It’s Christmas Eve. I’ve spent the day cleaning. (I may have also put some effort into dodging the nastier work…) It’s been a busy few days, what with preparing the house for company, Christmas, lists upon lists, and my dad’s surgery (which went well, but he is in pain. Prayers would be nice.).
I have a couple of things I would like to bring up. The first hit me hard today. The thing is, I can’t bake (or cook) and when I clean, things tend to get worse. It’s not that I don’t try. I do! I may not enjoy it, and my body may (will) react like I have the flu when I clean, even when I’m having fun organizing (I prefer details), but I do try. However, a standard is only a standard for a single person. I think mine is lower than the rest of my family’s in certain aspects…
My poor sister was cursed with the abilities to cook, bake, wrap gifts (No, I can’t even do that properly), and clean with ease (although she doesn’t enjoy the last, per say). It’s safe to say she’s had to do more than me, although the effort could be debated which leads me to paragraph four!
It’s not my fault that my body overheats, gets exhausted, (and when I use actual cleaners) tears up and acts like I have a bad cold. It’s not my fault that the sound of a vacuum cleaner is almost comparable to nails down a chalkboard. It’s not my fault that I can’t make macaroni and cheese without dehydrating or making a soup of it (with the exact same recipe, thank you very much. And yes, from a box…). It’s not my fault that I can’t wrap a present without it looking like it was mobbed by a cat (and half actually are)! Why? Because I try! I really do! In fact, I may very well be putting more effort in because I am not naturally talented.
Oh, effort. I wish my family could understand that. There is a difference between the amount of work and the amount of effort. My sister could get three things done in the time it takes me to finish one. I wish I could have talked her into wrapping her own presents…
Because of this difference, there is also a closely related difference between a compliment and recognition. I abhor compliments. They’re only given to people who do something well according to a standard. That stupid standard… I get compliments with piano, soccer, and my writing. According to that standard, I must be something! I get compliments. But what really irks me is that while everyone will compliment me (I’m a goal keeper in soccer) on what they believe was a spectacular save, I only had to move a step to the left and catch the ball that flew straight into my hands. And some of the things that I pride myself on the most, no one notices. Yeah? You think that was normal? Here! You catch it! Basically, I’m saying that the things I get compliments most in, I am moderately good at. I’ll never be complimented on the cleanness of my room. At the most, I’ll get recognition.
Oh, recognition. I have missed you. It’s a hard thing to attain. The fact that I can feed myself is a great achievement deserving of recognition. Yet, I’ll never get that. Ever. I only just figured out how to properly slice a piece of cheese the other month. In all honesty, that may have been a bigger thing than the 6 or so thousand words I wrote all in one day. Who am I kidding, it was! I guess I’m just annoyed that while my sister has gotten compliments of praise in the past couple days, I haven’t gotten so much as a, “Oh. Something looks different (And by different, I mean better, not worse, because I have gotten that.).” We do the same amount of work! Ugh.
I’ve accumulated a great many more books these past few days. As such, I’ve had to go trhough the new ones, and decide which to put on my “Read Immediately” list. I have five nonfictions, as they are a bit more important right now, plus five CS Lewis books (not the children ones either) that I will be getting from the library on Saturday, hopefully. And those last five I am going to try to finish by January 3rd when school starts back up. I think I’ll barricade myself into my walk-in closet… But these books are amazing. My favorite would have to be Foxes Book of Martyrs just because it has been horribly abused, which included getting run over by my mother’s car. Poor, martyred book. I think the books are interesting. While they are all Christian, none relate to each other in terms of topic. Yet, here I am, using them to accumulate knowledge for a single purpose.
Oh, these books are giving me emotional breakdowns. Every now and then, I’ve had to set them aside and just stare at the wall for a while. Then I write down what I just went through, of course. I love these emotions I feel, even if they do make my head hurt. I think that these books are giving me what I’ve been praying for for years now. Although, clarity would be nice with all the insight. I guess I thought that when God gave me insight, it would include clarity. So I understand what God wants from me, but… I mean, I always knew what was expected from a Christian, but now I know what’s expected from me in particular. I know it’s hard not to think of them as the same thing. But now, what do I do? Clarity would be wonderful, God. Ephesians 2:10 “For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” How do I get there, God? I feel called, but in no particular direction. Now, I am off to read another chapter in one of these five books, and I will probably have another breakdown. Merry Christmas! And a belated happy Festivus!
Frank Costanza- “Many Christmases ago, I went to buy a doll for my son. I reached for the last one they had, but so did another man. As I rained blows upon him, I realized there had to be another way.”
Cosmo Kramer- “What happened to the doll?”
Frank Costanza- “It was destroyed. But out of that a new holiday was born … a Festivus for the rest of us!”
Cosmo Kramer- “That must've been some kind of doll.”
(Oh, Seinfeld…)
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