There’s rumblings and tumblings
Kingdoms conquered and sought
Grace whispers ardent mumblings
Begging weapons down…all’s fought.
Victory in years past
Once named valedictorian
Battle won but not the last
Held now only by historian.
‘Good. Better. Best.
Never Let it Rest
Till Your good is Better
And Your Better is Best.’
How did humble Papa know
The whip that would drive
All hours’ study by lamp’s dim glow
And beat in heart keeping alive?
Days turned years perfection held all
In vice grip tensing smiles
Chasing a running girl wanting to fall
And fail and be held all the while.
I still feel knees touching dorm floor
And weeping surrendered one
Low before a Saviour known in core
Ah… this is Victory come.
And so when addictive tendencies
To that hard master Perfection
Loom large and command dependencies
Stealing Grace’s life-giving intention
I recall not twelve but one step
Only to kneel before Truly Perfect
Brought low giving all unto death
He is my Good. Better. and Best.
I wanted to clarify, because you know, that’s what we Perfectionist’s do…well, it’s also to represent my Papa correctly. He did not say this poem ‘Good. Better. Best.’ as a parenting mantra. He is probably the most Grace-giving Love-you-as-you-are person I know with the softest of hearts. He said this poem to me and me only of my five siblings. It was like he really did see that I had the wiring of a perfectionist and this was how I went about things. So, it was as much an observation as anything, if that makes sense. And he said it long before ‘valedictorian’ days when I would bring any ardent meaning to it.
Also going to share with sweet fellow imperfect friends at Emily’s