kendra wisdom

Perfection is a 4 letter word. No, you say — it’s a 10 letter word. Whatever. It is a very bad word.

I’ve never considered myself a perfectionist, but I’ve noticed these past couple of weeks that I am one — although at first I couldn’t even call it that. I told our preacher last week that “it’s kind of like I’m a perfectionist, but I can’t find the right word to describe it.” He laughed and said, “Kendra, I could tell the first day we talked that you’re a perfectionist.” And the handful of people I’ve shared this revelation with have been like “Yeah. You didn’t know?”

Thanks for filling me in, y’all. I really need new friends.

Where it comes from, how to deal with it — well, I’m working on that.

But oh man. Everything I do now — it’s so painfully obvious that this is my problem.

I messed up supper a few nights ago, and it completely ruined the rest of my evening. My reasoning (very faulty reasoning, I have to say) is this: I failed at cooking this one meal, so I am a failure. I yell at my kids way too much, and lately I feel like a poor excuse for a mother. If I fail at that, I fail period. I am a failure. I closed my photography business because I wanted to focus more time and energy on my family, but most days I see it as I failed at my dream. I am a failure.

On and on, I could list a hundred more.

Part of the problem with growing up in church — meeting Jesus at such a young age — is that you learn about grace before you ever really experience it. And until you experience it, you never fully understand it. His strength is made perfect in my weakness. I love that. The simplicity. The power. I don’t have to be perfect or look perfect or appear perfect or do perfect — because He is perfect. And it’s when I fail that His love and mercy and grace and strength shine.

I’m just now starting to understand that.

P.S. I have so much more to share, but I may spread it out over a couple of weeks. This is a lot of text for a photography blog, you know?

Read Part One.

You guys.

I don’t even know where to begin.

Our church just completed Draw the Circle: The 40 Day Prayer Challenge, and now we’re focused on telling our stories. As a writer, this resonates with me. As a photographer, this resonates with me. I am a story-teller, through and through. So here it goes…

Talking about depression after the fact is one thing. Talking about it while deep in it is another thing entirely. It’s unthinkable. So as I found myself falling deeper and deeper into this dark hole, I also found myself trying to cover it up. No one needs to know. It’s my business. I’m dealing with it.

But I wasn’t dealing with it.

I was hiding it.

From others and myself.

Until a panic attack on my kitchen floor while washing dishes a month ago pushed me over the edge. I was suffocating. From life. From kids. From routine. From who knows what.

It’s been a whirlwind month of reaching out, of counseling, of good days and bad days, of studying scripture, of desperate prayers. And even though I’m not healed yet, I know the One who heals — and that’s enough for me.

God is doing some pretty awesome things in and around me right now. He’s revealing a lot and piecing things together in a way that I don’t doubt He’s in control. I wish depression wasn’t part of my story — especially a part that’s lasted more than half my life now — but it is. I have so much I want to tell you (and I’m going to, I promise) — because God is good, and stories about what He is doing never get old.

Part 2 tomorrow.

A few shots from last night’s spontaneous trip to a nearby lake for some fishing (if you can call it that).