I have an unusual infinity right now with some produce at my local grocery store. Have you ever noticed the beautiful fruit and veggies out on display in the fresh aisle? All shiny and perfectly positioned in the right place?
You’re looking at the upper class.
The most popular. The best looking. The most talented. They are the produce celebrities. If they had instagram, they’d have the most followers.
But that’s not where my produce obsession lies.
One day, a brilliant brilliant person realized that there was a lot of waste in the fruit and vegetable world. Obviously, not all the produce makes the cut to the top of the pile. There’s only so much room on the display. What about the sub par fruit? The potatoes with extra dimples? The apples not quite in the right shape? The pears with the knobs and bruises?
There must be a purpose for things not good enough for the spotlight.
So this brilliant person, (Let’s call him Mr. President’s Choice) came up with a great marketing idea. Lets take all that fruit, not good enough for the top but good enough and throw it together in a bag. We can sell that! We can find a purpose for things that don’t make the cut!
That’s where my obsession lies.
Is it weird that I understand and identity with this brand? (I actually KNOW that it’s really weird.) I seek out those naturally imperfect produce bags. I buy them up. I laugh in the face of supermarket hierarchy and I go for the underdog. I’ve told bags of naturally imperfect potatoes that I love them just the way they are. They complete me.
Imperfection is actually where it’s at.
Naturally Imperfect is my new goal.
I’ve lived a pretty steady life of striving for perfection. I’m not a classic perfectionist by any means, just come over and check out the cupboards in our house. Yet, there’s a level that I had been striving for. Goals I had been trying to meet. The top of the pile that I was trying to climb. Then, some pretty big rejections came. In different forms, in various life circumstances. Rejection that cut deeper than anyone could understand.
All of a sudden my perfectly arranged pile starts to collapse. Something’s been pulled out and things start falling all around.
Rolling. Rolling. Rolling.
Alone from the pile, you slowly spin off into the corner.
Who wants things that are bruised and broken?
Is what you think in the dark corner. Then, you remember.
Strong when I am weak. Picks me up when I fall down. Doesn’t call me to perfection, but loves me as I am. Heaping grace upon grace, breathing life into broken down places.
When the sting comes, rejection slaps and the tears fall there are arms that are wide open. A voice that whispers, “I love you as you are.” A purpose that is greater than perfection and position.
The top of the pile doesn’t matter.
Broken, battered and bruised.
There’s still a place for you.
Don’t give up.
So I choose to be.
Awkwardly misshaped. Extra lumps. Weirdly formed. Rolling away from the pile.
Happy where I am.