The Martha Problem

"Cindy, I think you are doing to much."
"But I feel so lazy, like I'm not doing anything at all." 

Such has been the theme of too many conversations this week.  The very moment I make a contract with my supervisor at the hospital to "practice self-care," I realize I am doing the exact opposite, while thinking that I am doing the right thing.  I can say that I know I have cut things out of my days, yet the days remain full, I don't accomplish what I set out to do...and I seem to be more tired than I expected. I couldn't figure out why I constantly felt that I was somehow letting God down...no matter how hard I worked. I seemed to be in an endless sea of suffering, which is a reality of hospital work...and outside of the hospital, it seemed not much better. I prayed to God to make me a healer and the world seemed to come to me with their truths, their hungers, their emptinesses, and I did my best to help them fill their buckets...I simply forgot to fill mine.

Or is that true?  I had an idea of how I wanted to fill it...out knocking on doors, searching for the priest or the spiritual director who carried the magic pill that would calm me down, set me straight, shine a light into my dark spots...but all I heard was, "take it easy," and that was definitely not part of the solution to my problem. I was certain. There was hardly a moment in my waking hours when I was not aware of someone else's sufferings.  And then there was the guilt: I am reasonably healthy. God has blessed me with the opportunity and ability to serve...but are things getting any better?  Am I really doing my part?  Does God think I'm lazy? Have I let Him down?

Even just writing, seems to be filled with meaning and purpose. Maybe I do need to make love again.  Do something entirely selfish, get myself a husband and let him take care of me...nah...That idea just never seems to have a happy ending in my mind...(You never really know when I am being humorous, do you?)
But yesterday, I began to see the light again. Oddly because I thought I had an agenda, but I didn't have an agenda, which I guess was really the agenda...and without all the bells and whistles, I had a conversation of sorts...and was reminded AGAIN that I needed a bit more balance...and AGAIN I argued that I must not be doing enough because I felt so...unfulfilled. But in this conversation...I left with hope, something I had not felt in a while. I wasn't walking out of a room where I knew a woman was dying, and the kids were thinking, maybe they would be Catholic again...or another diagnosis for a man with no insurance, a woman who was sad because her kids were dividing up the money while she was still breathing or another homeless person going on hospice (which was my day on Tuesday)...I got a real moment of kindness for me...someone who heard and talked real to me. And it gave me hope. I decided to take to heart the words given to me because they came from a trustworthy source...
And then I went on to my next four hours of spiritual work, thinking in the back of my head...where will I find my starry sky? 
I came home beyond exhausted. I postponed an early morning meeting...
And somehow, somewhere...it came to me.

I was Martha. Not Mary. Martha.

I was annoyed with a colleague at the hospital, who, in a midterm review, called me Martha.  I was the woman who got things done, he said. I stayed busy. I made sure everything went well.

I was so upset to be called a Martha!  No, I am Mary! I am sitting at Jesus' feet, hanging on his every word.  My house is a mess. I grocery shop only when everything is gone...I don't care about my clothes too much, I don't waste time with makeup...I'm a very simple woman...who focuses on the things...that need to be done.

Oh my heavens! I am a Martha!  How did that happen?!  Suddenly, I realized somewhere along the path...my life had lost much of its prayer time, perhaps for very good reasons, but I suddenly became horribly aware that I had stopped just sitting with God. Not sitting so that I could order my day...but simply sitting, just basking in His Love. And suddenly I missed it so much it hurt.

Certainly I do good work. Certainly there is always work to do. And you know, there are many hands and hearts that can do it. It's not just me. I can let it go. I can just be.

I don't have to be in the kitchen, making a meal, when my most perfect Spouse is talking about His Father.  We don't need a three course meal and a beautiful table setting. We just need to be together.

And I am frustrated, "But I thought you wanted all these things, " I tell Him. 

"What I want is you, my daughter. I have everything...except, it seems, your attention, your heart...your smile..." he says.
"But what will the others say," I plead, "if I don't do the work?  Who will do it if I don't do it?"

My intellect kicks in.  There are many hands to help. Long after I am dust, there will still be many hands to help.  I don't have to do it all. And I hear Him counsel me, "Why do you think you have to do it all?"  "Well, because...(and here comes the pain, sure enough) I want to be well thought of. I wanted to be needed. I want to be loved."
"Isn't my love enough for you?" He asks.

I put the plates on the table, the rag in the sink and take off my apron.

"Yes, Lord. Your love is enough." He smiles. I sit down on the floor and lean the back of my head against his knee.  I close me eyes.

"Tell me a story, Lord." I ask.

"Well then...there once was a sower, who went out into his field..."

Love, Cindy