Sunday morning I dress pretty, smile pretty, sing pretty (or at least I try). I nod as Pastor speaks, highlight scripture, make notes in my Bible. I give hugs and “thank yous” and “how are yous”. I shake hands. I say Amen. Then I turn and walk away. Monday I take an extra five minutes at work, light a cigarette, curse the driver in front of me. Tuesday I keep company with someone I should not; forget who I am. Whose I am. Wednesday I turn from a lonely soul, not wanting to be bothered, not having the time. Thursday, well, I won’t speak of that, but He knows. Friday I am opinionated, judgmental. I gossip. I let words soar through my lips like arrows, hurting one I love. Saturday I realize I am a Sunday Christian, a Monday through Friday sinner. I fail each and every day, in so many ways. Perhaps I’m only pretending? Maybe I’m not fit for church, not fit to walk through these doors, not fit to stand here now. But the very one I hurt reminds me that church is not about saints, but about sinners. That perfection only comes when Jesus does. That this is right where I need to be. So I walk through the doors again. I bring my failing, sinful self back into His house and lay it all down, pray for forgiveness, strive for repentance. I pray to be stronger, wiser. I pray to be more gracious, more forgiving. I pray for less opinions and more love. I pray to be a daily disciple. But I will fail. You will too. I’ll hurt you, and you’ll hurt me. We’ll let each other down. So we come before the One who never does and lay it all down. We fall to our knees and press our noses to the very ground where blood and earth became One. Then we get up again. We rise up and go again, try again, our imperfect selves in this imperfect world, true Perfection walking right beside us.