Perfectly imperfect.

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ADHD. It’s the non-existent thing that is very existent.

At least in our lives.

I used to be one of the naysayers. Even as a kid when I knew a few friends who were supposedly hyperactive, I always thought it was a copout.

Their parents were horrible people who just couldn’t handle the gig.

Oh, Jesus. You’re a riot.

I love control. Even if it’s a disillusioned sense of having everything together, I absolutely love it. I think know that’s part of the reason I had to get off social media. I liked the idea of looking good and everyone knowing it.

And really, I think in a sense that’s something we all kind of crave. It’s a ridiculous drug meant to get us hooked and then take us down.

And even though my online presence is much smaller nowadays, I still get the the cravings. I want Ava to listen. I want her to be quiet. I want her to be more like me.

I want her to be perfect.

And here’s the problem with that: there’s no such thing.

For awhile, we were doing medication. She did well with it in the beginning, and it’s something that God introduced, and I was grateful for. She was able to still her body for the first time. She was able to take direction.

She could focus.

But all good things must come to an end and our season ended this summer. The side effects became too much. She started to get headaches and nausea and she wasn’t gaining the weight she needed to. I was done with it. We all were.

And honestly, I wanted her back. Her funny personality and her unchecked courage.

I think there can be a vital good in doctor assessments and medication. But when those things start to feel like a warped crutch that’s doing more harm than good, it’s time to let them go.

So we have this summer. And we’ve begun the journey of behavioral development and growth, not without a few bumps along the way. But overall, this has given me the opportunity to look imperfection in the eye and give it a firm hug.

Just like God does with me.


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All the shades of gray.

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I am in the valley.

And not the bad one where vultures are circling and dying to stab out my eyes with their…beaks?

Do vultures have beaks? I don’t know. I only went to private school for a million years.

But a valley no less.

I am grateful. I say it over and over again, and I know it too. It’s more than a feeling for me. It is me. Because for so long, I was the opposite of it. But right now is a low time. Not in a deeply negative way. Just in a “lull me to sleep and don’t set the alarm” kind of way.

Because here’s the thing: I’m a doer.

And I’m doing a lot of things. But I’m not doing “the” thing. And I’m starting to learn, my friends, that “the” thing doesn’t even exist.

As a perfectionist who wants to box myself in and do that one thing that will mean I’ve finally arrived (even if it’s being the best fitted sheet folder this side of the Mississippi-okay who am I kidding? That honor goes to my mother-or the best vulture knower-about-er in these here parts, I want to shine. And not even for myself anymore. Just to know I’m honoring God).

And that’s the kicker. Because in the small still moments, or in the sad, dark moments, those are the ones where I feel Him most.

The everything moments? The ones where I’m on top and killing it? I can’t even feel Him hovering.

So there’s a point to the slowness (even though, to be honest, my schedule is far from slow). I guess I mean there’s a meaning to the disconnectedness of it all. That black and white are sitting so close together, that I can swipe them both with my brush, only to see the gray.


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