As a deer thirsts for streams of water,
So I long for perfection,
But still haven’t found it.
It appears that the more I look for perfection,
The more I fall into imperfection.
When I tried to be perfect in all, and to be it all,
Something always suffered.
Sitting down under the shade like a tree with deep roots,
I think of two snowflakes.
Each of them takes the perfect form for their journey,
But when encountered by the wind,
They change shapes.
If the snowflakes can’t be perfect, then I can’t be.
After all, I am human.
After years of trying to be perfect, never getting there,
I have concluded that there is no such thing as perfection.
Perfection can only be found in the Creator.
He covers the ground with snow like a blanket of wool,
Scatters frost like ashes on the ground,
Arranges the stars by their names
And sends down hailstones like chips of rocks.
Creating humans to be imperfect wasn’t a mistake.
He did that to show us that our uniqueness lies in our imperfection.
So searching for perfection is a journey leading to frustration.