From the moment my feet touch the floor each morning next to my bed, to the time I lift them from that same spot at night, they're in constant motion. The unnoticed details, like the gradual orange ring in the toilet or scattered spit on the bathroom mirror, seem to be my burden alone. Perhaps I'm overly meticulous or burdened by high cleanliness standards. Does it really matter if we shower in mildew-darkened tubs? Maybe it's just me.
The mounting dishes, the lingering smell in the dishwasher, and the debris underfoot on my way to the kitchen for morning coffee shouldn't concern me, or should they? If no one else notices or cares, why let it bother me?
Should I be indifferent to my son's morning routine, evident in his breath and teeth when I pick him up from school? Is it acceptable that his skin resembles a scaly snake, his lips cracked, and his grooming habits subpar? Am I merely a nagger, fussing over visible earwax and overdue clipping of his toenails?
Could I turn a blind eye to the chaos, spending my days on the couch immersed in Netflix, reducing my anxiety by caring less about my surroundings? Could I be like those around me who seem unfazed?
As my feet throb from days of non-stop cleaning, shopping, and cooking for the holidays, I question if this relentless work is truly worth my health. When I vent about my foot pain, I'm reminded by others of my compulsion to get things done and that I should relax and leave it for another day. All the while the pressing need to prepare Christmas brunch takes precedence. So, with pain in my soles, I ask for help to cook, only to receive a resolute "absolutely not." And they retreat to the couch, basking in the calm of their life.
Meanwhile, I pull a chair into the kitchen, as I sit and attempt to cook, I feel like someone with limited reach to a standard counter, cutting up bacon and cooking with intermittent standing and sitting to ease the pain off my feet. The Christmas breakfast, a served plate of homestyle potatoes, eggs, bacon, and toast, is met with a smile. I limp back to the kitchen to serve myself a plate and go to sit alone in the other room, no one notices. I take a moment to survey the home and question if this is what family life is supposed to be like.
While my feet continue to ache from days of relentless chores, I ask my self, should the assistance I receive in dropping off the kids some mornings and the occasional help with laundry excuse my discontent? Should I be thankful for a single task off my plate, disregarding many others that still demand attention and fall on me in the end?
As I settle into my evening routine, I look around, most rooms are finally in order after the holiday chaos, but our office, my sanctuary for work, is a disaster, no one seems to care. My heels beg for me to sit, but I dive into putting everything in it's place and clearing out the surfaces. For tomorrow my work week begins and I need peace of mind. The appearance of cleanliness brings a fleeting joy, yet deep down, I'm far from content. I yearn for change, to live carelessly, without worries or urgency of obligations, like those around me live.
But is it me that is the problem? Could it be the people around me rather than the mess that's the true issue?
As I finally get a chance to endulge in a hot shower and start my bedtime routine, I pray to the Lord for wisdom and the courage to prioritize myself in 2024. I know deep down that to calm the chaos and gain clarity, I need to get closer to God, even more than ever before. As I cast my cares onto the Lord, the Savior of my life, I know that He will sustain me and never let me fall. My hope is in Him who is the only one that can give my weary feet some much-needed rest.
"Cast your cares on the lord and he will sustain you; He will never let the righteous fall." Psalm 55:22
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