I just had what might be one of the most important conversations I may ever have with my eight-year-old son. Not only is he the oldest, but he is also very advanced academically - and both of these things contribute to his severe perfectionism.
If he can't do something perfectly the first time, he gets extremely upset. If he makes a mistake on a math test, he cries and calls himself stupid: "I'm the dumbest kid in the whole world!" If he makes a bad choice resulting in a consequence, his contrition is often accompanied by exclamations of self-hatred. It's awful and it breaks my heart. I know from personal experience (being a gifted oldest myself) how crippling perfectionism can be. And for the longest time, nothing I have said (or tried to model about the learning process) seems to help, at least not for long. It matters not to him if I note that others have to struggle to learn new things, that everyone makes mistakes, that we all make bad choices sometimes, that our mistakes are our biggest opportunites to learn and grow, that he wouldn't treat a friend who makes a mistake as badly as he treats himself. He thinks he should be an exception. On top of all that, I then hear "But Mom, God says we need to be perfect!"
Ugh. I have long struggled with this verse myself. Surely it means just that we ought always to do our best, to never stop trying, to let ourselves be perfected with God's grace over time. But those explanations don't quite suffice for him.
On Saturday, I was gifted with a new understanding of this verse. I was at my monthly Catechesis of the Good Shephed training (I am working towards my Level II certification), and we were discussing how to present the maxims of Jesus to 6-9 year olds. This is the age when children develop a moral sensitivity. In Level I for 3-6 year olds, the focus is on helping a child come to know Christ's love for them, that He knows them by name, protects them from all harm, gives them all they need. They respond with a joy-filled falling in love with Him. The 6-9 year old child, however, begins to awaken to a true understanding of right and wrong, and the catechist's role is to help them learn to choose right action as a loving response to the gift of God's love.
The maxims that are presented to the children are the ones dealing with how we treat our enemies. "Love your enemies." "Do good to those who hurt you." "Treat others as you would have them treat you." "I give you a new commandment - love one another as I have loved you."
And then, this one: "Be made perfect, as your Heavenly Father is perfect." What? How does this fit with the others? And why would we present this, of all verses, to a child struggling with learning to choose right over wrong. Isn't that just setting them up to feel like a failure?
Well! My trainer pointed out to me that this verse, part of the Sermon on the Mount, is given in the context of love for enemies as well:
"You have heard that it was said, 'You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust. For if you love those who love you, what reward have you? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? And if you salute only your brethren, what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same? You, therefore, must be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect." (Matthew 5:43-48)
It was a proverbial light-bulb-over-the-head moment. HOW had I never noticed or realized this? That the perfection called for here was not that of never making a mistake or a bad choice, but that of mercy towards our enemies? In fact, Luke's version of that part of the Sermon says "Be merciful, even as your Father is merciful." (Luke 6:36)
Nathan was SO excited when I shared this with him. We spoke about how sometimes, our greatest enemy is ourselves, and that God wants us to be be merciful and gentle with ourselves as well when we miss the mark. I could almost see his shoulders relaxing as the burden of perfectionism he has carried for so long was, at least in part, lifted. And I shared in his joy.

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