The other night, I had a moment. The type of moment that you not only remember for the rest of your life, but the kind that digs its way into your soul, changes you, and becomes a new part of the inner workings of who you are from that day forward.

I was cooking dinner (albeit one of my same old, quick-and-easy pasta dishes but, dinner none-the-less). Anyway, I was cooking dinner as we were just wrapping up decorating the living area for Christmas. There were opened Christmas decor storage boxes scattered all over the floor, random ornaments sporadically thrown (by toddlers) all over the couch, and screaming children at my feet in the kitchen.

But in the midst of all of this, there in the living room stood my husband, in all of his handsome 6’4″ glory. Taking it all in. The twinkling lights (not to make him sound like a pansy who loves twinkling lights because, let’s be real, everyone loves twinkling lights), the vibe of the onset of the Christmas season, as well as the season that we were in within our very lives — a season that we have, no joke, been dreaming of for 6+ years now.

This was our first Christmas in North Carolina after taking a big [like, really huge] chance and moving our family from our comfort zone of good ole beautiful Greeneville, Tennessee to our new — let’s-see-how-this-goes-because-we’ve-always-loved-it-there-so we-might-as-well-live-there — city of Arden, North Carolina (just outside of Asheville). To say that moving to a new state with two toddlers is hard is, well, an understatement. I mean, we. have. struggled. We have been remodeling a pink wall, green carpet house, by ourselves for three months. With only the two of us holding tight to the vision we had for this little cabin/bungalow during the initial walk-through with our realtor.

‘That’ Moment

Moving on to the moment it all clicked. With screaming toddlers at my feet, I look up and see my husband taking it all in. You know, with that “look” on his face. That look of “this is it, we’re exactly where we’ve wanted to be for so long, and I’m going to acknowledge this moment, and thank God.” Anyway, in that moment, everything got quiet. No. Not literally. The kids were still screaming and, oh yeah, the dogs were barking their high-pitched, little yorkie barks. Everything got quiet in that way that you see in the movies. The literal noise abounds, but this bubble of clarity surrounds the person. That was me. And my bubble of clarity was this — imperfection is beauty.

The “imperfection” — Well, you know… the screaming babies, the barking dogs, the messy house, the water boiling over, and I could go on, and on, and on. But, the beauty? The beauty was the abundance of life that was in that chaotic moment. I removed myself and had a reality check. Would that moment have been as special without those imperfections? Nope. Just… nope. The imperfections were actually what made that moment beautiful. Maybe this revelation is just my subconsciousness’ way of coping with the fact that my life is so completely and utterly imperfect (with my messy house, and my burnt dinners, and bad hair days all the time, and socks that don’t match, and a stove top that I can’t keep clean, and a tv that always has finger prints on it, and…), but I think I’m onto something here.

Where there is imperfection, there is life. Isn’t that beautifully reassuring? And I would much rather have 20 million moments of imperfection than a life consistently full of perfect moments, all. the. dang. time. I’m not saying that where there is perfection, there isn’t life, but… what I am saying is — maybe we should try to bask a little more in the inevitable chaos. If we’ll allow it, I think chaos will, way more often than perfection, make us feel truly alive. It forces us to acknowledge that moment. That struggle. That loss. If it takes chaos and imperfection for us to acknowledge our blessings, don’t you think we should thank God for those “imperfect” moments more often? Embrace the cray.

Love.

-Tara

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