"Can I help?" asked my small cousin, Katie, as I pulled chocolate chips, flour, butter, and other ingredients from their respective places in the kitchen.

"Okay." I knew it would take me longer to bake the cookies with the "assistance" of a seven-year-old, but I didn't mind. She watched me microwave the butter and begin to mix in the sugar before she asked for a turn with the wooden spoon. Gripping it with two hands, she stirred with great deliberation – but not great success. After a few minutes, she asked me to finish creaming the ingredients because her arms had grown tired. Gladly, I finished mixing and making under her watchful eye. Children watch us. They imitate our actions. Similarly, followers of Christ watch and imitate Him. To comprehend how God feels about this imitation, it makes sense to think about how we feel when children imitate our actions. When a child wants to "help," are most parents annoyed because they know he will do it imperfectly and slow the process? We will not care that our little imitator is slow and clumsy: we will see her willingness to learn and pardon the imperfections. Our Father, too, looks at us through the lens of love and forgiveness. We cannot emulate Christ's perfection, but we can bring Him pleasure and glory by imitating Him.

Jesus tells us to "be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect" (Matthew 5:48). Isn't that an impossible request? No one can perfectly keep the law. Jesus also tells us that "no one is good – except God alone" (Luke 18:19b) and that "all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God" (Romans 3:23). How can the Spirit say these things and simultaneously call us to an impossible standard – perfection?

As the redeemed of Christ, there is a dimension in which we are already perfect. It's the same dimension where "God raised us up with Christ and seated us with him in the heavenly realms in Christ Jesus" (Ephesians 2:6). From my point of view, I am a selfish, somewhat lazy individual who regularly snaps at family members and occasionally engages in gossip. Yet God looks at me and sees perfection. He sees Christ. He is blind to my flaws – because He chooses to be. My worship, my activities – everything I do "as to the Lord, and not to men" – gets washed and seasoned with perfection as it rises to heaven. He searches my heart and, to my astonishment, finds me perfect.

In our dimension, however – in the reality of our physical world – I am still imperfect and my attempts at imitating Christ are not accurate. In Romans 7, Paul moans about the realities of daily life in the flesh and his frustrated efforts to control his thoughts and actions. Paul messed up, and so do I. Acceptance of my physical imperfection might tempt me to despair, except I know that I do not live under the jurisdiction of the moral law I try (and fail) to keep. My efforts are flawed and my imitations bumbling, but the glory of Romans 8 is that I am not under law, but grace. No longer condemned for actions I do or do not perform, I am justified by faith. My actions will bear fruit, either good or bad, but God no longer looks at them to gauge my progress. He goes to the root of everything, my heart.

I could do nice things like encouraging friends, helping elderly people, or adopting homeless puppies. I could do these things for good reasons (because I have compassion or want to show love) or bad reasons (I want to show off – to earn favor with other people or with God). Perhaps I can fool others or win their admiration, but God is clever. He sees through my outward actions to the thoughts and motivations of my heart. If He sees faith and earnest love for Him as the motivating factors behind my actions, then to Him my clumsy imitations of Him are graceful. Perfect.

Because I know God sees my heart, I am confident in His judgment. When I have to use two hands to stir the cookie dough, and still ask Him to finish the job because I'm too weak, He looks at my heart and chooses to see perfection rather than my weakness. Because of grace, my imitation is perfected.