling into my requirements – and trust me I find a way to milk them all.
That’s not even an excuse. That is just the way it is. It is the truth that I live.
There is hope for my perfection. Each day, I do start with a fresh start. My miss-steps from yesterday are gone forever and any remnants are held securely in place by my own mind.
Today . . . the chance is new, the slate is clean, and the possibilities are endless – if I purposefully choose to do what I know to do instead of clinging to the excuses.