Life · Parenting · Uncategorized

The Good Portion

38Now as they went on their way, Jesusd entered a village. And a woman named Martha welcomed him into her house. 39And she had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet and listened to his teaching. 40But Martha was distracted with much serving. And she went up to him and said, “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to serve alone? Tell her then to help me.” 41But the Lord answered her, “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things, 42but one thing is necessary.e Mary has chosen the good portion, which will not be taken away from her.”

Here’s the thing: I can’t keep up. There are messes and clutter. Everywhere.

The dishes. The cooking. The prep work. The clean-up.

The laundry. The folding. The putting away. The ironing. The semi-organized closet.  

The weight loss plan. The exercise that your body just has to have. The 8 hours of sleep you’ll die if you don’t get.

Forget the child that needs your attention all. the. time. Like all the time & if you look away, she’ll climb up the stairs, fall down them, and end up in a body cast.

The house should be tidy. Dinner should look, smell, and taste amazing.

My anxiety bubbles up into every part of my life, and the pressure to find some kind of perfection suffocates the joy I’m yearning for.


Pressure to be pretty, yet raw. Vulnerable, but careful. Involved, but in the right ways.

Caring towards child. Thoughtful towards husband. Engaged with family. In contact with friends. Updated on current events.

Pressure to be funny, but also serious. Witty, yet appropriate. A part of Church culture, but culturally aware.

When all I really want… is to just sit at the foot of the cross like Mary. I want to feel His presence, not this world’s pressures. With every word He speaks, I imagine my anxiousness fading, and His peace rising within my soul.

I want Christ to tell me that I’ve chosen the good portion.

I’m trying, I really am. I’m working harder than I ever have. I want to leave Martha behind – but my child keeps eating things off the floor that might choke or poison her. Which leads me back to my perpetually disastrous house.

I know it’s not about trying hard enough. It’s not about perfection. It’s about grace. I understand that – and I am SO GRATEFUL to serve the God that looks at the heart, not the hearth. Though in my humanity, the peacefulness of accepting a messy season is hard for me.

The father of lies temps me with promises of perfection, appearances of togetherness, and entices me with advertisements of adoration and glory.

There’s a wrestle in my soul to figure out what things are ‘supposed’ to look like. My anxiety grabs hold of my neck and suffocates me as I try to loosen the world’s grip on my dreams. What does a Godly woman’s house look like (with a toddler)? What is a Godly woman supposed to cook for dinner, and how is it supposed to taste?

I want this post to end with pretty wrapping paper and an oversized bow. Not today though. Because if today had a pretty bow – that would be a lie.

Some days are a fight. Some days are slow and restful. Some days are just straight -up chaos. In the wrestle, Lord, I want you to win, every time. In the quiet, fill my cup; and in the chaos, keep me sane. Let my toddler drive me to you. In my struggle with anxiety, draw me near to you.

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