The words came like a punch in the gut.
She had slaved. Labored. Poured. Her heart, her soul, her sweat, her energy...she wanted to make this meal the best. Everything needed to be perfect: the house spotless, the food just right, the hospitality flawless. Her name didn't mean "mistress of the house" for nothing. She wanted--nay, needed--to prove to him that she could do this. He would feel special, honored, and valued because of her.
Ripples of excitement coursed through her as she readied the house and planned her courses and checked off her list. Few things match the relish of a checked off list. But as the hours of preparation wore on, she felt herself growing weary. This was taking longer than she had planned. The clock ticked by faster than she could work and the knot in her stomach grew. She wouldn't be ready in time. When he arrived, she was practically in a frenzy. She had burned the bread the first time around and spilled on her dress and the fish wasn't turning out right and she couldn't mess up the dessert and of course there were the drinks and where the hell was Mary??? Her unfinished list loomed over her head, taunting. And there her sister sat, peacefullly listening and hanging onto every word he said while she slaved away in the kitchen.
She snapped.
And then he had the audacity to tell her that Mary had chosen better.
She was speechless. She might've replied had she not remembered that at the moment the bread was about to burn. Again.
As she pulled the bread from the oven, a blend of tears and sweat and fury blurred her vision. This was her moment and it was ruined. She had wanted so desperately to make him feel special...to prove...to prove...to prove what? Something. Anything.
And in that moment, she was spent. There were no more wells of industriousness and strength and fortitude to pull from. Years of being the strong one and carrying the weights and the burdens of her reckless sister and ailing brother bore down on her. And she couldn't do it anymore. Quite simply, she was tired. Tired of picking up the pieces. Tired of pulling herself up by her bootstraps. Tired of wearing her "put together" facade because, while everyone else might fall apart, she sure as hell wasn't going to! And in that instant, she envied Mary for the very thing she always criticized her of--laziness, or as she was beginning to see it: the ability to simply "be." Quite frankly, she had no idea how to just "be."
Emotions simmering down, she replayed his words over and over and over: "Martha, Martha, you are weary and upset over many things. But few things are needed--indeed only one. Mary has chosen what is better and it will not be taken away from her."
What initially came as a slap in the face changed the more she mulled over it. The light in his eyes. The tenderness in his voice. The beckoning of his hand. He wasn't criticizing her. He was inviting her. Wasn't he the very one who said, "Come to me all who are weary and heavy laden and I will give you rest?" And what was she doing? Everything but that. No, he wasn't telling her to work alone or comparing her to her sister criticizing her for her work. Rather, he was inviting her to do what Mary was doing, to rest and to simply be with Him.
Martha took a deep trembling breath and looked at her unfinished meal, messy kitchen, and stained dress.
Forget dessert. She had somewhere to be.
Matthew 11:28-30
Come to me all who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from for I am gentle and humble in heart and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.
Further reading in Luke 10:38-42
