I spent hours in the library, putting alternate feet to sleep because I can’t seem to sit on my bottom instead of my ankles, researching spa care, bumper buying, Canon owning and trying to order Jonathan Lindvall’s Bold Christian Youth Seminar. We’re planning to open up our home on Friday nights for an all-new, improved listen-through of these tapes.
After I got home I refilled Papa’s printer cartridge, installed the program he couldn’t find on his computer, tested both and got supper on early. Buying back his love is a nasty phrase to tack on my very productive day, but it’s certainly the best description I can think of. Maybe not his love, since I know, somewhere inside the cavern of my subconscious mind, that he still loves me, but it’s certainly an appeal to be reinstated in his favor. I hope I found a bumper that will satisfy, for a little less money than I’d feared, though my stomach still does nervous little flip-flops when I think of the lovely little whirlpool of a drain this will make on my finances. And just when I was hoping to make some purchases.
So I catch myself blaming Papa and justifying myself and thinking all sorts of logical things. Like, when you work for an employer, and you brake something on the job, the employer expects to replace it. So this is the same concept: I had no choice. I was doing a job he assigned me, as he assigned it to be done, and I broke the bumper. I shouldn’t have to pay to replace it. Especially since I really have no money since he won’t let me work for another employer.
Basically, it boils down to an issue of trust. I’ve decided I know what’s best for me and for all concerned. For someone else to handle my problem and let me off the hook so that I can buy the camera I want.
Why do I have a sneaking suspicion that I really haven’t learned anything about responsibility? Who is whispering in my ear that the only good outcome of this situation has been an increases sensitivity to people with migraine headaches? Where did that dreadful fear that I might do the same stupid thing again come from?
What are my priorities? I think they are the Lord, Papa, others then me. Could it be that I’m really first, and serving the others is just might sneaky way of benefiting myself?
Lord, my heart is so deceptive.
When I claim it’s grown receptive
It is only that I’m fearing
Another, harder spanking’s nearing.
When will I become mature?
No more clouded or obscure
Motives leading me to linger--
Evade Thy disciplining finger.