World Has Imperfect Things
My mother occasionally enjoyed cooking breakfast foods for dinner when I was a young child. And after a long, arduous day at work, I specifically recall one night when she made breakfast.
My mother set a plate of biscuits that were horribly burned, sausage and eggs in front of my father that evening so long ago. I can still picture me waiting to see if anyone noticed! In contrast, all my dad did was ask me how my day at school was while reaching for his biscuit and grinning at my mother. I don't recall what I said to him that evening, but I do recall watching him eat every last bit of that biscuit while it was spread with butter and jelly.
That evening as I rose from the table, I overheard my mother apologising to my dad for burning the biscuits. And he said something that I'll never forget: "Baby, I love burned biscuits."
Later that evening, when I went to bid Daddy good night, I questioned him about how much he enjoyed having his biscuits burned. "Your Momma put in a hard day at work today and she's really tired," he said as he encircled me in his arms. A little burned biscuit never hurt anyone, either.
Life is filled with flawed individuals and flawed objects, as you well know. I'm not the best at cooking or keeping the house clean. What I've discovered over the years is that one of the most crucial elements of developing a strong, enduring relationship is learning to accept each other's flaws and choosing to celebrate each other's differences. That is my prayer for you today. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
