When the Work as a Writer Crowds Out the Word

I've been a Martha lately.

Not the kind who gets credit for showing up. The kind who can't stop moving. Who answers one more email, accepts one more project, says yes one more time, and calls it faithfulness.

It isn't.

You know the story when Jesus visits the home of two sisters. Mary sits at his feet. Martha works. And when Martha finally breaks, frustrated, depleted, looking for someone to validate her busyness, Jesus doesn't give her what she's asking for. He gives her something better.

Martha, Martha.

Two words. Her name, twice. That's not a rebuke. That's a hand on the shoulder of someone who sees her.

I've needed that lately. And I suspect some of you have too.

The Martha Writer

Martha writers are everywhere. We're the ones who love the craft deeply, but somewhere along the way, the craft became a to-do list.

We're managing deadlines and social media and speaking engagements and client work and conference prep. We're producing content instead of creating it. We're writing for everyone but ourselves. We know all the right things to say about the writing life. We just haven't lived it in a while.

The trouble with being a Martha writer isn't that the work is unimportant. It is important. Deadlines matter, and so do many other things.

But when the doing crowds out the being, we lose the very thing that makes the work meaningful in the first place.

We lose our voice.

The Mary Writer

Mary wasn't lazy. She made a choice.

She chose presence over productivity. She chose to receive before she gave, and Jesus said that what she chose would not be taken from her.

Mary writers still work hard. They still meet deadlines and honor commitments. But they write from a full place instead of an empty one. They know the importance of the Word before they can give any words away.

Their writing has something in it, and you can feel it when you read what they’ve written.

That something is what burnout steals.

Five Shifts from Martha to Mary

I’ve had too many Martha dates lately, but here's what I'm learning.

1. Before you write toward an audience, write toward God.

I often tell writers to write for an audience of one. Your first audience needs to be between you and God. Journal. Pray on the page. Let yourself write badly. The practice of writing without an outcome in mind is what keeps the well from running dry.

2. Protect one sacred writing hour.

An hour you defend. Close your email. Silence your phone or anything else that could be a distraction. Tell people you're unavailable. Martha writers fill every open space with something productive. Mary writers protect space as an act of obedience.

3. Read like a reader, not an editor.

When did you last read something purely for the joy of it? Not for research. Not to blurb. Not to stay current. Just to be moved. Mary sat at the feet of Jesus and received. We need to do the same.

4. Say no to something good so you can say yes to something better.

Martha's problem wasn't that she was doing something wrong. It was that she couldn't stop. This is my Achilles’ heel. Good opportunities will always exist. Your capacity won't. Every yes to the urgent is a potential no to the essential.

5. Let yourself be still long enough to hear what you actually have to say.

The stories that impact don't come from a frantic mind. They come from a quiet one. Stillness isn't wasted time; it's where real work begins.

Martha, Martha.

He sees you. He's not dismissing the work you've done but inviting you to put it down—just long enough to remember why you picked it up.

Mary chose the better thing. We can too.