April 3: Paying Bills, Psalm 26, More Snow

I think this psalm pretty much speaks for itself today.  I don't have a lot of time to type this evening.  I have bills to pay, a baby to bathe, papers to grade.  Just read the poem.  You'll understand.  I'm feeling a little overburdened today, have been since this morning.  I didn't accomplish half the stuff I wanted to accomplish this weekend.  As always.  And it's snowing again.  A lot.  I'm ready for spring, summer.  I'm ready for this semester to be over.

Saint Marty is feeling stressed.  Really stressed.  He's trying to find his happy place.  He really is.

Psalm 26:  Take My Burdens

Take my burdens, Lord.
Take my mortgage payment, water bill.
Car insurance due two days ago.
You can pay it online.  I'm sure
You have WiFi.  Take the essays
I have to grade.  They're about Dante's
The Inferno.  You probably have more
Insight than I about hell, anyway.
Just watch for comma splices, plagiarism.
My attic needs to be emptied out, Lord.
Old clothes, toys to Vincent de Paul,
The store not the saint.  Let's talk about
Painting my kitchen, too.  Strip wallpaper,
Tear out woodpanelling.  You may have
To drywall a little.  I'd prefer a color
That reminds me of summer, light green,
Oak and maple leaves at dawn.
You know the shade.  I trust You.
Take my burdens, Lord.
If You could drive tomorrow morning
That would be great.  Snow's coming, patches
Of black ice, snow plows and sanders
In pitch dark.  Your eyes are better,
Plus You can keep deer out of our way.
Or You could just hold off on snow,
Take those clouds, overstuffed
Laundry bags, send them to cleaners
In a different place, New York or Ontario,
Bermuda or Cuba, if it wouldn't screw up
Things too much, global warming, ozone
Depletion, all that.  You know what's best.
Take my burdens, Lord.
I suppose I should say something
About Afghanistan, Libya, Iraq, ask
For peace in the world, people of all
Colors and religions to exist together
In harmony, really close harmony.
Peter, Paul, and Mary, Kingston Trio
Harmony, where you can't tell one voice
From the other, like some Tibetan monks
Can vibrate their vocal chords, create
Two voices in their throats at the same time.
Take all my burdens, Lord.
I'll leave them piled on my front step, the way
My grandmother left milk bottles
On her stoop in the old days
For the milkman she never saw. 

Take my burdens, milkman