Imperfect Nails

I polished my fingernails yesterday. I told someone that my nails hate me. They never stay polished correctly the day I polish them.

Perfectly polished. Huh. There’s a reason I used Perfect obvi. But putting it with polished helps me get where I was going.

Somewhere deep down, my frustration with these imperfectly polished nails has ro do with the perfect polish demanded of me.

I think part of it was the pressure people put on being perfect as part of the pastor’s family.

Part of it may have been the pressure of having to be great as an African American.

An A wasn’t good enough when it could have been an A+.

The way I was sweeping wasn’t good enough so the broom was snatched.

The fact that food wasn’t taken out was a problem even though a call wasn’t made.

I got chastisement from God this morning before I even decided to write this. Ion be on here saying God said anything. I ain’t finna be out here lying on Him when it is me. I fully believe He inspires these words and gives me what to say. But I’m not attributing much directly to Him verbatim. I don’t wanna take His credit but I don’t wanna give Him what was me.

I was thinking about something that was disappointing. He told me I wasn’t going to be perfect and I can’t try. I can’t put that pressure on myself.

Then I looked again at the disappointment that was my imperfect nails.

Buuuuuuut. Here’s where the point of this blog comes. Cuz I was determined to chiiiiiill after the past couple of days.

I know where I can go to a set of perfect nails.

The nails that pierced my Savior’s wrists (hands) and ankles (feet).

Talk about perfection.

Go be great. Someone’s counting on YOU!

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