Oh me of little faith

I awoke early this morning, fretting about the non-response from Dr. Fishman regarding the prior authorization for medication to control my frequent urination at night and a recurring bill from Barnes and Noble which, in trying to resolve on the phone, has led me to a frustrating pursuit down a path of phone-maze. No wonder my blood pressure was a bit elevated this morning.

During my morning meditation, I realized that I was still trying to hunker down and wrestle with control of my problems —  problems that concern people and entities outside of me —  instead of turning them over to Higher Power. I can hear Aunt Betty say “Turn it over, Dan, turn it over.” I pray each morning that I turn my will over to High Power, yet in the early morning hours my self-will takes over and I contend with problems for which there is no immediate solution. It’s Sunday, for God’s sake!

My deep down sin is that I am a control freak. Even when I smile, I am polite and gracious, I do so out of a position of power and control. Even if I have to take a step back or two, I still believe that I am master of the scene. Silly, silly me. If I have any control, it is only momentary and the space is miniscule. I gloat that I have power over a mote of time and space while the rest of the universe goes hurtling past without a thought as to what I am doing. “Man’s days are like those of grass. The wind sweeps over him and he is gone and his place knows him no more.” Psalms

I suppose my egocentric world view is exacerbated by being a solitary white male. With no mate or offspring I have no distractions from my petty worries. If I am imposed upon by family members, I am surprised and momentarily I feel distressed. But, then I flip on the mask of fraternal bonhommie and any frustration or disquiet is stuffed for the moment in the moment of “common decency” as Vonnegut would say.

While I am writing this I am mulling over my options for the afternoon. The Super Bowl is on which I do not care to watch so getting out for a movie or other outside activity is possible since most folks will be indoors for this national past time. I could drive north and look for some cacti to plant in the big pots in the front yard. Maybe even drive to the cemetery to visit Mom and Dad’s graves. I am trying to avoid being home when Joan calls looking for chairs for Steve’s “surprise” retirement party. On Facebook, Steve shows his true colors as an avid supporter of the current regime in Washington. I’m not sure what he makes of me, a liberal gay man. He tolerates me (barely) because of his wife, my sister. I don’t really want to go the party next Saturday, but a sense of family loyalty calls me to go. To make matters worse, I’d probably have to go with Mary and Dan, more supporters of You-know-who and Steve and Joan live way the hell out near Lake Pleasant. Naturally I am making this a huge mountain of resentment which hasn’t even become a mole hill yet. Am I insane? Seems like it.

So, it is Sunday. I should honor it as a day of the Lord. Rest, leisure, play, pray. Into your hands, O God, I commend my spirit!

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