The Lord has been placing this writing at my table for some time and I’ve been avoiding it. “It will take too long,” and “I definitely will write that, I just can’t do it right now,” excused my complacency and enabled me to continue using the housework, the kids, the study time I’d already completed that day to placate the urgency with which I knew this topic was being applied.

And so, interrupted from my study at the table this morning to nurse two sick kids back from the pukes and entertaining the toddler to keep her from tormenting her older sisters’ already anguished states, here I am writing on interruptions.

The time change in Ohio is a booger for us. I try to incorporate it as organically as possible, and ease the kids into bed a bit sooner or later depending on the season, but that hour of difference causes a ripple of change in the consistency of our household rhythms. When they’re up like clockwork at 6:15 everyday, all of a sudden it’s 5:15 and they’re wide awake as they typically are, the hour hand is just pointing somewhere different. Thankful for the steadiness of their circadian rhythms we pick up at 5:15 and resume our day to day systems in that earlier hour until it’s postponed again in the fall.

What was my 6am study time is now in a state of effective interruption.

I have these images, ideals of time and space that I cling to for stability and regularity. The kitchen is one. When my counters are smudged and dishes are piled in the sink I commit my time to the Lord as soon as the work He’s given me to do is done. I’m no perfectionist, by any means, and while there are other areas of the house that don’t require my immediate attention (unfolded laundry eyes me from the hamper at the back of the bedroom) there are certain tasks which I feel must be brought up to code before I can approach the throne of grace.

Thankfully the Lord does not require the cleaning up of my life before approaching Him. In fact, the opposite is true. Jesus said, “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls (Matt. 11:28-29).” Jesus wasn’t referring to an actual weighted object, like the yoke of an oxen, He was referring to the weighted position of sin in our lives. When we consider these words in light of the weight of the cross, suddenly our to-do list seems strikingly small and insignificant in comparison to the weight of the yoke Jesus carried. Rather than suggest we need to carry our own weight, or accomplish a series of duties in order to clean ourselves up to approach Him, He says, “I will give you rest for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.”

As a mom of three girls being pulled out of my train of thought, away from my Bible and pen, into tidbits of conflict and derision the portrait being painted here is the same position, gentle and lowly, as Christ demonstrated for me through his life, death, and resurrection. Jesus’ ministry was interrupted by Pharisees who sought to trick and trap Him, by Sadducee’s who challenged His authority according to the Word, which He was and is (John 1:1) by his friends and family who disbelieved His claims to be Messiah, and ultimately by the same people who He came to save, when they turned Him over to Roman authority and death by crucification on the cross.

Jesus did all these things while healing the leper, while multiplying a fish and some bread to feed thousands with baskets leftover, while restoring sight to the blind, and hearing to the deaf. He did all these things while weeping at the graveside of a loved one, who he already knew was not dead only sleeping; while casting out demons, and seeking the sinful and lost to dine with him; to walk with them, and to instruct them in righteousness.

Amidst all of this, Jesus withdrew to be alone and to pray. His list of tasks was much larger than mine. The demands and need for Him far outweigh the demands and needs placed on me. Jesus fed thousands, he healed innumerably, He was interrupted in the home of friends where he was teaching via the ceiling on the sole merit of the faith those coming to Him had to heal their paralytic friend. Not once did he wave his hand in dismissal. There is not one example of Jesus responding in complacency or frustration to the needs placed on Him. Even still, while responding gently and lowly to the needs placed on Him, He was able to set the demands aside and seek the will of the Father.

As a mom, I’m called to seek God’s will for me and for my children amidst the distraction and interruptions so that I may demonstrate the gentle and lowly spirit of Christ through me, that they may see Him despite me, and seek a relationship with Him that trusts in who He says He is. That calling is a crucifixion to self on a moment by moment basis. With each squawk of, “mom,” from another room, with each overturned breakfast plate and syrupy blanket that now needs thrown in the wash (cue the already neglected laundry from the corner) with each plate that piles into the sink next to the open dishwasher I have a choice to imbue that opportunity to reflect Christ to my children with the cleansing blood of Christ’s grace, gentle lowliness, and goodness or I can quip a snap at them about personal responsibility and command their consideration of me and my time with the curt inclination of my flesh to succumb to the inconvenience of another item now piled onto my to-do list.

We are called to, “whatever we do, do it all for the glory of God (1 Cor. 10:31).” This includes setting aside the need for a tidy to-do list because, for me, that’s really a reflection of a heart that seeks ultimate authority of my own life and circumstances. This includes responding gently and lowly to my children even when it’s the third spill or the eighteenth point of discord between siblings. This means forsaking the satisfaction of my flesh in order to put on a spirit of humility and responding in all circumstances to the glory of God.

“The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise (Psalm. 51:17).” God will not despise our brokenness and our mess. In fact, the opposite. Because of the broken body and blood of Christ I can come boldly before the throne of grace where I will receive mercy and grace in my time of need (Hebrews 4:16).” Because of this, I know that God uses the interruptions to my day, the distractions, inconveniences, stresses, and everything else my flesh would like to sink it’s teeth into and use to justify anger, frustration, complacency, and, rather, He will use these moments to sanctify me that I may bear good fruit for His glory and for my good.

This morning I watched my toddler spill the sticky liquid she had begged me for just moments prior, on purpose, while looking me straight in the eye as I repeatedly told her not to.

What an image, I thought, of how often we approach God in the same way regarding that special sin we thought we really wanted, but as soon as we turn from him to cling to it, suddenly we’ve found ourselves in the midst of a sticky mess.

As early as 12 months I begin using the vernacular “obey” with my children. Prior to this age, and for as many years as I can after, I hum and sing songs like “trust and obey” in their ears. Their obedience is something that I expect as their parent. I expect that when I ask them to do, or not to do, something that they will listen. Sometimes the command is essential for their immediate physical safety: “look both ways before crossing the road.” Sometimes, the command is concerning their conduct: “say please and thank you.” In either instance, the Biblical command concerning their obedience is clear: “Children obey their parents in the Lord for this is right (Ephesians 6:1).”

The usage of the term yoke in the Bible conjures the image of oxen. Webster defines it as, “a wooden crosspiece that is fastened over the necks of two animals and attached to the plow or cart that they are to pull.” Together, the oxen each have the same objective: pull the cart. Yet, depending on the strength of the team member this objective could be made significantly less or more difficult.

Imagine two teams of oxen are given a challenge to reach the end of a field first. The first set are given a straight path, with protective barriers on each side that they are able to walk from point A to point B with no obstructions. Now, picture another set who have no barriers and may use any part of the field they please, but spotted along the field are logs and puddles and other manners of distraction along the way as they attempt to travel from point A to point B.

Both teams ultimately reach the conclusion. However, one team was offered a more effective means to reach that conclusion than the other. Furthering this analogy, upon completion of the task, rewards await the oxen team that completed the task by encountering the fewest amount of obstructions. It seems almost unfair that one team was given a protected route and a straight path from point A to B. In our society today, we would challenge this and say, “the other team had to encounter all those difficulties. It wasn’t fair!” But this is just what Jesus offers: barriers to protect us, combined with his strength to cross the obstacles, but for the sake of our freedoms we far too often reject.

Unlike the oxen in this analogy we have a choice. Choosing Jesus means we are yoked together with him in eternal freedom from the consequence of our sin. The barriers given in scripture are there to keep us from harm, not force restrictions that cost us something good. Jesus himself gives us the perfect example when “for the joy that was set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is set down at the right hand of the throne of God (Hebrews 2:12).” At any point Jesus had the power and authority to command tens of thousands of angels, “do you think that I cannot appeal to my Father, and he will at once send me more than twelve legions of angels (Matthew 26:53),” but Jesus was able to see beyond this temptation and the distractions of the world to obey the Father for he knew the joy that was set before him. We are given the same promise in Hebrews, “since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured from sinners such hostility against himself, so that you may not grow weary or fainthearted (Hebrews 12:1-3).” We lose sight of the joy that is set before us when we take our eyes off of Jesus and set our sights on things of this world.

From the moment Satan tempted Eve in the garden humanity has engaged in the same temptation to question whether or not what is outside of the barrier is worth abandoning the path for. So often we mistakenly believe that God has withheld something good from us and that we should just go and take it for ourselves. But what we find are puddles, and logs, and lack the strength to move through them on our own. Suddenly that special sin is sticky. It’s muddy. And without being yoked to a teammate whose strength is able to see us through to the other side our steps sink among the muck and mire and we become yoked, rather, to our sin. When we pick the desires of our flesh over obedience to God we choose enslavement to sin. When Jesus says “my yoke is easy, and my burden is light (Matthew 11:30),” he means he can offer us a way by which “all of our paths can be made straight (Proverbs 3:6)” when we acknowledge Him in all of our ways.

We’re either enslaved to our sin, or we’re enslaved to Jesus. One offers eternal condemnation, the other eternal freedom.

Now, this can seem a bit like prosperity gospel. Yoke yourself to Jesus and suddenly there are no more puddles or mud to muck through. This is not the case. In fact, Jesus says, “in this world you will have trouble, but fear not for I have overcome the world (John 16:33).” What happens when we yoke ourselves to Jesus and start pursuing Him rather than our sin is that he makes our path morally straight, he enables our decision making to align with His good and perfect will; once we have accepted his sacrifice for our sin, as we love him and pursue a knowledge of Him, we find ourselves free from the enslaving burdens of sin.

I expect my children to obey me because the Bible commands them to. Not because I’m some scary figure of authority, but because I’m the God ordained authority in their life. God’s will for my life, in part, is to teach them the chain of command. God, me, them. Less of a chain. More of a direct link. God’s word commands them to obey and it commands me to train them up. When they begin a life of understanding that intertwines obedience with love they see the gospel more plainly. If we love him we obey him: Jesus showed us this by obeying the father all the way to the cross. Freedom is found in obedience to his word, and with Jesus we have the strength we need to overcome sin in order to obey.

Finally, when we yield to him, we take rest in Him. When we place our lives in his hands we give over our struggles to the one who is strong enough to temper them. We yoke ourselves to a teammate whose strength overcomes even the muckiest, deepest sin pits. Really, he’s more than a teammate. He’s the whole team. His strength in us, not ours, gives us victory. So go to him. All you who are heavy laden, burdened down by the weight of sin, and he will give you rest.

“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest (Matthew 11:28).”