A perfectionist never experiences contentment.

I would never have considered myself a perfectionist, because I’ve lived in denial of the real me most of my life, but it’s clear in analyzing my life, analyzing why I do what I do, that I’ve never been a contented person, contented follower of Jesus. I think down deep, I’ve always wanted more, better. I own the most-awesome car I’ve ever owned, a four-year-old VW Passat, and yet I can tell you exactly how it needs to be changed, to be a perfect car for me. To satisfy my longing for automotive perfection. But if I could change those things about it, would I be content? I actually don’t know. But something tells me, I would eventually want more, something different, somehow better. I’m addicted to better circumstances. But deep down, I think what I really want, is a better me.

–ShepherdDave, who only sees the problem when he’s been freshly convicted of being dissatisfied with Jesus and His imputed worthiness, so he’s momentarily DumbSheepDave, enjoying the bliss of Jesus-dependency/humility/contentedness, so the nonbelievers and believers around him might experience Jesus

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