Unfinished

I like closure. A lot. I like turning projects in, getting things all the way organized down to the last paper clip, and feeling like I’m done with something. The lonely sock on the floor of an otherwise-clean room drives me crazy. Maybe it’s perfectionism, but I’m okay with that. Just let me finish the job.

Lately I’ve been a little discouraged by all the unfished things in my life. The curtains that never quite got made. The project I got off my desk that gets returned with “a few more changes” from the author. The bins of clothes I discovered in my daughter’s closet when I was hanging up what I thought were the last of her fall clothes. The dishes, the cooking, the cleaning. Most of what I do never gets finished. Just when I think I’m getting close to an empty in-box, here comes another school form. Sometimes I dream about empty laundry hampers, but I always wake up to more dirty laundry. There are days when finishing a cup of coffee before it gets cold seems like an impossible task.

And then, of course, there are the kids. Just when I think we’ve gotten past a rough patch and can sail along for a while, I discover a new challenge around the bend. Right now we are in the midst of college applications—a year of seemingly endless forms and appointments with a lot of unknowns. Even when the question of what happens next year (or for the next four years) is resolved there will be another unknown: what comes next for my soon-to-be-adult child? The empty nest may be a finish line of sorts, but the joys and trials of parenting don’t end just because the kids move out of the house. The dailyness of parenting diminishes, but they’ll always be my kids. Bigger kids just means bigger problems. In some ways, every person on the planet is in some stage of transition.

In my discouragement about everything that is unfinished, I realize that the most unfinished thing of all is me. The same little sins keep cropping up, reminding me that I haven’t conquered them after all. I find new areas of weakness, things I didn’t realize about myself, and now that I’ve seen them, I want to fix them. To check them off my to-do list.

Back in the old days wealthy families would send their girls to “finishing school,” and right about now that sounds like a nice place to be. I’d like to rub off these rough edges and arrive at a new and improved me, one that is poised and confident and put-together. But I know that’s impossible. Finishing school might help my outside, but the inside will always need work.

So where do I find comfort? In the promises that one day, God will complete the work He's doing in me.

The Lord will fulfill his purpose for me;
    your steadfast love, O Lord, endures forever.
    Do not forsake the work of your hands.—Psalm 138:8

And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.            —Philippians 1:6

There is an end. I will one day finish my race and receive a new, perfect body. All the struggle, all the heartache, all the sin has an expiration date. Best of all, the result, this perfect finish, does not depend on me, but on God whose steadfast love endures forever. He will complete His work in me. Just as a diamond is formed through the combined force of time and pressure, so the pressures of life are a force He will use to make me beautiful.

In light of the certainty that there will be a finish line to this race called life, I can find contentment in this in-between time when I—along with everyone around me—am unfished. God has already begun the good work of finishing me, and because of that, all my striving is a worthwhile endeavor. The work I do for and through Christ gets me closer to the goal. It is not in vain. Even learning to be content with all the unfinished projects in my life is a process of refinement that moves me toward the goal of finishing my race well.

And so, as I sit at my desk, surrounded by unfinished projects, I am thankful. Thankful that there is satisfying work to be done. Thankful that God has a purpose for me, and for each of my children. Thankful that the results are absolutely sure because they depend on Him, not on me. And thankful that I’m not finished yet, because that means I won’t have to live with these sharp edges forever.