As a perfectionist, I often seek out God in the wrong places; I pursue perfection instead of holiness. I await his revelation in the flawless, impeccable, perfect moments. But my penchant for the ideal means that I often keep God sequestered to the sacred precincts of some faraway sanctuary instead of inviting him into the moments of my life when I most need him: the less-than-perfect moments. Recently, I learned a very messy lesson about the grace of God in the chaos of life when I accidentally unleashed a deluge of foam into the hallways of the Catholic high school where I teach.
