Dear friend,
About six months ago Josh and I changed our work schedule. As most of you know, we co-lead
Every Woman a Theologian (I am the founder/CEO, he is the COO, or chief of operations, and works closely with our accountant to handle the budget as well). For the last year or so we followed a half-day work schedule: Josh worked mornings while I homeschooled, then I worked afternoons while he taught math and watched the kids. After a year of this we found ourselves succumbing to a constant wave of anxiety. I was rushing the kids through the mornings, trying to pack everything in before 12:30 PM. Then I was rushing to finish my work by 5:30 PM. There never seemed to be enough time.
We switched it back to “whole days”. Mondays for Josh, Tuesdays for Phy, Wednesdays Josh, Thursdays both (when our mother's helper is here for a few hours) and Fridays for Phy. Of course we do some work on our “off days” – we have systems for the home and homeschool that make a few hours possible. Our new model frees us to fully focus on our responsibility – work tasks or parenting/teaching – without feeling like an anvil is about to drop on our heads (business owners can relate).
We changed this before summer hit, not knowing what was to come: our second miscarriage, Maple's diagnosis and illness, a dangerous incident with our kids, and manufacturing challenges with the ministry. In the midst of chaos, the system we created was a rhythm sustaining us, a pattern we returned to, a slowness we needed to survive the assault.
We did not have the privilege of taking off time in the midst of June aside from our weekly Sabbath on Sunday. There was too much at stake (and we are quick to take breaks when they are absolutely necessary and possible; this was not actually possible). When you can't stop, when the train is barreling down the tracks, how do you find rest in the midst of pain and grief and chaos?
The slowness of a stable routine.
Our world hates routine. Society makes it sound dry and boring. And yet we long for the results of routine: peace, stability, consistency, beauty, creation, and rest. Routine is only drudgery if you view it as a limitation. If you view it as the key to freedom, freedom is what you'll see.
And in grief, routine saved us.
Every morning in June I got up and walked a mile. I came in and made a hazelnut Nespresso, Bible open on the table. After I read the passage and set out bowls for the kids to make their breakfast, I started the laundry, then took it out and hung it on the line. I dressed and did my makeup for no one but myself (because beauty isn't a parade for others, it's a way of expressing our created design). Little feet stumbled down the stairs as the sun streamed through the window, golden shafts of light across the maple floor. We cleaned the “zone” or area of the house designated for that day, the kids did their chores – dressing, making beds, emptying the dishwasher, picking up their rooms – then we'd sit on the hammock or the couch and read Farmer Boy and poetry aloud.
Nothing in that paragraph was world-changing. Except it was. Because routine changes MY world into a place of peace, I can sustain the pace and demands of ministry (and life) without burning out. Better yet, I can actually ENJOY this life I've been given, even in the midst of mourning.
