Not perfect but true. Each of us in our sovereignty has a right to our imperfectness, a right to our own brand of wonderful. This doesn’t match up against anyone else. It fits in with the ones we love, it is molded to the shape our love requires it to be. And that is truly the most romantic thing I can imagine. That our imperfect, wounded, gorgeous selves would rub up against and relearn how to be formed along with another whom we choose to love.
It’s the thing we don’t see coming when we begin to have a family, how much new moulding there will be to us and our people. How we will be a new person, and a new family each year. Subtly manipulating our parts to accommodate the growth of our family members. Slowly learning new ways to be one group of people loving each other best. Not perfect but true.