Just do the next thing
A good friend and former college roommate, once caught a glimpse of a crisp yellow post-it note attached to my undersized and overused dorm room desk that included these two items among a short list of relatively normal activities:
-nap
-have dinner
She laughed endlessly and it became a sort of inside joke.
I laughed at that memory today while mulling over my to-do list. There's no room to write that and no thought of even adding that to my list now-a-days. Of course, I do those things, but I laugh at the deeper meaning of to-do lists. Some people live by them, some people drown by them. Some people ball them up and throw them out the window, some people color-code them and tack them to their fridge. Some people find it gives them freedom, some people find it chokes their freedom.
Me? Well, I've been both and everywhere in between. For one, I can't remember a darn thing without writing it down so it's a slight necessity for me.
For seconds, there's all those logical reasons. You see the big picture of your time. You prioritize. You take control. You start. You complete. You cross off and mark out. You feel accomplishment.
But then there's the simple basic necessity of this: just do the next thing.
On one hand, I laugh at my to-do list that once included nap and have dinner because it would make one think that I had all this free time in college and due to my compulsive need for a to-do list I added essential daily living tasks. But that's not why I added them. That was a darker, sadder year in college. I was struggling to find friends and find who I was. I was asking questions and seeking answers. That year consisted of many nights crying and several calls to my parents that preceded an impulsive decision to drive home that night to avoid being alone for the weekend.
My to-do list back then wasn't about feeling accomplished. It was about Jesus whispering, "Just do the next thing, my beloved." So I wrote out what I could do and I did them. I didn't cross them off and feel pride in myself. I crossed them off and felt the mercy of the Lord. For without Him, I can do nothing.
After of a weekend of throwing out my to-do list in exchange for crisp mountain air, light streaming through the tall canopy, and a quiet, swinging hammock, I hear that whisper for my coming week. In the midst of questions, prayers, bended knees, wounded hearts, and cries for mercy, I hear Him whisper: Do the ordinary and find me there. I'm here while you cry and I'm also there while you clean your house, cook dinner, take a hot shower, call an old friend, check your email, water the plants, sew a bedskirt, and strip wallpaper.
So hand in hand with Jesus and our fellow brothers and sisters we arise. We walk. We stop. We cry. We laugh. We make to-do lists. We cross things off. We throw them out the window. We tack them to our fridge. We bend our knees. We lift our hands. We mourn. We rejoice. We find freedom. We find mercy. We find grace.
-nap
-have dinner
She laughed endlessly and it became a sort of inside joke.
I laughed at that memory today while mulling over my to-do list. There's no room to write that and no thought of even adding that to my list now-a-days. Of course, I do those things, but I laugh at the deeper meaning of to-do lists. Some people live by them, some people drown by them. Some people ball them up and throw them out the window, some people color-code them and tack them to their fridge. Some people find it gives them freedom, some people find it chokes their freedom.
Me? Well, I've been both and everywhere in between. For one, I can't remember a darn thing without writing it down so it's a slight necessity for me.
For seconds, there's all those logical reasons. You see the big picture of your time. You prioritize. You take control. You start. You complete. You cross off and mark out. You feel accomplishment.
But then there's the simple basic necessity of this: just do the next thing.
On one hand, I laugh at my to-do list that once included nap and have dinner because it would make one think that I had all this free time in college and due to my compulsive need for a to-do list I added essential daily living tasks. But that's not why I added them. That was a darker, sadder year in college. I was struggling to find friends and find who I was. I was asking questions and seeking answers. That year consisted of many nights crying and several calls to my parents that preceded an impulsive decision to drive home that night to avoid being alone for the weekend.
My to-do list back then wasn't about feeling accomplished. It was about Jesus whispering, "Just do the next thing, my beloved." So I wrote out what I could do and I did them. I didn't cross them off and feel pride in myself. I crossed them off and felt the mercy of the Lord. For without Him, I can do nothing.
After of a weekend of throwing out my to-do list in exchange for crisp mountain air, light streaming through the tall canopy, and a quiet, swinging hammock, I hear that whisper for my coming week. In the midst of questions, prayers, bended knees, wounded hearts, and cries for mercy, I hear Him whisper: Do the ordinary and find me there. I'm here while you cry and I'm also there while you clean your house, cook dinner, take a hot shower, call an old friend, check your email, water the plants, sew a bedskirt, and strip wallpaper.
So hand in hand with Jesus and our fellow brothers and sisters we arise. We walk. We stop. We cry. We laugh. We make to-do lists. We cross things off. We throw them out the window. We tack them to our fridge. We bend our knees. We lift our hands. We mourn. We rejoice. We find freedom. We find mercy. We find grace.
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