Perfection tells me I can get ahead –
I can keep the kitchen crumbless and sparkling,
the food prepped,
the glass refilled,
the diaper dry,
the laundry washed,
The infant tells me time is running out –
the invisible clock hovers
above my head always
from 10 to 0
when the baby will cry
and everything will be left undone,
so all work
is frantic and maddening.
The Spirit tells me perfection is imperfect
if it causes all this grief. It is better
to go about one’s work with contentment
rather than fear. Even the monks
have daily tasks to complete – sweeping,
baking, cooking, cleaning, washing, and tending every day.
And so my work is the same;
I cannot feed tomorrow’s breakfast this evening.
I cannot give tomorrow’s bath today.
I cannot read our bed-time story this afternoon
nor sweep up the day’s mess this morning.
But I can take each moment as it comes to me,
embrace life’s disorder,
give thanks for the constant opportunity to love.