Why the Holidays Make It Hard, and Why It Matters Anyway
Every December, I feel the familiar pull—the rhythm of lists, events, expectations, and the quiet ache inside me whispering, “Don’t miss the meaning.” This is the season when we speak so much about peace, hope, and joy, yet live inside rush, pressure, and perfectionism. And in these weeks, my heart becomes a battleground between the part of me that hustles and the part of me that longs to be still.
If I’m honest, I’ve always felt more connected to Martha. I understand her instinct to prepare, to take care of everyone, to make things right. But the older I get—and the more I journey through my own spiritual and emotional work—the more I realize how deeply I also need Mary. Not instead of Martha, but alongside her.
“Martha, Martha, you are worried and upset about many things,
but only one thing is necessary.” — Luke 10:41–42
Because the Busy Feels Holy… Until It Doesn’t
In their home in Bethany, Martha did what so many of us do without thinking: she got to work. She served. She prepared. She made space. These were not meaningless acts; they were acts of devotion. But somewhere between the chopping, stirring, and arranging, her heart grew frantic. Service shifted into striving. Devotion became depletion.
Meanwhile, Mary sat at Jesus’ feet—present, unhurried, grounded. And Martha, overwhelmed, finally snapped:
“Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself?” — Luke 10:40
I know that feeling intimately—especially during the holidays.
The invisible labor.
The pressure to make everything magical.
The belief that the only way to show love is to pour yourself out completely.
The quiet resentment that grows when you’re running on empty and no one seems to notice.
December amplifies all of it. Our culture whispers, “If you love your people, prove it with your productivity.” And in the striving, I sometimes miss the moments I’m trying so hard to make meaningful.
It wasn’t the serving that exhausted me—it was losing myself inside the serving.
The Gentle Correction That Rewrites the Season
Jesus didn’t rebuke Martha for her work; He redirected her worry.
He honored her effort but invited her to remember why she was doing it in the first place.
This is the line that reshapes my holidays every year:
“Mary has chosen what is better.” — Luke 10:42
What was “better” wasn’t the sitting itself.
It was the presence.
The awareness.
The stillness that keeps service meaningful rather than mechanical.
I want my holiday actions to carry heart, not hurry.
I want my giving to be grounded in love, not guilt.
I want my home to feel warm because I am emotionally present in it—not because it is perfectly prepared.
And I want to remember that Jesus valued Martha’s hands and Mary’s heart. He simply reminded Martha that the heart comes first.
Meaning must anchor motion, or motion becomes noise.
Learning to Sit With Both
For years, I thought the moral was to abandon the Martha parts of me. But that was never the invitation. I now believe spiritual maturity is letting both sisters’ heart live in me—the one who prepares the table and the one who remembers Who the table is for.
Martha teaches devotion through action.
Mary teaches devotion through presence.
The holidays need both.
I’ve learned to wrap gifts with prayer.
To cook with gratitude.
To clean as a quiet offering.
To pause long enough to breathe before reacting.
To let stillness shape the doing rather than compete with it.
The goal is not to stop serving.
It’s to stop serving from anxiety, obligation, or depletion.
Hands that serve. A heart that listens. This is the balance I’m learning to carry.
When Balance Feels Harder Than Ever
December exposes the tension in me.
I want to create joy for my children—but I also need rest.
I want to show up for gatherings—but I crave some quiet.
I want to give generously—but must honor my emotional and financial capacity.
I want to honor traditions—but I want my presence to matter more than performance.
Many days, my Martha tendencies surge back to the surface: over-functioning, overthinking, overextending. But now I know the signs—tightness in my chest, irritability, rushing through moments that deserve to be savored. These are the moments I hear the invitation:
“Come sit. Come be. Come remember why.”
Stillness is not laziness.
It is spiritual alignment.
The holidays don’t need me to do more. They need me to be more present.
Meaning Over Motion
Every year, I return to the truth that even holy tasks lose their holiness when done on autopilot. The story of Mary and Martha is not a battle between contemplation and service—it is a reminder to choose meaning over motion, presence over pressure, and intention over perfection.
I want my boys to remember my calm more than my checklist.
I want to notice the sacred glimmers in the simple things—a candlelit moment, a shared meal, the sound of laughter drifting through the house.
I want the work of the season to feel like worship, not weight.
I want stillness to be the place I begin, not the moment I collapse into.
This isn’t a season of doing everything.
It’s a season of doing what matters—with a heart that is anchored.
May Mary remind me to breathe, and Martha remind me to show up.
A Blessing for All Who Feel the Same Tension
May your hands serve with love,
but may your spirit remain still enough to notice joy.
May your preparations be meaningful,
your giving be grounded,
your pace be gentle,
and your presence be real.
May both sisters—Mary and Martha—walk with you this season,
guiding you toward a holiday that feels like peace rather than performance.
Well-Stirred Reflection:
And may you remember that what mattered most in Bethany still matters now:
the ones who sit with us,
the ones who receive our offering,
the One who invites us into a quieter, deeper way of being.
Well-Stirred & Wondering 