I cannot stop thinking about my favorite Christmas present. My girls reached out to a number of special women in my life who all wrote letters to me. Women I am ridiculously immensely proud of, and thankful to have in my life. The messages are so moving I haven’t even been able to read them all yet.

They are also so impossible I haven’t been able to read them yet. I know I am good at some things, and I am pretty aware of what they are. But at the same time I persistently feel like I’ve not done enough or that I’ve missed something. The curse of perfectionism, I guess. Or maybe it’s first child problems.

Since I opened the collection, I have prayed about our purposes in each other’s lives and I’ve wondered if I am worthy of their comments. I also asked God to help me see myself as they see me and in doing so, said the words help me understand.

And then I laughed out loud and I think God must have, too.

Help me understand is my go-to line when something goes awry.

More specifically, it’s for when something goes awry and I cannot shout the things in my head like why, why, why would you do that? or seriously, why can’t you get this? It’s my very appropriate way of getting someone to walk me through their thought process while I work hard to fix my face. It’s also for when I call BS at the “news” on screen, when someone’s “logic” is based on feelings, or when someone or something does not behave as expected.

Help me understand…why I do not understand.

Maybe the root of what I need help understanding is what I am supposed to be when I’m a grownup. Which is silly because I am 51 years old. I am a grownup. I have a grownup job and grownup responsibilities. But in so many ways I still feel like a kid. And I think I have secretly believed that if I do a good job on the way to being a grownup, then someday I will be able to really make a difference or do something great when I get there – while at the same time perpetually thinking I’ve not been good enough to get to grownup yet.

But this morning I was reminded of who I am when I read the entry in Max Lucado’s God is With You Every Day and then when an old Francesca Battistelli song came up in iTunes.

God’s child. Redeemed. Forgiven. Complete. God’s coworker. And His workmanship.

Spent today in a conversation, in the mirror face to face with, somebody less than perfect, I wouldn’t choose me first…True to who You are, You saw my heart and made something out of nothing.

The key to believing the words in the letters is remembering who I am and whose I am.