Is anybody else tired of feeling guilty all the the time for everything? Probably not. That’s probably just my unique dysfunction. But I can’t remember a time of not feeling guilty about at least one thing at any given moment. Very often several things simultaneously. Unless it’s the 30 seconds after confession before I rejoin the imperfect world with all its imperfect people and imperfect circumstances.
My husband kisses me goodbye as he leaves for work at 7:15 and I’m still in bed. Guilt. My kids are both gone to work when I finally emerge from my room. Guilt. My eighty-six year old mother can’t join me for coffee because she is at work. Guilt. I come home from somewhere and my husband is doing his own laundry. Guilt. My clothes are getting very tight. Guilt. I see my six pairs of jogging shoes sitting around the house and wonder why I am not out jogging. Guilt. (This one is really messed up because, in reality, if I’m going to feel guilt it should be because I even have six pairs of joggers. ) My adult kids struggle with issues I should have realized and addressed when they were littles. Guilt. I’m at Starbucks/Chapters in the middle of the day reading, writing, planning my pathetic non-life. Guilt. I’m sitting in my comfy writing and reading chair and realize it’s 2:30am. Guilt. I don’t feel like going to church today. Guilt. (Why not? It’s not like I have something better to do.) No supper made again tonite (because I was too busy sitting around feeling guilty). Guilt. I haven’t really cleaned for three weeks. Guilt. I’m reading a good book, sipping on an peach green tea lemonade and crunching my favorite sweet BBQ chips (a very small one serving bag). Guilt. I’m putting regular gas in my Infiniti because its cheaper than mid grade (which makes the car perform better) because I only have $20 for gas until next pay. Guilt. My basement is loaded to the rafters with card making supplies, fabric for clothes and quilting, self help books, business magazines, exercise equipment and weights and I sit here and read and journal or pin things on Pinterest. Guilt. I have piles of unread books scattered around the house. Guilt.
I always feel like I should be doing something else. That I should be someone else. That I should be thinking about something else. Guilt. Guilt. Guilt.
So I’m going to go paint. Still… Guilt. I’m not Michael Angelo or Leonardo DaVinci. I’m not Monet or Picasso (thank the Lord). What right have I got to paint? What right have I got to write? I’m not C.S. Lewis or J.R. Tolkien or Robert Louise Stevenson. Heck… I’m not even J.K Rowling. So maybe I’ll go cook and test and make up recipes. Who do I think I am? Julia Child? Gordon Ramsey? Martha Stewart? Well I’m almost Martha Stewart…. without all the hired help. I shouldn’t have time for this nonsense (interpreted by some as worthwhile pursuits). I should be at work and bringing home the bacon. Literally. I should be bringing it home with mid grade gas and cooking it and serving it. Throwing in the laundry and going to bed at 10:30pm so I can get up for ‘work’ (outside the home) and do it all over again tomorrow. Would that eliminate the guilt?
Probably not because I always felt guilty working in an office because I felt that somehow I sold out to my creative skills. That I had missed my calling.
I shouldn’t have said that. Guilt. I shouldn’t have done that. Guilt. I shouldn’t have thought that. Guilt. What’s inside eventually comes out. Guilt. I live in Canada not Syberia or Syria. Guilt. I live in a beautiful home. Guilt. I can soak in the tub anytime I want to. Guilt. I can sit by the fireplace and enjoy the warmth (ok, sweltering heat-menopause) while a snow blizzard envelops the land outside. Guilt. I have a wonderful husband and two amazing kids who all speak to me and, from all appearances, love me while thousands of other families suffer estrangement and unforgiveness and revenge. Guilt.
There is no condemnation in Christ Jesus!
Oh.
Refocus my guilt into gratefulness, thanksgiving and praise for all my blessings? I am here in these circumstances ‘for such as time as this? I’ ve been given permission by the creator to create? The Lord has proved me righteous which is the same as innocent? I’ve been proven innocent afterall. No more guilt. Well, I’m working on that.
The Red Plaid Apron 