What Matters Most

Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made. . . . “Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, “you are worried and upset about many things, but few things are needed—or indeed only one. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.”

LUKE 10:40–42

MATT CAME HOME ONE AFTERNOON AND PAUSED ON HIS WAY into the house when he saw a long, white scratch down the side of his one-week-old minivan.

“What happened?” he bellowed.

His daughter confessed that she had ridden her bike into the garage and scraped the brand-new vehicle with her handlebars. Matt got a bit heated, because his daughter had broken an ironclad rule and cost him a lot of money and hassle in the process.

Laura, Matt’s wife, came out when she heard the “conversation” and immediately took their daughter away, saying just three words: “It’s a car.”

Those three short syllables were enough to chasten my friend. “My daughter had scratched metal,” Matt admitted, “but I crushed a person.”

Matt’s insight—comparing scratched metal to a crushed person—helps me keep perspective. What really matters more? It’s impossible for any kid to live in a house without occasionally making a mess, breaking something, or leaving a permanent mark behind. Yet it’s so easy to make them feel guilty for inconveniencing us. It’s also easy to forget what matters most—scratched metal, or a crushed person.

During his induction ceremony into the Baseball Hall of Fame, Harmon Killebrew spoke fondly of his parents. He recounted how one day he and his brother were out playing in the yard, and their mother got upset. “You’re tearing up the grass!” she complained.

To which Harmon’s dad replied, “We’re not raising grass, we’re raising boys.”

When our kids are young, life resembles a blur. We try to keep the house relatively clean, struggle to balance competing demands, work to keep passion and romance in our marriages, and, I hope, seek first the kingdom of God. In the midst of this blur, secondary aims—a clean house, a postcard-perfect yard, and so on—can become enemies of our ultimate purpose.

I’m not saying that a clean house doesn’t matter or that a yard shouldn’t be treated appropriately, but I think Harmon’s dad was on to something. In the end, what matters more? Life today demands—even ensures—that some good aims will have to get temporarily shelved in order for us to fulfill the ultimate aim. In the twilight of these choices, we determine what matters most.

Let’s be careful we don’t value a spotless floor over a positive, nurturing, and encouraging relationship with our kids; that we don’t make them feel guilty for the impossibility of living in a house without leaving some kind of mess behind. The day will come when they won’t soil the floor, touch the walls, or create additional laundry—and I suspect we’ll miss the good old days when the yard showed the effects of heavy traffic and the house revealed the presence of children.

But maybe you need to deliver yourself, not your children, from these expectations. I recently walked into the master bedroom after being away, and my wife apologized for the mess. In the previous twenty-four hours, my wife had worked as hard as any woman in this nation. I knew her schedule; I knew the choices she had made. And every choice was the right one. Something had to give. She had nothing to apologize for.

Set yourself—and your family—free. Except for those who can afford outside help, few of us with kids still around will ever qualify for a Better Homes and Gardens spread. Our lawns may not get gawked at by visitors or passersby. There may exist blatant evidence of a few projects that still need to be done. But we’re not raising grass; we’re raising kids.

Let’s remember Matt’s insight: scratched metal doesn’t justify crushing persons.

Heavenly Father, help us to maintain the attitude that people, especially our children, matter most. Make our homes bastions of laughter, joy, and acceptance, not pressure-filled places where one footprint or fingerprint elicits howls of wrath. In Jesus’ name, amen.