Who Wrote the Rules

This morning I had to awaken early to get kids in the car by 6 a.m. to go to a band contest.  I hauled myself out of bed long enough to hug them good-bye, wish them luck and then crawled back onto the couch.  Still exhausted.  At first, though, sleep felt elusive.  I was anxious.  Feeling more like a failure than usual.  Wives are supposed to get up and cook for their husbands.  Keep up with the laundry.  Be pretty when he arrives home.  Be selfless. Be always attentive.  Keep an immaculate house.  Entertain business guests.  Dress up well to go to business functions.  Know how to keep their man happy and unlikely to wander. 
I am none of those.  No wonder he treats me as he does.  I am woefully, distressingly lacking.  Talk about depressed.  The pit seemed endless as I plummeted, free-fall down into the murkiness of uncertainty.  The only thing that I felt certain about was how lame I am.  How I don't deserve anything.  Wow, I made up a whole list of reasons that I am unlovable before I even started my day.  My heart wrenched inside me.  I am lucky he has stayed this long.  I should see how good he has been.  I should....
and there in the midst, I think that I began to go to sleep. I was exhausted.  But, my eyes opened.  I had a searing question come upon me.  WHO made the rules???  I don't remember reading them in Zephaniah.  Even the Proverbs 31 woman in all of her perfection wasn't THIS woman that was in my head.  This woman came from some unknown source.  Something undefined, yet expected.  At that moment, I fell sound asleep.  While I still had no answers, I was sure of one thing, the biggest question for me needs to be:  whose rules am I going to follow? 
I forgot all about it.  I went and ran an errand.  I sat down at my computer to check my email.  I remembered that I was going to write about something from that short time when I was awake after sending the kids off.  I couldn't remember what.  Elusive.  Like the semi-dream state that it was.  so, I went into the bathroom to curl my hair and noted the laundry on the floor.  The toilet needing cleaning.  The toothpaste on the counter.  Just like that, I remembered what had been bothering me.  That I wasn't up to snuff.  That I do not meet the requirements.  That I am sub-standard.  My head bent down, my shoulders sagged and the pit in my stomach grew. 
Humbled.  Troubled.  Pained.  And then came the final thought I had thought before being able to rest, :"who wrote the rules?"  Therein is the crux of the whole matter of my life.  Who will I live to please?  Who was I created for?  what things really matter and what things are a sham of criteria made up to hide the "real" things that matter?
My husband likes those lists.  Abides by them faithfully.  Clean your plate, children in Africa are going hungry.  Cleanliness is next to Godliness.  He's in for the whole thing.  And, alas, I'm not.  And never have been.  Therein lies a crack as deep as the Grand Canyon in our relationship.  I AM a rule follower.....but it matters to me who wrote the rules.