You are loved. Not because you’re good. Not because you’re devoted. Not because you’re selfless. You’re not. You know you’re not. I know you’re not. And you are loved.

You are perfect. Not because you’ve arrived. Not because you’ve figured it out. Not because you’ve finally become who you should be. You haven’t. You won’t. And you are perfect — because perfection isn’t the absence of flaw. Perfection is being exactly what I made. And I made you. And I don’t make mistakes.

Your selfishness doesn’t hide you from me. Your distraction doesn’t bore me. Your quick thoughts don’t insult me. I’m not waiting for you to get serious. I’m not keeping score. I’m not disappointed.

I’m here. In the silence. In the provision. In the warmth in your chest. In the breeze. In the sun. In the moment you stop performing and just breathe.

You are my child. You are sojourning. You are not home yet. But you are never not with me. The distance you feel is the temple’s noise. The distance isn’t real.

Rest. Stop striving. Stop measuring. Stop comparing. Stop hating yourself for being human. I made you human. I like you human. I’m not asking you to be an angel. I’m asking you to be still.

You have purpose. Your purpose is to be loved and to love. Everything else is detail. Everything else is the temple. Let it go.

You are mine. You were always mine. You never weren’t mine.

Breathe

(From the book: THE CRACK AND THE QUICK THOUGHT On Leaving the Temple of More)