Pardon My Progress

     There's a hotel in our town that is undergoing renovation.  At the onset, it was one big mess- old furniture strewn about the grounds, debris cluttering the parking lot.  Little by little, the mess has been cleaned up and the facade of the building has taken on a new look.  Still the work remains incomplete, presumably renovation going on inside, as the doors have not yet opened for business and there remains a sign upon the marquis that reads, "Pardon our progress."

     I love that sign.  It's ripe with hopeful anticipation of something glorious yet to come.  And I've pondered that sign.  I've determined that I really need one hanging around my neck.  "Pardon my progress."  It would serve to remind myself and others that I'm not a finished piece.  Sometimes I forget that.  I'm not how I was.  Some of my messiness has been cleared away.  But sometimes the mess I cant see is so much more far reaching than some of the outward junk.  Like a tree grown around a wire fence, the wire embedding itself into the young sapling, I have things embedded into my being that were never intended to be a part of who I am.  Lies I've embraced distort my perception of truth.  The toxins seeping from heart wounds have damaged my ability to give and receive love.  If I'm to continue becoming, renovation remains a must.

     I could settle, I suppose.  After all, it's not like I can't tell improvements have been made.  Quite frankly, I'm growing impatient as I look within and recognize how much work is left.  I think of the hotel.  More than likely there are those who drive by and wonder what in the world is taking so long.  The outside appears to be in order; open up already!  But if they caught a glimpse of what remains left to be finished, they would understand.  It's still a big mess.  But what's more important still, I believe, is that they catch a glimpse of what's yet to be.  If they were to see beyond the mess and gain a vision for the end result, I think their impatience would be tempered.  And maybe if I were to wear a reminder about my neck, a sign reading "Pardon my progress", the impatience I have toward my seemingly stunted growth would likewise be tempered.

     Truth be told, I'm just as guilty of looking at others on their journey of becoming with the same intolerance toward their slow growth as I am myself.  It's so easy to desire grace for myself, desperately wanting others to take note that I remain incomplete- I'm a masterpiece still in the making- while I pass judgment based on their lack of completeness.  Maybe if we all were to don pardon signs, we'd remember to look beyond what we can see to the potential for what can become.