The Art of Imperfection

Last night I had the opportunity to do something I had never done before.

From the hours of 10 to midnight, I was dressed in a white jumpsuit and white slippers. My hair was pulled back out of my eyes, but it didn't stop my bangs from covering my view as I bent over the blue vacuum cleaner that sucked up the miniscule particles of dust that I was sure wasn't there from the pearl colored carpet.

Magnificent chandeliers hung over head lighting the room, giving a soft glow to the windows that I look up at on nights after long days from the parking lot three floors below.

Intricate pictures of wheat made of stained glass and carved into the plush carpet reminded me of the beauty not only surrounding me in the quiet and peaceful room but of a small and simple town named, Rexburg.

I have always been grateful to have a temple on the hill, reminding me of someone far greater and far grander than I who knows my name and hears my prayers.

But now I have an even greater appreciation for that sacred and magnificent building and for those that serve so faithfully there in dozens of capacities.

The strokes of the vacuum were methodical and mesmerizing, and like the many others who were there that night, I found myself lost in thought.

As I maneuvered the blue vacuum around each corner, and under each chair I waited for the familiar click click click click click of seemingly invisible dirt and dust that are found in each and every carpet.

Not too surprised that the one place I wouldn't find a dirty carpet was the temple, it stirred my thoughts. Now, I'm sure that what came to mind was a thought that has entertained the thousands of other volunteers that come and go almost every night of the week. But last night, I was grateful that the thought was mine.

This beautiful temple was clean when we started. There were a few spots of dust here and there, a couple of loose hairs on the floor, some dust on the light fixtures but for the most part, it was very clean.

 Yet it was still necessary to mop the floors, dust the stairwells, clean the upholstery, sanitize the bathrooms and polish the door handles. It's a routine that happens almost daily.

My thoughts instantly turned to my own life. For the most part, it's pretty clean. I strive to live the commandments, serve others and develop faith in Christ. But each day, I have some cleaning to do.

Each night, I hope to find myself on my knees praying to God for forgiveness for the follies and sins of that day.

Each and every day I seem to perfect the art of imperfection. But God is good enough to allow me to perform those daily and routine cleanings often times helping me along the way to make the most of the process.

This thought was empowering. I was suddenly grateful for every moment that brought me to painful humility, quiet introspection and slow, but gradual change.

I am indebted to God for his endless love, his limitless patience and his magnificent omnipotence. I love Him. And the most beautiful part is that somehow, he loves me; someone has broken and flawed as I.

I cannot express the love that I feel for my Father in Heaven. Instead, I hope that my life can reflect what my words cannot.

It won't be done in a day. In fact, I have miles to go. But that's why I'm grateful for daily cleanings that help me one step at a time back into the arms of his redeeming love.