Stepping into a New Year, I find myself caught in a familiar trap: perfectionism paralysis.
Like many recovering perfectionists, every January brings not just a fresh start, but a daunting mountain of expectations. I feel the expectation to craft elaborate resolutions, meticulously planned goals, and detailed strategic plans—all while my inner critic whispers that I will never execute them perfectly enough.
The weight of potential failure feels crushing before I even begin. It doesn't help when I see others posting their color-coded planners and their beautifully designed goal sheets. Meanwhile, I sit frozen, overwhelmed by the gap between my grand visions and my human limitations.
I rarely stay up till midnight on New Year’s Eve to ring in the new year. This year I was up early on New Year’s Day to seek some comfort from the Lord for my anxious soul. I was looking forward to diving into Volume 3 of Every Moment Holy by Douglas Kaine McKelvery, a Christmas gift sent by dear friends.
The first words on the first page on the first day of the year met me where I was.
O Jesus, who alone might make a rich feast for many from the meager offerings of the few, now receive these our insufficient gifts, our imperfect talents, our limited resources, our half-realized intentions, our impaired efforts and consecrate them for your good purposes that they might in your hands become something more than mere proofs of our own inadequacy.
The liturgy went on to direct my attention to the dilemma of Jesus’s disciples when Jesus told them to feed 5000 hungry followers. Feeling completely inadequate to meet such a need they responded, “We only have five loaves and two fish.” To which Jesus replied, “Bring them to me.” Jesus didn’t demand they bring anything more than they already had. He didn't scoff at the inadequacy of the offering. Instead, He took what was made available, blessed it, and transformed it into more than enough.
As I meditated on this antidote for perfectionism paralysis later in the day, I realized God has built a periodic reminder into the rhythm of our home. It's become such a normal part of our household routine that I barely noticed its significance until today.
Andrea makes homemade sourdough bread. It’s a three day process of feeding and kneading that results in six fresh loaves rising out of the oven on the third day.
Her bread-making ministry (though she'd probably laugh at me calling it that) has fed countless neighbors, newcomers, and friends. It's opened doors for conversations, provided comfort during tough times, and created connections in our community. She would tell you she doesn’t do it perfectly; she just started with what she had.
This is the antidote to perfectionism paralysis: understanding that God doesn't demand perfection from us—He asks for availability. Just as He multiplied those five loaves, He can take our humble offerings and multiply them in ways we never imagined. The miracle of the five loaves reminds us that impact isn't determined by the size of our initial offering, but by the God who can multiply it. Our imperfect efforts, given with willing hearts, become more than enough in His hands.
As you face this new year, maybe you need to reframe your approach to goals and resolutions. Instead of crafting the perfect plan, what if we simply offered what we have?
This year, instead of being paralyzed by perfectionism, I'm learning to bring what I have—messy goals, imperfect plans, and all.
As we step into this new year, perhaps the best resolution we can make is to let go of perfect and simply be present, trusting that God can multiply our humble offerings into something that feeds others in ways we never expected.
The liturgy in Every Moment Holy concludes with this invitation to prayer.
We never have enough.
We give you what we have.
You make of it a feast.
And hand it back to us
to give to others.
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