“Though I walk in the midst of trouble, you preserve my life.”
— a promise that does not require perfection.
I slip. Sometimes in small ways. Sometimes in patterns that feel all too familiar. It frustrates me at first, but I have begun to notice something vital: imperfection is not the enemy. It is part of the rhythm of growth.
I do not meet it with self-recrimination or irritation. Instead, I allow it space to exist, while quietly returning to what matters. Faith, practice, stillness—they are not erased by a misstep.
I am not arrived. I may never be. And yet, the readiness to return, over and over, seems to be what truly counts.
Today I forgave the slip without announcing it. I walked back toward the path, slow but steady, acknowledging that the journey is longer than the misstep.
Perhaps what matters most is fidelity—not perfection. Not achievement. Just the willingness to keep coming back.
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