An invitation to peace, even in the middle of the mess

A typeset quote from writer Kathi Lipp that reads,

Every home has a place where good intentions go to die. In some homes, it’s the kitchen counter. In others, it’s the dining room table. At my house, it’s often the laundry chair. 

And, no, I did not buy a laundry chair. My chair just morphed into that over time. Not with dirty laundry. Not with clean laundry. Not with folded laundry. Just laundry in need of the occasional minor miracle. 

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You get it, right? The clothes that are too clean for the laundry, but at the end of the day the idea of hanging them back up might as well be the same as sewing them from scratch. It is not going to happen. 

And even though my house feels okay, if someone dropped by, I would still hide a pile or two. But after years of working on my decluttering, at least I would no longer pretend to not be home. 

I know clutter is just stuff. But sometimes it feels louder than that: 

That dumb chair seems to whisper, “Look at you. Still not together.”
The mail pile says, “You’re behind.”
The dishes say, “You can’t keep up.”
The laundry says, “Everyone else can manage this. Why can’t you?” 

A messy house can feel less like a home that needs attention and more like a courtroom where every pile is evidence against us. And, when I’m tired, overwhelmed or running on fumes, I don’t need one more voice telling me I’m failing. I need the voice of Jesus. 

I think that’s why I’ve always had complicated feelings about Martha. She’s the one cooking, serving, noticing what needs to be done and trying to make Jesus’ visit work. Honestly? Martha sounds like the woman who knows where the extra napkins are. She’s the one who knows if there’s enough bread. She knows the floor won’t sweep itself. 

For years, I heard this story in Luke 10:42 NLT as if Martha was wrong for working and Mary was right for sitting. But I don’t think Jesus was shaming Martha for serving. He was speaking to the anxiety underneath her serving: 

“My dear Martha,” Jesus said, “you are worried and upset over all these details!” 

Jesus didn’t say, “Martha, your house is a disaster.” He didn’t say, “Martha, if you really loved Me, you’d have everything under control.” Instead, Jesus saw her. Not just the work she was doing, but the worry carrying it. That matters to me because clutter often has a story underneath it. 

Sometimes clutter is exhaustion.
Sometimes clutter is grief.
Sometimes clutter is decision fatigue.
Sometimes clutter is, “I don’t know where to start.” 

And, sometimes, clutter asks a question we don’t even realize we’re answering: “What if I need this someday?” That question is not always wisdom. Sometimes it’s fear dressed up as practicality. 

When God gave His people manna in the wilderness, He gave them enough for each day. They had to learn, one morning at a time, that God could be trusted again tomorrow. I’m not saying we shouldn’t keep extra toilet paper or a backup casserole in the freezer. Please. I love a responsible pantry. But I am learning to ask, “Am I keeping this item because it serves me, or because I’m afraid God won’t provide?” 

Maybe today, Jesus is not asking us to overhaul the whole house. Maybe He is simply inviting us to stop letting every pile accuse us. Maybe the next faithful step is one drawer. One chair. One bag. One decision. Not to earn peace. Not to prove our worth. Not to finally become the kind of woman God can love. But because we are already loved, and peace is worth making room for. 

The laundry chair may still need attention. The counter may still need clearing. The pile may still need sorting. But we do not have to confuse a house that needs care with a soul that deserves condemnation. 

Jesus sees the anxiety underneath the activity. He sees the fear underneath the keeping. He sees the tired woman standing in the middle of the mess wondering why she can’t just get it together. Even still, He does not turn away. 

He says, “My dear Martha.” Not messy Martha. Not lazy Martha. Not why-can’t-you-be-more-like-your-sister Martha.  

My dear sisters. Jesus does not invite us to shame. He invites us to peace. 

A black and white portrait of DaySpring contributing author Kathi Lipp.

Kathi Lipp lives with Roger and a bunch of chickens in the Sierra Nevada Mountains of California. There they host writer retreats, and Kathi writes about how to do life with God a little closer today than yesterday. She’s a best-selling author and loves her Clutter Free Community. Find her work at https://www.kathilipp.com.