Oh, Martha, Martha — and Mary Too

Rooted Rhythms - Pt. 6: The Soft 7 Rhythms for an Intentional Life Rhythm 2 (Stillness)

It’s funny how your view of certain stories and movies change as you get older. One of the perspectives that has changed for me is on the story of Mary and Martha.

Growing up, I always heard that Mary was the one we were supposed to want to be.

The one who sat at Jesus’ feet.

The one who chose the “better” thing.

And Martha was the cautionary tale; the one who was too busy, too distracted, too caught up in doing.

But the older I get, the more I want to defend Martha.

Because someone had to open the door.

Someone had to set the table.

Someone had to make space for Jesus to be welcomed into the home in the first place.

Interestingly enough, I actually identified more with Mary when I was younger. The art of stillness with Jesus came way more easily to me then (probably because I was a kid and had a super mom doing everything behind the scenes!). It felt like a big “duh!” when given the choice between chores and Jesus.

Now, as an ADHD mom of two, stillness feels like something I have to fight for (and sometimes that fight is against myself). Fighting the urge to do just one more thing or add one more commitment at church so God will be extra happy with me. Fighting the weight that everything will crumble if I miss something.

Sometimes it feels if I don’t stay on top of the systems in my home, something gets left behind. If life gets heavier than usual, I can feel myself tipping into overdrive — rage cleaning more, pushing myself and my family more, trying to BE more — almost like I’m trying to prove that I can keep up, even when I naturally operate at a lower capacity.

Some days I am Mary, resting easily in the presence of God.

Other days I am Martha, doing the work of trying to get everything together.

What I’ve learned in this season is that I need my Mary moments with Jesus in order to have my Martha moments done well.

Stillness is not the enemy of doing.

It’s what makes my doing holy instead of hollow.

Stillness In Burnout

There was a time when stillness felt impossible for me.

My days were loud, my mind was louder, and every quiet moment that appeared was quickly filled with someone’s needs or mental lists of what still needed to be done. “Rest” came in the form of scrolling miles through tragic news, learning of new problems I didn’t know I had, and knowledge under the guise of “learning”.

When I was deep in burnout, I couldn’t stop moving. I had unmanaged ADHD, a toddler, and a heart that always felt behind. The idea of slowing down felt unsafe, like everything might fall apart if I stopped holding it all together. What I was really doing was avoiding the pause my soul desperately needed.

But rebuilding a soft life required me to face that fear.

It meant learning to sit still long enough to hear from God again.

“Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth.”

Psalm 46:10

When Stillness Feels Uncomfortable

I began to try to incorporate moments of pause and stillness in my day, starting at nap time and quiet time. I would force myself to lay down and clear my head. As a visual thinker, I would pretend to lasso all the wild thoughts and compact them together like a wad of paper and physically place it in God’s hands. If thoughts got loose, I would run with it by praying over it and talking to God as if I was externally processing things with a counselor or best friend.

At first it felt awkward and frustrating. I would sit there thinking of all the things I should be doing instead. Some days my daughters would need me before I even got a full minute so I would have to settle for a deep breath and a short prayer. Other days, stillness just looked like taking a moment to admire the trees on a walk or how the clouds looked on a drive.

But even in those imperfect moments, something shifted.

If I could pause long enough to take a breath, whisper a prayer, or simply say, “Lord, help,” I felt myself come back down.

Stillness didn’t feel holy at first, but it became holy with practice.

Stillness is not the absence of noise.

It is the presence of God in the middle of it.

How This Can Look In Your Life

These days, stillness looks different depending on the moment.

It might be setting up an activity so you can step away for a few minutes to breathe.

It might be taking your kids outside to feel the sun and wind and remember that creation itself is peaceful.

Sometimes it’s stepping away and letting your spouse take over.

More often than not, it will probably look like praying out loud and talking yourself through big feelings so your kids can see what regulation looks like.

When I was pregnant with my second, my anxiety was intense and I couldn’t take my ADHD medication. Learning to pause, breathe, and reconnect with God before reacting was a lifeline.

Now, as a mom of a five-year-old chatterbox and a busy toddler, it’s still the tool that keeps me grounded.

Stillness helps me catch myself before I lose patience and find peace before I pour into others.

Stillness is the reset button that brings me back to who I want to be.

Selah: Finding God in the Pause

I started to notice something as I practiced this rhythm.

Doing less in those small, quiet moments actually helped me do more in the ones that mattered.

More patience, clarity, and gentleness with my kids.

More space to hear from God instead of rushing past Him.

The word Selah shows up in the Psalms as a kind of holy pause. A moment to stop, breathe, and let what was just said settle into the heart.

That’s what stillness began to feel like for me: finding God in the pause instead of waiting for a quieter season that may never come.

Passing Stillness On

I used to believe that my life was too loud for stillness. I saw my kids and my circumstances as the problem.

But God showed me that the real noise was in my heart.

Stillness became a form of emotional and spiritual regulation. It is not a practice that bears fruit on its own. It bears fruit when we trust God’s strength instead of our own.

Now I see that my children are watching.

When I apologize after I lose my temper or take a moment to breathe before responding, they learn what humility and regulation look like.

When my oldest snaps at me, I ask her to go to her room for a few minutes to be still and collect herself. She always returns with a tender heart and an apology, and it melts me every time.

The stillness we practice becomes the peace our children inherit.

If You Need a Gentle Guide

If you’re finding these frameworks helpful and want a gentle, visual place to return to them, I’ve created a growing digital resource library that brings many of these tools together in one place. It’s designed to be a calm, one-stop companion to the ideas I share here—something you can revisit whenever life feels heavy or overwhelming.

This resource is optional, offered with pay-what-you-want pricing, and includes lifetime access as new tools and reflections are added over time.

If you feel too busy, too overwhelmed, or too restless to be still, you are not alone. Stillness is not a luxury. It is a spiritual discipline.

It is saying, “God, I trust that the world will not fall apart if I rest.”

It is learning to pause without losing purpose.

It is remembering that rest is not a reward but a reflection of trust.

You are not lazy for needing quiet. You are human.

And you were never meant to carry it all alone.

Much love,

Sarah

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