It’s three days before Easter and I’m having a hard time being Mary. I never dreamed I’d turn into a Martha, but the demands of three kids and a husband and a house and a homeschool and a church and family and friends and hospitality and discipleship and intentional parenting and relationships and Bible study and staying in a budget and encouraging the weary and visiting the orphans and widows in their affliction and teaching the speech class and scrubbing the toilets and training them up in the way that they should go . . . well, it leads to Martha. Martha hanging white-knuckled on a wild-flying merry-go-round.
I don’t feel like Martha. In spite of the constant spinning of the plates in the air, the constant juggling of a hundred different balls and the occasional chainsaw, the forty-seven different hats piled on my head, I feel like I could never be a Martha. I always envied her a little– getting things done. I missed that whole Type A and Type B thing and invented my own Type E, which is the personality type that only wants to sit in its recliner and eat ice cream. I thought I was more of a Mary for a lot of years, but I wasn’t resting at Jesus’ feet. I was just lazing around doing nothing.
But now, in 2016, with three homeschooled kids and a to-do list a mile long, I find myself distracted with much serving, three days before Easter.
I’ll be honest. I don’t always know how to be what God wants me to be. On the one hand there is this command to rest, to sit with Him. On the other hand there is this command to go, and that command to train, and all these other commands to submit and keep and stand and do. I wish I could see for one moment exactly what my Father desires for me. I am so thankful for grace that finds me and fills in all the places where I fail. There are so many.
I am trying to determine if I’m wearing too many hats or if I just haven’t figured out how to wear them all yet. Trying to figure out how to tell when the sense of urgency is truly from God. Trying to figure out how to fit generosity and hospitality and service and compassion and a Mary heart into a life with homeschooling and music lessons and rheumatoid arthritis and a sprained ankle and the occasional need to sleep.
Sometimes I wish Jesus would just walk into my living room with a couple cartons of ice cream and plunk down on my couch and look in my eyes and answer my questions. I know I can talk to Him and I know that He hears and He answers, but there is a deep longing and thirst in my soul for the presence of God, face-to-face, without the glass between. Oh, how sweet heaven will be! There I won’t need any hats but one– the hat of a worshiper of Jesus. It will be enough.
Three days before Easter I long for silence and time to stop and rest and consider– to consider the sacrifice, consider the sorrow, the wounding for my transgression, the bruising for my iniquities, the Lamb of God slain before the foundation of the world. I long to turn my eyes from looking at worthless things, and rather to find my life in God’s ways. Tomorrow our church family will gather and consider the Cross. I pray that as you whirl your way into another busy weekend, you too will have time– will make time– to stop there for a minute.
Stop at the cross and consider what He did there for you. You had nothing to offer, but He loved you. He bore the weight and terrible punishment of all
your sin– of every lie, every hateful thought, every unkind word, every doubt. He took it all. And all you have to do is believe. All I had to do– just believe. And today I have to stop there at the Cross and I have to believe that the One who was willing to bear that for me is surely not going to fail to be my Help and my Salvation when I’m spinning on a merry-go-round out of control. He says to come and find rest. The wild ride stops at the Cross, where somehow, in the chaos of sin’s darkest hour, there is peace.
May we all find peace there, at Calvary, this weekend.
The chastisement that brought us peace was upon Him, and by His stripes we are healed.