Laden with Thoughts

Josh and I are going to see “The Passion of the Christ” tomorrow afternoon with some members of our church congregation. If I have time this weekend, and if I’m ready to talk about it, I’ll try to write out some of my thoughts on the movie.

I had some much needed girl time tonight with one of my good friends who I haven’t hung out with in a while. God provided for me right when I needed it.

More later, when I’m not so sleepy.

Josh and I are both involved in the worship ministry at our church, The First Congregational Church of Hopkinton. On our worship team, Josh plays the bass guitar and I am the lead female vocalist. Our team leads the congregation in worship once a month for both Sunday morning services.

Music has always been one of my greatest passions. I am so thankful God chose to give me some talent in the singing department, and I don’t consider it a coincidence that singing makes me more happy than most other things in my life. When I close my eyes and sing to God I find myself transported to a little world where only He and I exist. Singing is also an effective way of focusing my mind during devotions or prayer when I find my mind is wandering. There’s some kind of power involved with singing (and music in general) that I can’t explain.

After a service where my team has led worship, I inevitably have a few people come up to me and tell me how much they enjoyed the worship music that morning, or how a certain song encouraged them in some way. It’s so wonderful to hear how God changes people through my service to Him, so I look forward to getting that type of feedback. I’m sure that sometimes there are people who didn’t particularly enjoy the worship music that morning, but usually I don’t have them come up and say that to my face. (And that’s just fine with me!)

One piece of encouragement I often hear which challenges me each time I hear it is: You did such a wonderful job this morning. I could totally see the love of Jesus in your face.

Wow.

That floors me. What a precious gift God has given me! And what a burden. Sometimes I think these people see me as some kind of sweet, pure, young woman with an incredible relationship with Christ, whereas I see myself as an immature, impure, young girl with a struggling relationship with Christ. Obviously, they don’t know me apart from what they see of me on Sunday mornings. But the question remains in my mind: if these people saw me during the week, would they see the love of Jesus in my face?

Lord, let me be more like the woman these people see: a young woman with the love of Jesus shining through her.

When Josh walked into the kitchen this evening he made a face and asked, What smells like poop? Do you smell that?

I couldn’t smell anything.

That is, I couldn’t smell anything until I walked over to the sink and leaned my head over the dirty saucepan that’s been sitting there for a week waiting for me to wash it. Ohhhhh boy. Suddenly, the poop mystery was solved.

At first it was funny to have a poopy pot in our kitchen. Hahaha, how gross is that, poopy pot in the sink. But after my giggles went away, I got this tight feeling in the pit of my stomach. (I’d know that feeling anywhere.) Guilt.

What kind of wife makes her husband live in a house where he has to worry about poopy pots? What kind of wife can’t sleep at 11:30pm because she’s thinking about how dirty the bathroom is? At midnight last night I was on my hands and knees, in my nightgown, scrubbing the bottom of the bathtub. I’ve always known I had some low self-esteem issues, but what I didn’t expect was for marriage to suddenly bring on a whole new onslaught of guilt about what a “bad person” I am.

Do I intellectually think I’m a bad person? No, I don’t. Does Josh think I’m a bad person? Of course he doesn’t. And yet I still feel like I am one.

Tonight while eating dinner (pizza!) Josh made fun of me about something and I told him as punishment he had to wash the poopy pot. He laughed and said, No way! That’s your responsibility! (When we were first married we each established our assigned duties.) Right after he said that, I felt so sad. Not because he did anything wrong, but just because I was so disappointed in myself. I think I always pictured my career as a housewife as a stellar one. I thought everything would be clean all the time and I would have dinner on the table by 6pm.

Who was I kidding? And now that I’ve completely not lived up to that expectation of myself as a wife, I feel like I’ve let down everyone. I’ve let down Josh, I’ve let down my mom, I’ve let down myself.

Really, it’s not so bad. I know I’m loved despite my “deficiencies”, and I’m so glad to be where I am at this moment of my life. God is taking care of me. I think sometimes I just need to write things out… it helps me put it all in perspective a bit more.

Plus, there’s Ben & Jerry’s in the freezer. (Girls, you know what I’m saying.)

As he dropped my interoffice mail in my inbox, Greg the mail guy said to me:

I always save the best for last!

Thank you, Greg! I said, somewhat touched.

Greg the mail guy then proceded to pass out interoffice mail to 4 of my other co-workers, much to my chagrin (and to the amusement of Jay the IRA guy).

Jay, chuckling: That guy is as drunk as a skunk.

I love my job.

George Washington is getting cheated by me today. Although I appreciate everything he did for our country, I’m not spending my Monday off of work thinking about him, or being grateful for him. Nor am I thinking about the good qualities of our other past presidents. Instead, I am thinking about myself.

(It’s not that I’m a very selfish person. This happens to me everytime I have a holiday from work.)

My day off always begins with an inner battle about what time I will rouse myself from the comfortable, warm cocoon I have made with the crumpled sheets and quilt. I think, I don’t need to get up at a reasonable time, this is my day off! Inevitably, guilt shortly sets in due to my disdain for my incredibly lazy attitude and I find myself in a grumpy sort of half-awake state, wishing I could either go back to sleep or get up cheerfully with no regrets. This goes on until a) it’s 11:30am and the guilt has reached an unbearable level, and/or b) i really really need to use the bathroom.

This morning, it was the bathroom reason.

Once I am actually awake and out of bed, a new struggle begins. This second ordeal focuses on my need for a shower and the knowledge that if I do not force myself to take a shower I will most certainly wind up on the living room couch in my mismatched pajamas, watching BBC America and eating stale crackers which have been sitting on a shelf in the kitchen for at least 2 weeks. If, miraculously, I win the battle and find myself showered and dressed, I will half-heartedly clean a few things downstairs. Encouraged by this show of anti-laziness I will then reward myself with some sort of snack and an hour or so of BBC America.

This morning, I did not shower. (I love that show “Ground Force”, don’t you?)

Once I have watched more television than is good for me and eaten something which satisfied my hunger but left me with a tummy ache, I find I have reached a critical point in my day off. Now is the time where I sit on the couch with the television off, stare around the room forlornly, and wonder what is the matter with me. Why don’t I clean up like a good housewife? Why don’t I begin that correspondence class on Federal Regulations I’m supposed to complete for work? Why don’t I (gasp) leave the house and do some grocery shopping? Why don’t I want to do ANYTHING?

On every day off, I always arrive at the same conclusion. I need (no, I want) to be a different person. There are two options for me: I must either learn to sleep blissfully throughout each day and night, or I must learn to get up with readiness and a desire to accomplish something during the day. These are issues I’m praying about. Josh assures me I am not a bad housewife, despite my lack of cleaning and grocery shopping skills.

Did the presidents worry about these things on their days off? Did they ever find themselves, at 3:20 in the afternoon, sitting unshowered at their desk in their pajamas, complaining about their lack of motivation?

Is it Tuesday yet?

Valentine’s Day weekend was perfect… almost.

A-Rod goes to the New York Yankees.

Stake through my heart much? It’s true, I was passionately against the Red Sox trading Nomar Garciaparra to obtain A-Rod in the first place. Sure, A-Rod is a better hitter than Nomar is. But… it’s Nomar. And I love him. And this is my blog so I can say anything I want. So there.

Now that A-Rod is going to the Evil Empire, I don’t regret that the Sox didn’t grab him a few months ago. However, I don’t think I can stomach the fact that he’s now property of Steinbrenner. (A-rod, we hardly knew ye!)

Today as I left work at 4:30pm I had a stronger sense of happiness and anticipation than I normally do when leaving work on a Friday. Two things were pressing on my mind:

1. I am now free for three, long, wonderful days.

2. My husband is taking me to Boston for two of them.

I’ve always said I would love to live in Boston for a year. I could live in a semi-nice apartment, take public transportation instead of driving, and have access to so many places and experiences that I don’t have access to while living in suburbia. Instead of going to the mall to buy a card at Hallmark, I would happily ride the T to the nearest independent stationary store to pick out something creative and unique. Instead of eating at Uno’s on Saturday night, my friends and I would go to an Irish pub for some beer and shepherd’s pie. Instead of the movies, the Museum of Fine Arts.

You get the general idea.

This weekend will be a nice chance for Josh and I to relax, have a night on the town, and reflect on the past eight months of our lives. Yesterday Josh mentioned to me the novelty of the fact that since our wedding day we have not spent a single night apart from one another. And we still really, truly, love each other.

If that isn’t romantic, I don’t know what is. Happy Valentine’s Day.

Springtime Indiana
You are sleeping by my side
Here across the miles we ramble
Past where the road divides
I wish I could tell you…but I just can’t find the words

I’ve never been good with my thoughts
And even worse with my words
But you read like familiar poetry
That I have never heard…
I wish I could tell you…but I just can’t find the words

So let’s move across the ocean
And pitch the tent stakes wide
You be the one to come after me
And I will be your bride…
I wish I could tell you…but I just can’t find the words

I am all at once courageous
I am all at once afraid
It came over me like nightfall
Like a freight train
I can’t seem to hold it in
But I can’t seem to run away

You came in without notice
And settled all around my heart
Took up residence in all the places
That were vacant and dark…
I wish I could tell you…but I just can’t find the words

Springtime Indiana
You are starting to wake
And I am laden with the thoughts
Of everything I mean to say
I wish I could tell you,
But I just can’t find the words.