I remember the first time I read the Thoreau quote, "It's not what you look at that matters; it's what you see." At first, I thought it was just a clever play on words, but the more I pondered it, the more I realized its profound truth. We all have a tendency to focus on the negative, to dramatize, catastrophize, and even exaggerate things. We do this in our daily lives, and it can significantly impact our overall outlook and well-being.

For instance, have you ever noticed how quickly we can turn a minor inconvenience into a major catastrophe? We spill coffee on our shirt, and suddenly, our entire day is ruined. We get stuck in traffic, and we're convinced we'll never reach our destination on time.

Have you ever felt like the obstacles in your life were just too big to overcome? Like the river was overflowing its banks, and there was no way to cross? I know I have. In fact, I was just thinking about that the other day as I was reading through 1 Chronicles 12.

In this chapter, we read about the Gadites, a group of warriors who came to fight for David. Now, these guys were no strangers to battle. They were "men of might, and men of war fit for the battle" (1 Chronicles 12:8). But when they arrived at the Jordan, they found that the river was overflowing its banks. In the days of Joshua, the river had parted, and the Israelites had crossed on dry ground. But this time, there was no dry ground to be found.

I jolted awake to the sound of scratching and scampering, followed by an excited "Woof!" from our terrier, Tess. I turned on the bedside lamp, revealing our pup's intense focus on something beneath our dresser. That's when I spotted it—a tiny grey mouse darting across our bedroom floor.

Talk about a rude awakening! Living in rural Wales, backed up against sheep pastures and woodlands, I suppose we should have expected such visitors sooner. But after two years without any uninvited guests, we'd grown complacent. Now, here we were, at midnight, watching our typically sweet-natured terrier transform into a determined hunter.

Needless to say, sleep proved elusive that night. Between Tess's vigilant guard duty and my heightened awareness of every little sound, morning couldn't come soon enough.

My husband is quite the handyman. Give him a problem to solve or something to build, and he'll figure out a way to make it happen. So, when he decided to build his own sound system a few months ago, I wasn't surprised. What did surprise me was how much time and effort went into the planning stages.

For weeks, Jason pored over diagrams, measurements, and parts lists. He watched countless YouTube videos about speaker building and sound quality. When he finally had all his supplies, he commandeered the dining room and a portion of the living room (much to my dismay) and began the painstaking process of putting everything together.

At first, he was thrilled with his accomplishment. The speakers looked professional, and they worked—sort of. But it didn't take long before his excitement waned.

I stood in the bathroom, taking deep breaths and mentally preparing myself for what was to come. It had been months since I'd last checked my weight, and I'll admit, I'd been avoiding this moment like a cat avoids bath time. But today was the day. I'd finally mustered enough courage to face the music—or, in this case, the numbers.

"It can't be that bad," I whispered, trying to channel positive thoughts. "I've been eating...somewhat sensibly. And I do walk every day.  Well, almost every day."

Closing my eyes, I stepped onto the scale. The moment of truth had arrived. I counted to three, opened my eyes, and...promptly wished I hadn't.

"That can't be right!" I exclaimed, causing poor Tess to jump. "There must be something wrong with this scale. Perhaps it needs new batteries. Or maybe it's possessed!"

Have you ever felt like you're walking through a maze where the walls keep moving? Or perhaps trying to follow rules written in invisible ink? Welcome to the club! I've spent countless hours trying to decipher the unwritten social contract that seems to govern every interaction, only to find myself stumbling over invisible lines I didn't even know existed.

"Remind me about these things, but don't be a nag."

"Show initiative, but don't overstep."

"Give me all the information, but don't get bogged down in the details."

“Work hard, but don't overdo it."

"Rest, but don't be lazy."

The list of contradictory expectations goes on and on, enough to make anyone's head spin! Even in our spiritual lives, we often find ourselves trapped between seemingly opposing directives.

"Pray with faith, but don't be presumptuous."

"Trust God completely, but plan responsibly."

"Pour out your heart to God, but don't gripe or complain."

Now, I don't know about you, but sometimes I feel like I'm stumbling through this Christian life like an ostrich walking on marbles. One moment, I'm confidently taking steps, and the next, I'm face-planting into the carpet of life's challenges. But here's the beautiful thing: our Heavenly Father is right there, picking us up, dusting us off, and encouraging us to try again. He's not rolling His eyes or checking His watch; He's cheering us on with the enthusiasm of a parent watching their toddler take their first steps.

The goal, as we've discussed, is to reach a place where our entire life becomes an act of worship. Imagine that! Every breath, every action, every thought offered up as a sweet-smelling savor to the Lord. It's a lofty aspiration, isn't it? But let's not be discouraged if we haven't quite reached that pinnacle yet.

Think of it like tending a garden. When you plant a seed, you don't expect a full-grown tree overnight. It takes time, patience, and consistent care. Some days, you might not see any progress at all. But beneath the surface, roots are deepening, and growth is happening.

"Oh, Martha, Martha."

I can almost hear Jesus sighing as He says those words. I don't know about you, but I've heard that tone before. It usually comes right after I've done something spectacularly bone-headed, like trying to microwave a burrito still wrapped in foil. (Pro tip: Don't do that unless you enjoy impromptu fireworks in your kitchen.)

As I reflect on Martha's harsh words and accusations, I'm torn. On one hand, it's obvious her attitude was wrong, and the resulting actions were downright childish. On the other hand, I can't help but feel a pang of empathy for her. After all, I've been there. Haven't we all allowed our emotions to take the reins, leading us down a path of regret?

It's so easy to let our feelings dictate our actions, especially when we're tired, overwhelmed, or frustrated. But as believers, we're called to something higher. We're called to let God's truth guide our steps, even when our emotions are screaming at us to do otherwise. It's like trying to eat a salad when there's a perfectly good pizza sitting right next to it. We know what we should do, but boy, is it hard sometimes!

As I sit here, typing away, I can't help but chuckle at the irony. Here I am, writing about the dangers of over-commitment while my to-do list threatens to topple off my desk and bury me alive. It's a bit like a drowning man giving swimming lessons, right?

But let's be honest, we've all been there. We've all felt the weight of too many responsibilities pressing down on our shoulders, threatening to crush us under their collective mass. It's as if we're trying to juggle flaming torches while riding a unicycle on a tightrope. Over a pit of hungry alligators. In a hurricane.

The physical toll of over-commitment is no laughing matter, though. Our bodies weren't designed for constant stress and activity. We need rest, rejuvenation, and the occasional nap (preferably not during the pastor's sermon, but I won't judge). When we push ourselves too hard for too long, our bodies start to rebel.

Headaches become our constant companions. Our backs ache like we've been lugging around boulders instead of grocery bags. Our eyes develop a twitch that makes us look like we're constantly winking at everyone (which can lead to some awkward situations, let me tell you). And don't even get me started on the joys of stress-induced acid reflux. Nothing says, "I'm living my best life," like feeling like you've swallowed a flamethrower after every meal.

While the Bible doesn't tell us specifically what Martha was cooking, I have a feeling she wasn't throwing together a quick sandwich for Jesus and his followers. No, I believe she was preparing a feast. After all, it's not every day the Son of God stops by for dinner. If I had such an honored guest coming to dinner, I wouldn't serve Him a dish of Hamburger Helper. I would want to prepare a meal fit for a king, and I believe Martha felt the same.

But like many of us often do, Martha bit off more than she could chew. Her to-do list was long, and her strength was waning. Not only did she have to get everything done, but she had to do it to perfection. That means everything would finish cooking simultaneously, each dish would be delicious and cooked to just the right temperature, and everything would look just as beautiful as Martha envisioned. That, my friends, is a tall order. No wonder Martha was stressed!