I've been called many things in my life. Some good, some I'd like to forget, and some that I'm not sure what to do with. For example, intimidating. Occasionally used in conjunction with independent, or strong, this title is given with some feeling, but I'm never sure what kind. I mean, it's not like someone called me a booger, but its also not the same as, say, brilliant.
I don't try to be intimidating, and I used to try to figure out what to do about it, but I've given up. The thing is, I just do what needs to be done. As a single gal, if the trash needs to be taken out, I do it. If the lease needs to be negotiated, I do it. If a mini-van plows into the side of Dirk the Blue Impala, it is I who must exchange information with the perp and wait for the cops. I'm not complaining, there are definitely a lot of great things about being the sole decision maker, like eating pizza five days in a row, or buying the good shampoo that costs a lot more, or watching a corny movie featuring The Rock. It's just that I am used to taking care of myself.
Which is why it is so refreshing in those rare times when someone does stuff--be it difficult or routine--for me. Pops was in town this weekend to visit. He visits all us kids on his way to and from a big meeting each fall, and this year he scheduled his stop in Little Rock to coincide with my move from one apartment to another. The movers had just finished hauling the last of my furniture up three flights when I left to pick up Pops at the airport.
After a brief froyo stop, we went straight to work, and didn't really stop all weekend. We unpacked my kitchen, my books, and cleaned up the old place so I will get my deposit back. He even did the vacuuming which is my least favorite chore! And as the pile of full boxes in the new place became a pile of empty boxes, he hauled them downstairs to the trash bin. Over. And over.
To get this kind of help, I would gladly buy meals and entertainment. But, Pops sprang for dinners and groceries and even some household goods. I'm thinking of putting a plaque by the guest bathroom trash can in his honor.
I don't know if this sounds like a big deal or not, but to me it was. For once, I could let go of the responsibility. I didn't have to be strong, or independent. I could lean on my dad and, as always, he took good care of me.
This independence thing seeps into my relationship with God, too. And like my loverly earthly Pops, God says, "Don't worry about it, I got this." He's willing to do the heavy lifting, willing to provide, and even to treat me. I don't need to be strong enough or work hard enough for him to love me or even to like me. He just does.
I was reminded of this truth over the weekend. And I will try to let go. Over. And over.
Thank you, Lord, for Pops and what a wonderful example of you he is. Thank you for the family you've blessed me with! Thank you for being strong for me, that I needn't be independent because you are always dependable. All my love.