The perfect gift of imperfection

My toes caught the vines, causing a slight trip. The next step landed my foot onto a rotten pumpkin, goo eased under my toes and over the top of my sandals. Shaking it off made no difference; like glue, it would stick to me for the remainder of the search. I scrutinized each pumpkin certain I would find perfect one, round faced and beautiful with no flaws. I moved from one to another with no luck. I would spy a beautifully round front, only to roll it over to find the birds had feasted on it or the back was flat, evidence it had laid gazing up at the sky during it’s growing season.

Defeated, I stopped. What am I doing looking for the perfect pumpkin? What is a perfect pumpkin anyway? So I stood still as if soaking in a sunset. Thousands of pumpkins sat quiet, waiting, waiting….It was as if I was there alone in the middle of that field. I heard nothing. In silence I spanned the crop waiting for the one pumpkin to call out to me. Back and forth and further away my eyes explored and then, I saw it, the one.

The pumpkin lived off in the distance. I walked with some effort over vines, wiggling my toes back from the fine prickles that lightly scratched as I maneuvered on my mission. I bent over to pick it up. It displayed a scar across it’s back, pock marks were spattered over it’s side and dirt was dug into the ridges on it’s backbone. It radiated a remarkable color of orange with a twinge of yellow vibrantly seeking its way out. This was it, my perfect match. In the patch of thousands of pumpkins, this is the one that spoke to me.

I lifted from the ground and dusted it off. Out of the stem, vines leaped giving it a sense of whimsy. I walked back slowly, proudly and gently laid it in the wheelbarrow where it became one of many, each different, each a perfect match for the one who chose it. An excellent pumpkin I thought. And after all, excellence doesn’t require perfection and perfect, well perfect is my pumpkin and it’s us, just as we are, flaws and all.

I couldn’t have had a better experience or embraced a more beautiful fall gift, a pumpkin, and a reminder of how perfect is this gift of imperfection.

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