I just finished scarfing down a book about productivity. It was excellent, and I’m a sucker for potential. That means I get more excited about planning the wonderful things I’m going to do than actually doing them. So reading about the amazingly productive, focused life I can have is like dangling a dark chocolate peanut butter cup in front of me. I’ll follow it anywhere.
This time I followed it to an Excel spreadsheet of a 7 day week divided into 30 minute increments. That’s a lot of little boxes. Many, many boxes. Oh the potential!
The author’s model week was stunning. It was color-coded. It had a theme for each day. Each little box carried the weight of purpose and productivity. All I had to do—to reach my soul-altering potential—was to fill in my own.
I ran into trouble.
I’m a mom whose kids are home with me, a lot. What a gift. What a non-little-blank-box blessing.
So much of what I’m called to do as a mom is dissolve the little black lines of control in my life and trust God with the moment. Of course organization tools are wonderful, of course they can be adjusted to fit any lifestyle, and of course there are moms out there (conceivably) who are lazy bums and should be lectured on the merits of little blank boxes. But this mom needs big boxes of grace, with light gray lines around them. I need boxes that smile when my plans are interrupted, move over when someone plops down to talk, and change shape to fit a hundred little jobs done in the chaos called family.
So I lay aside that gorgeous thing and will pick it up another day, when I will probably wish it had a flower drawn on it, or a bit of cheese steak grease dripped onto the corner.
Lord, you are my potential. Fill my moments with productivity—in loving you and loving those you’ve given me. And trusting you to make something of it.