WE ARE IMPERFECT PEOPLE LOVED BY A PERFECT GOD
I don't need anyone to tell me how absolutely imperfect I am. I know it. I feel it every single day, every hour and sometimes each minute. How do I know this? I only need to look into Char's old room where all of the stuff we had to move for the painters got stored. Yes, I have taken out many, many books for recycling and thrown away things too old to save. But what is left? Tons. Simply tons. Clothes. (Have I mentioned that I am a bit of a clothes horse and simply adore ordering clothes online? Does that qualify as "imperfect"?) Books remaining to be moved. Old paintings I have no idea what to do with. A few antique chairs stuffed beneath a large, unusable table. And what about my relationships with others? Am I making damn-fool mistakes almost daily? Telling someone I love dearly how much I adore Mamdani and his many policies to clean up NY City in so many ways, even though I know she has doubts about his ability to protect synagogues? (I have manage...
