I need to be honest here. Like pull-up-a-chair-and-confess honest.
I made goals. Big ones. Intentional ones. Prayerfully-written, color-coded-in-my-mind goals. If you’ve been with me at all this year, you already know this. If you haven’t, don’t worry—you can read all about them right here.
All five of them.
Yes. Five. With sub-goals accompanying each one. Because apparently I believe I am part human, part productivity app.
When I wrote these goals, I felt incredible. Inspired. Motivated. Practically unstoppable. I was that girl—the one who drinks her coffee while staring thoughtfully out the window, convinced she is about to become her “best self” by next Tuesday.
Fast forward one month.
Friends, I am unwell.
Instead of feeling accomplished, I feel anxious. Like someone blew a whistle and yelled, “GO!” and I didn’t realize I had signed up for a marathon—barefoot—while carrying a planner, a Bible, and unrealistic expectations. Suddenly it feels like time is running out and I’m already behind… even though no one set a deadline. Except me. I set the deadline. And then I forgot to give myself grace.
I keep reminding myself that new habits take time. Growth takes time. Change takes time. But apparently my patience has a very short shelf life. I want instant results. I want progress I can measure. I want gold stars. And when I don’t get them? I spiral.
To make matters worse, I lost an entire week to the flu. A whole week accomplishing absolutely nothing except surviving on crackers and cough drops. How dare my immune system interrupt my grand plans?!
So there I was, walking Percy, my emotional support dog who listens to my internal monologues whether he wants to or not. All of this was swirling in my head—the goals, the pressure, the frustration, the feeling that I was failing something I had just started.
And then the loudest thought rose to the surface, cutting through the chaos:
Keep God at the center of all this.
Because here’s the truth I know deep down: I can’t do anything without Him. Not one thing. Not one goal. Not one habit. Not one tiny step forward.
And that’s when the Lord gently—but very clearly—spoke to my heart:
“Then why are you trying so hard?”
Oof.
Here we go.
Another loving, well-timed, Holy-Spirit mic drop.
“Be a Mary, not a Martha.”
If you know, you know.
Martha—busy, frazzled, doing all the things, exhausted, resentful, stressed out, wondering why no one appreciates her hustle.
Mary—sitting at the feet of Jesus, fully present, fully at peace, choosing the one thing that actually matters.
And suddenly it hit me.
When I wrote my goals, I did do it prayerfully. I really did. But if I’m being honest? I haven’t prayed much about them since. I’ve been too busy chasing them. Too busy managing them. Too busy trying to force progress instead of trusting the process.
Somewhere along the way, my goals quietly took the place of my stillness.
Goals are not bad. Not at all. They can be good, healthy, and God-honoring. But they were never meant to outrank obedience. They were never meant to compete with communion. They were never meant to pull me away from sitting at the feet of Jesus.
And here’s the big realization:
The best goal I could ever have—the only one that truly matters—is to be with Him.
To sit.
To listen.
To rest.
To trust.
So I’m choosing this: my goals will no longer be more important than what God wants me to do. If He asks me to slow down, I slow down. If He rearranges my plans, I’ll let Him. If He says, “Come sit with Me,” then that’s the win for the day.
Because I have this quiet, holy feeling that if I place my goals back into His hands, He’ll arrange them in a way that actually makes sense. In a way that brings peace instead of pressure. Purpose instead of panic.
And maybe—just maybe—I can finally stop running around like a chicken with its head cut off… and start walking at the pace of grace.
Mary chose the better portion.And honestly?
I want that goal more than all of mine combined.
Faith Love n Joy 