Martha

Yeah a guy is going to write about Martha, and in lieu of paragraphs I will bold the first word of where I want a paragraph to start! Yesterday was Mother's Day and after all was finished at my house, I wanted a drink. Instead I took a nap. Saturday my wife, Gail and I, along with two other couples threw a big party for a friend's 60th birthday. We didn't get home until a little after midnight Saturday. Gail had headed up all the planning for the Saturday event so we had not planned together Mother's Day. I took on all the planning for the meal and cooked. I awoke Sunday still tired from the previous day but pushed forward with the shopping for and preparation of the food. The afternoon was nice so we ate outside and I sat and realized at the end of the table across from me was the youngest at 14 months sitting next to the oldest, my mother at 88. We had four generations around our table of 13 yesterday on both sides of our families. In retrospect it was a good scene, somthing to remember as none of us know if this will ever happen again. As I reflect a bit more I am reminded of my own inner turmoil at certain points of preparation. My daughter brought two beautiful homemade fresh strawberry pies and my niece brought a delicious salad but the rest of the meal was my gig. There was a point when I felt behind and when placing a meal on the table you always have the rush of getting all the food done at the same time. Our kitchen looks large but there really is only one small corner where the food is cooked and plated up. I felt trapped in that corner as I tried to get everything ready and on the table. I became frazzled. Looking back on the tension I felt I am reminded of Martha. She needed help from her sister Mary and where was she? Sitting at Jesus' feet. I don't know if Martha understood Jesus' response to her when she pointedly asked for her sister's help but this morning as I was at the picnic table I was a bit amused at my own Martha-ness. The important image was the scene of four generations around the table, not the near chaos of my heart in trying to get everything ready. It is a choice for me, what will I choose to dwell on. After all the food is put away, the dishes are cleaned and the kitchen put back in order, do I dwell on my own pettiness or the faces around the table? I am not sure what Martha chose but for me, I will dwell on the faces and learn from the Counselor how to better set myself aside.