Doing Too Much

She gave me a devotional, Meditations for Women Who Do Too Much. It was just a token of love and concern, but my reply was defensive.

I don’t think I do too much. I don’t do enough.

The Bath, Mary Cassatt

After the commotion of the evening calmed, I read a few of the meditations searching to see if my offense was truth I needed to face. I found words about addiction and disease. I found admonishments to take time for myself. I found reminders that we have choices in this life. And perhaps that is the key.

I realize that I have choices. Our family is starting a business, and I’m helping to start a school. I have purposefully made these choices. I am not overwhelmed and overtaken because of the seeming chaos around me.

Peace is first internal. I find it in quiet prayers throughout the day. I find it by attempting to match my actions to reality. The children running around here are more important than the door that might fall off its hinges from swinging. Serving all the souls who enter my home is a privilege.

Slipping into bed, I asked my beloved if he thinks I am a workaholic like the book suggested. He worries that I do too much, too. His reply:

No, you just have so much faith. That is why you are busy.

Faith. Really? If those words from the one who knows me best here on earth are true, then my busyness is not some compelling drive for acceptance. It is not my doing at all. If those words are true, my choices simply start with being willing to open my heart, because faith is a gift.

For by grace you have been saved through faith; and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God; not as a result of works, so that no one may boast. (Ephesians 2:8-9)