A poem for people who feel far too busy.
I need margins in my life. But I am
Crammed right up against my limits of timefocusemotionstrength
Therefore it doesn’t take much for me to spill
over into the spaces,
Filling them until I have nowhere left to go.
I need margins. But everything in me wants to do
all I can. Be all I can be. Save the world
from sin and destruction.
Then I have so little time for rest and love.
So little time for quality so great is my quantity.
Rest and Love are segmented parts of my week,
teetering on the edge of my schedule
Where the slightest breath can knock them off,
treated like chaff when they are really marrow.
If I have a smart phone to keep track of all appointments,
if I have the ability to add more people to my schedule,
if I know all about grace and rest and love
but have not love and rest,
I am a tired disciple, a dim light, a busy Martha.
All that I have been taught tells me to do more.
Tells me that I can be God. That God needs me
in 100 places at once. That I can be Superman if I
beat my arms furiously enough against the air.
In order to make room for margins,
what will have to fall?
If I don’t make room for margins,
I will be falling.