Rules.

This summer I spent time volunteering at Safety Town where kids going into kindergarten get to learn all about how to be safe. I was the traffic light operator in our model village where preschool kids zipped by each other on tricycles, practicing obeying stop signs, red lights, and arrows. At first I was just in charge of switching the light from red to green at appropriate times. By the end of the week I was primarily watching for impending collisions, pointing at the arrow markings, caring for boo-boos, strapping on bike helmets, and telling one imaginative boy that he was not allowed to be an ambulance, ignoring all traffic signals.

I learned a lot about myself during this week. I realized how much of a rule follower I am. I panic when rules aren't obeyed, which is why this job quickly felt far more chaotic and stressful than it should have. I realized that I love order, and I expect other people to do what is right. I like controlling situations and having things going according to my plans.

Rules are in place to be followed in order to keep people safe. But when they begin to dominate my life as I worry about whether I'm doing everything I'm supposed to, something's off. That's not the point of rules. Rules are meant to provide guidelines in order to allow a fuller life. So many people see rules as a negative thing.

And then there are people like me... who adore them.

I also realized how much rules dominate my life. I live by them. In a sense I have lived for them. I often get so bogged down in the details of following rules that I lose the intent behind them. I worry and overanalyze... and sometimes it takes the joy out of living life to the fullest.

I have always wanted to be seen by other people as the "good girl." But the more I try to prove to the world how "perfect" I am, the more I prove a different thing: how flawed I am. It hurts to fall on my face consistently, especially when I'm trying to live a life of goodness.

As I ponder this deeper, I realize that the more I try to do the right thing, the more I fail. And the more I fail, the more I see my need for grace. The more I fall short, the more I learn to cherish grace. As long as I think I'm doing all right, I have no need for mercy. No room for grace. It is when I am humbled, brought low, and overflowing with failure that grace envelops me.

I would much rather be a failure embraced by grace than a perfect, put-together, self-deceiving... fool.