Judging the Rain?

Perfectionism. Heavy sigh. My least lovely trait. I'm along way from where I used to be, but I'm not where I'll end up. That's for sure.

I think when failure enters the equation of an unsuspecting target, the perfectionist is left feeling completely responsible for the sum ... failure. I've spent a lot of time standing in my own rain. Torrential downpour really. If I'm totally honest... I used to look at people in the rain and think... glad it's not me. I know... not very "Christian", right? And the answer is no, it's not. But so many "Christians" feel like they are somehow on a pedestal of righteousness, and that really gets my blood boiling. The Bible says ALL fall short of the Glory of God. Not some... all. I cringe when I see someone with a cross around their neck standing in judgement of others rain. Or being righteous. Not loving. How much more powerful a testimony to who Jesus is would it be to genuinely pray for someone instead of talk about them. Jesus doesn't live on the charm around our necks but in the cracks of our souls, skin, and hearts.

There is the most beautiful parable I read in a book this summer. It's about a water bearer. He carried two clay pots of water across a large pole on his back, one to the right... one to the left. He walked 2 miles everyday for 2 years to water a garden. Down the exact same path. The pot on the right was perfect. Not a single blemish. It was well crafted and proud to be in one piece. On the left was a pot with holes and cracks, far from it's right sided counterpart. It viewed itself as inferior to it's perfectionist neighbor. Each day when the water bearer arrived at the garden, the perfect pot was proud of it's arrival. A full pot of water for the garden. While the cracked pot was broken and ashamed that it was unable to deliver it's full portion .... because it dripped water for two miles as the water bearer walked the path, everyday. So the cracked pot cried to the water bearer in apology and shame that it didn't perform as intended. The water bearer held the broken pot and said look; look at the path we have walked down for two years. On the left side of the path there are beautiful, vibrant, blooming flowers for miles. Illuminating every step. Because of your imperfection.... there is beauty on the path. Your cracks created beauty that would otherwise not exist. The path of the perfect pot was barren and dry. No beauty, no flowers. Just pride and perfection. Beauty from ashes.

Are you judging someone in the rain?