In a cluttered world full of busy people who have a hard time stopping and resting, I’ve somehow managed to live on the periphery of the status quo. Stillness comes naturally to me. If you know anything about Enneagram types, I am a 9, and, as such, my emotional health hinges on how well I am able to maintain my inner stability and peace of mind. I have always had an instinct to keep my life simple and uncluttered; staying low-key and under-commited is a defense mechanism that comes easily. Rarely will you hear me talk about how busy I am.

I sometimes get this feeling that in our culture busyness is considered a badge of honor that must be declared at every turn. I constantly hear about how busy people are, and I truly don’t understand how they get themselves into such a busy tizzy yet then proceed to complain about it. It’s become not only an acceptable way of life, but a given—a cross our society carries with pride.

I read about busyness in book after book, hear it in sermon after sermon; I read about how to conquer it, manage it, organize it, how to say no, and prioritize what’s important in our lives. The topic floods articles, blogs, and podcasts. When productivity is king, it’s no wonder people are running themselves ragged doing. 

Now, before you start thinking that I’m throwing stones at you, let me please clarify. 

This is not a judgment on you, but a confession from me. 

I’m going to let you in on a little secret. Although there may be few, some of us out here live in a different kind of tension. We struggle with chronic inertia. Battling laziness on this end of the spectrum gets just as ugly as battling busyness on your end.  

An awfully prideful side of me always liked to think of herself as a Mary in the midst of a world full of Marthas. I rest a lot. I ponder. I sit at Jesus’ feet. 

But don’t be fooled. If truth be told, I am no Mary. 

I am just a lazy Martha. 

Just like one can feel desperate loneliness in a room full of people, I often experience unrest and exhaustion in the midst of an otherwise uneventful day or week. While you may deal with cluttered calendars and meeting others’ expectations, I deal with cluttered thoughts and self-imposed, unrealistic expectations. 

Even in quiet and stillness, I more often than not succumb to being “worried and upset about many things,”  while at the same time contemptuously standing in judgment of busy folks who spend their conversations complaining about how tired they are.

But I’m tired, too. 

We all experience empty spaces in our lives that keep us wanting. We hunger for something that we have a hard time naming, and we become restless in our search for satisfaction. But restlessness can take many forms. It can look like Martha. We plan, prepare, and work our fingers to the bone. Or it can look like a pseudo-Mary filled with apparent serenity and peace. But lying beneath it all sits an unnamed longing. These deep desires stir and brew deep within our hearts. Oftentimes, fed by fear, we suppress our thirst with busyness and sluggishness. Our longings sit trapped. At the feet of Jesus is the last place we think of going to free them or ask Him for help in naming them. We won’t go to Him to find fullness and satisfaction.

Note that in this story Jesus did not say to Martha, “Martha, Martha, quit working so hard on unimportant things and come sit down here next to Mary who has chosen what is better.” He didn’t rebuke her for being busy. He rebuked her for being “anxious and troubled about many things.”

You see, many times I may physically sit at Jesus’ feet, but in my heart, I’m behaving like Martha, “distracted by preparations.” I think about my  checklist. I feel paralyzed by all the voices invading my world. I worry if my meager doing is sufficient. I wonder what people think about me. I look at the Marys around me and feel frustrated and jealous about their apparent got-it-togetherness. My complaining oftentimes comes in the form of disappointment that stems from unmet expectations. I check my to-do list. I “sit” at His feet. I study. I pray. Yet my heart often still feels empty, my knowledge shallow, my wisdom weak. My doing doesn’t feel productive. But too often, I sit unwilling to actually give Him my longing. Fear lurks in the shadows of that longing, while my mind busies itself with worse case scenarios, or selfish, self-serving dreams. When I’m not rewarded as I’d hoped, I become emotionally exhausted and spiritually exasperated. “Ugh! Lord! Help!” I demand. During those times, I’m not sitting at Jesus’ feet in a teachable posture, but in an obsessed, manipulative one. “Give me what I want,” I declare. “It is for you, after all,” I protest.

Like Martha, I love to invite Jesus into my home, but too often I’m not willing to invite Him into the depths of my heart. My habits have trained me to escape my painful, unnamed places without realizing what is happening. I do whatever it takes to avoid the vulnerability of trusting Him. I get busy with whatever, or I fall back on my familiar companion: sloth. I stop listening. As my head spins in frustration, I complain about everything and everybody. 

As of late, I have been asking the Spirit to help me transition into a Mary posture. I am slowly, finally, allowing Him to rescue me from my anxieties and trust that I can offer my longings to Him. Through the Psalms I have found great refuge. They invite me into a full and authentic presence. The raw prayers of the Psalmist welcome me into a safe space that feels like home—a place where I find peace and restoration. The Psalms confirm my longings, moan with me in my disappointments, and also remind me to declare praises to my Creator. The book of Psalms is the first place I go to sit at the feet of Jesus.

In the BibleProject’s video on the book of Psalms, Tim Mackie teaches that the book of Psalms is an invitation into a literary temple—into God’s presence, the place where heaven and earth meet. The Tabernacle, and (later) the Temple’s design and furnishings evoked vivid images of the Garden of Eden. So, as we enter the Psalms, we are not only entering the Temple, but also gaining virtual access into Paradise. In the Psalms—at Jesus’ feet—we are welcomed into rest and intimacy with God. 

Psalm 1:1-3 opens the invitation:

Blessed is the man

    who walks not in the counsel of the wicked,

nor stands in the way of sinners,

    nor sits in the seat of scoffers;

but his delight is in the law of the LORD,

    and on his law he meditates day and night.

He is like a tree

    planted by streams of water

that yields its fruit in its season,

    and its leaf does not wither.

In all that he does, he prospers.

Are you busy, tired, burdened? Do you have a cluttered schedule or a cluttered mind? Has your unsettled heart stolen your peace? Are you somehow avoiding Jesus or in shame protecting your hungers and desires as a busy Martha, or a lazy one like me? Have you stopped listening? 

Come with me and let’s accept God’s invitation. Enter into His presence today. Find rest under the shade of the Tree of Life, where we are surrounded by all that is good, and let’s allow ourselves to be led to the Living Water—the only One who can truly refresh and restore our cluttered souls (Psalm 23).  With confidence, pour out your heart and know that He wants to meet you in your longing. Listen to what He has to say about it. Search and find His goodness. Trust Him to fill those echoing, empty spaces of your heart.