It's been a while since I've written. I apologize. I've been wrapped up in my own happenings, my own addictions to technology and current events, food and drink, socializing in person and socializing on social media. I wish I could say I've been wrapped up in time with my family, in engaging with my children in a meaningful way every time I see them. Sadly, my confession to you all here is, I haven't, and I am weak. I have had multiple experiences to write about, but just have failed to make the time to write. But this morning, I had a kick in the pants from my five-year-old son that speaks to exactly what I am already talking about here. I allowed the kids to watch a little of their favorite show this morning (The Donut Repair Club....can I get an Amen?!), so that I could catch up on dishes and laundry. The time came for us to close the laptop and move on to our next activity in today's homeschool line-up...making a water table out of the freshly-washed sink. My son melted down. He was just not happy that screen time was over. Tears. Body flopping. Histrionics to the max. I'll give it to him, he is getting over a cold, so he is a little bit sensitive and fatigued. But it was a show. So I invited my other two children into the kitchen, while my son protested in the living room "I'm staying right here. I'm not going to do any school things." I started to fill the sink while he continued his sit-in demonstration in the living room. The girls climbed up on the chairs I dragged in from the dining room, and went to town splashing and pouring and sponging.
My son came in, attracted by all the noise, now looking even more dejected. He complained to me that I started without him - that I wasn't letting him do the water activity. I wrapped him in a hug, and reminded him that no one said he couldn't join. I reminded him that he is more than invited to join us for a morning of water fun. I reminded him that it was he who chose to not join us. I reminded him that he did this to himself.
Fast forward to this afternoon, when I was able to take some time to pray. I had a really, really difficult time focusing on silence in my head and heart. I thought about election stuff. About my Twitter feed. About the house that needs picking up, and the dinner I was planning to make. I thought about social engagements we have coming up, and what to feed our guests. I thought about whether or not I'd make it back to the grocery store before the country devolves into civil unrest. I thought about whether or not to hang the laundry on the line or throw it in the drier. I thought about how great it is that my dog hasn't peed in the house all day. You name it, I thought about it. And then, the voice came to me. You're doing this to yourself. I am choosing sin. I am choosing distraction. I am choosing vice. I am choosing to indulge my addictions to news, food, socializing, and keeping my house tidy over my love for my Lord and the family He has blessed me with. I looked back in my journal at how long it's been since I had sat down in quiet and prayed with the Lord. A week. Seven full days of the Lord waiting for me to show up, and me not getting there because I was too busy reading the news.
And what is it, exactly, I am doing to myself? Well, my son was missing out on the fun of water play at the sink - the rare opportunity to "accidentally" dump water onto the kitchen floor without a serious talking-to. For me, I am missing out on joy as well. In my choice of selfishness over selflessness, materialism over prayer, tidying over playing with toddlers, social media over scripture, food over fasting, I can assure you my soul does not feel any joy or peace in this moment. I might feel prideful, in that my house is (relatively) tidy, dinner is planned, laundry is in progress, kids are napping, I am read-up on the current events of the day, and my Twitter timeline is saturated with clever wit. But that's pride. And it's not leaving me feeling fulfilled, nor peaceful, nor filled with joy. I can feel it actually propelling me towards hardness of heart and arrogance and resentment, if I'm not careful.
So what's the solution? Well, what did my son do? He humbled himself, quit his nonsense, and stood up, walked sheepishly into the kitchen, and verbalized that he wanted to play too. That's the solution, I guess. Stand up, go to Christ, and ask Him to let us play too. Humble ourselves, denounce our silly self-indulgences that we think are making us holier but are actually not. Confess our sins, repent, and sit with the Lord. We must be a Mary, not a modern-day Martha. For Jesus says to Martha, "You are worried and anxious about many things." (Luke 10:41) Today, with all of the upheaval we see, it is understandable that we are trying to fill our lives with more distractions - like Martha did while she was cleaning. She was worried and anxious about many things, so she cleaned. I'm guilty of that kind of cleaning. Anger cleaning. Fear cleaning. Sad cleaning. Thinking that cleaning (or eating or reading the news or spending time on social media or whatever) will help me feel more peaceful, more confident. We don't sit down at the feet of Jesus because we are afraid of confronting our fears, anxieties, and grief - we'd rather distract ourselves from those things. But the Lord is teaching us here that Mary chose the better part, not because cleaning is bad, but because cleaning to avoid confronting ourselves and our weaknesses is bad. He is telling us to come. Get up and come to Me. Humble yourselves by sitting at My feet, quietly, letting go of every vice you engage in to avoid the truth of who you are, how you feel, what you are afraid of, and how you've failed. Come, and let me fill you with My joy and My peace.