Embracing the Interruptions

I run up the stairs, breathless and on a mission. I look around, peer into the cluttered bedrooms, glance at the dripping towels in the bathroom. What did I come up here for again?

For maybe the fifth time today, I have no clue what had been an important task just moments ago. I charge into a room, ready to take control and cross off to-do’s and then… nothing. No, wait, I just had it.

I trudge back downstairs, racking my brain for what it was I needed. Was I supposed to grab a diaper? Find the sunscreen? Only the Lord and the deep recesses of my mind know the answer, and they don’t seem to be giving it up.

I sink into our well-loved couch and look around. Is this mom brain? Covid brain? I’m pretty sure I’ve read about this.

Once again, the play food has been scattered throughout the living room. Tiny wooden coffee cups and bright plastic vegetables line the floor, knowing that even after I return them to their gray storage basket, they’ll be back.

I start tossing toys back into the basket, my mind already onto the next task. I pull out my phone to search for an old email about decluttering kids’ toys, only to see a new one from one of my editors. They want changes… again. And so, I find myself racing back up the stairs to grab my laptop and respond immediately.

Somewhere in the madness of the day, I realize I’ve been living this If You Give a Mouse a Cookie existence for years. One task is cut short by another, and each interruption compounds upon the previous one. It’s literally crazy-making and is definitely a personality flaw according to every self-help book I’ve ever read.

I should be time-blocking, I chide myself. I need more self-discipline and an airtight schedule; I need to say no! How do other people do it?

Thankfully, on a day when I cannot recall even the most basic facts, I remember one big one. The interruptions are not the problem, and neither is my inability to ignore them.

This may be the most mom thing I’ve ever said, but when I first started reading the Bible every day, I was most struck by how often Jesus was interrupted. Oh, and how much alone time he needed. Jesus wanted so much alone time! But, just like me, he was always interrupted before he could get there.

Every time he tried to leave a town or go off to pray by himself, crowds followed. Dying children and paralyzed men and bleeding women couldn’t wait one more second, and so they didn’t. They asked for help, and Jesus stopped. He knelt down, listened to their stories, and healed them.

Because these interruptions weren’t interruptions at all; they were his mission on earth. Of course, picking up plastic tomatoes and answering emails is not my mission on this earth. But creating a loving home and writing words that matter to other women are part of mine. And I don’t think that any act of faith, no matter how small, is ever wasted.

Maybe I’m not lacking discipline or mismanaging my time, and you aren’t either. Maybe this is what the work looks like. Setting intentions, making plans, getting interrupted, doing your best, calling it a day, and calling it enough.

What if your most frazzled days weren’t a waste, weren’t evidence of how disorganized you are? What if they were just the work?

Maybe these interruptions are the moments that add up to a life well-lived and a life well-loved.