Do us both a favour.

Tell me when I crowd in, tell me when I'm too much, tell me when I bother you, tell me when I hurt you, tell me when I'm insensitive, tell me when you feel neglected, tell me when I let you down, tell me when I'm there for you the way you want me to be, tell me when I'm anything less then perfect.

Only, that's too much to ask. That's something I can't give either.

...Perfect....

I remember when I was nine, I became a prefect in St. Hilda's Primary School. I was the teacher's pet, to a certain extent, class monitor, one of the top students in class. I always did my homework. I did ballet, played the piano, sailed, and joined the choir. I was friendly, had my friends and almost no enemies and if I had it my way, I would be friends with everyone.

So I became a prefect at nine. No surprise to many, but for me, it was a semi-surprise. And now i realise why.

"ahhh... so you're a prefect now. Are you perfect?"

I know she meant well, maybe even flattery.
But at that moment, I faltered, I could not find my voice, my nervous smile took over, my blood drained away and my head started spinning.

My mother tenderly vocalised then what I was too hideously broken and ashamed to reveal.
"No she's not"

It's still the same today.
Thank God that in brokenness He is strong. Now i Just have to convince myself...