I don’t have time for Jesus.
I’m a working mom. A teaching mom. I wake up at seven o’clock to be at work by eight. I don’t sit down between 8 a.m. and 3:30 p.m., when I stuff the kids’ papers into my overflowing bag and rush out the door. For those hours, I am a slave to my job.
So I don’t have time for Jesus.
I get to the babysitter’s home by four. My one-year-old is ecstatic to see me. She smiles and gives me a big hug. My heart melts as my shoulders strain, already exhausted… thinking about my next responsibility.
There is no time for Jesus.
Maybe we run a few errands. My daughter laughs as I push the cart down the aisles. I laugh too, even as my feet ache to sit down. We pay and rush out of the store, beyond eager to get home.
I’m not even thinking about making time for Jesus.
We get home. Half the time, I just dump the shopping bags on the floor. My husband can take care of it. Or not. I am too tired to care. The dog, eager for my attention, yips and dances. I don’t have the energy to smile at her. She settles for a few pats on the head before I let her into the yard.
Still no time for Jesus.
I get my daughter a snack. I usually need one as well. For the next hour, I try to enjoy playing with her. She deserves this time. She grows up so fast. In the back of my mind, I wish she would take a nap… So I could nap, too.
When is there time for Jesus?
My husband arrives home. He takes over baby-duty, assuming he doesn’t have to mow the lawn or go to class. I head to the kitchen where I throw together a semi-nutritious meal. I used to meal plan. Now, I just see what I can do with the things in my fridge. We eat pizza once a week. I try to save pizza night for Wednesday, when I seem to be the most exhausted.
I haven’t found time for Jesus.
After dinner, my husband and I make a point of playing with our daughter. She has a marvelous personality. She loves Legos and slides and dancing. It lifts my spirit to watch her joy. Then it is bedtime. She drinks her milk. I brush her teeth and sing her bedtime song. She goes to bed willingly. The house is quiet.
There ought to be time for Jesus.
But I’m a teacher. So the papers come out. I grade until my own bedtime. My husband does the dishes. We get ready for bed and collapse into the pillows. I pull out my Bible app.
It’s time for Jesus.
He gets five minutes. I read halfheartedly. The words don’t really sink in. I say a short prayer. I mean it. But I’m too tired to think any further. Then, the lights are out and so am I. Assuming my daughter doesn’t wake up. Or I don’t have to go to the bathroom at 4 a.m. Or the stress from work doesn’t keep me awake for two hours.
I think I tried to make time for Jesus.
But that’s the thing about Jesus. He has all the time in the world for me. He is ready to invest in me. And, contrary to what my daily schedule suggests, I want to invest in him. So what am I going to give up to make that happen?
Jesus told his disciples to drop their lives. Shepherds left their flocks. Fishermen dropped their nets. Mary stopped cleaning.
They all made time for Jesus.
And for that, they were heavily rewarded.
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*The words above were written as a journal entry in November 2017. I never anticipated publishing it, but I’m leaving it unedited and raw, in hopes that someone else can relate, and find it to be an encouragement. My life is very different now. I’m a mom of two who stays home. It can still be hard to find time. I don’t have the luxury of waking up early to a guaranteed hour with just Jesus. But I think Jesus is okay with that.
We still have so many quiet, spontaneous moments throughout the day. Moments where I thank Him for my life, or pray for the EMTs as we listen to the sirens. Moments where I sing worship songs in my kitchen. Moments where He reveals new wisdom to me as I slowly drift to sleep. Moments where I read and reread His word during lunch. There are moments all day long, and I know that these moments will grow stronger and longer, so long as my heart stays open.*
Not Your 50's Housewife 