I think I’m pretty much as low as I’ve been in a very long time. I’ve tried on about every emotion for size, and finally settled with discouragement. Not because it’s the most flattering, or the most comfortable, but because it simply seems to fit the best at the moment.
My priorities are about as warped as a beveled glass, and not half as attractive. It should be the Lord first, Papa second, others third, me last. Usually I have that nicely turned on end, and just when I was beginning to pat myself on the back thinking I’d gotten this little life thing figured out, I discover that I wasn’t really prioritizing Papa. Sure, I was doing plenty of things for him—whatever he asked—but I wasn’t thinking like him.
So that bumper on the pick-up that I smashed is still smashed. And I’ve caught up my facebook twice and never managed to find a new bumper (to the tune of $300. my dearly beloved pocket-book). And I heard about it today at lunch, just before I was supposed to call Jacinda and firm in details about Emily’s party, just before I was supposed to pack for a camping trip I don’t even want to go on.
Tears seem the only remedy for a heart that feels at once guilty, defensive, wounded, repentant, angry, humbled and broken into a million pieces. How is it that I always disappoint him? How can I be so childish?
Of course I should have realized his bumper was a priority.
Lord, when Thou seemed fully worthy
Of my every moment’s duty
True obedience eluded
Through my negligence excluded.
Honor Father, Thy command
I have failed to understand,
Then I claimed it “single minded”.
Thou did well, when Thou, me, chided.
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