On the night of the talent show, I wasn’t thinking
about magic. I was bracing myself, as the curtains parted. I felt like a jerk for leading my poor lambs to the slaughter of public humiliation.
But as the first wobbly-voiced performer fumbled with her microphone, a different sort of magic slowly took over. I could see that these were charming flaws I was
witnessing — irreplaceable, once-in-a-lifetime sorts of flaws: the distorted microphone squeals in the midst of a breathy Les Misérables ballad, the horn players with their strange alternative Star Wars rhythm. It was actually the non-greatness
that made each kid’s performance so memorable and unique.
When my daughter and her friends took to the stage, I could see that was part of what made them so engrossing. These were the details that could break your heart: The girl who is always off beat. The girl who smiles but never sings. The girl who sings
but never smiles. The girl who moves in the opposite direction from everyone else, no matter how many times you correct her.
Together, they form a kind of ragged, vulnerable tribute to being 9-years-old, awkwardly poised between very young and too old too soon. Together, they represent how it feels when
you’re trying to choose between caring too little and caring too much. I was trying to stay aloof, but tears started pouring out of my eyes and wouldn’t stop. It was a beautifully terrible recital.
This must certainly echo something of what God feels as he values our imperfect service. He knows we are not
perfect, yet we are loved. And it is our imperfections that cause us to lean on him for his strength and results.
Reminds me of 2 Corinthians 12:9 when it speaks of God's grace being sufficient for us. Without His amazing grace, we would have no hope; but our hope can rest in Him.