Come take a sit.

After a long day of work, I came home to a house that still had things waiting for me. The dishes needed washing, the laundry was waiting, and there were small corners that needed cleaning. Normally, moments like these can bring a quiet sigh or an inner complaint—“Why is there always more to do?” But that evening was different.

I simply began.

One task after another, I washed, wiped, folded, and arranged. The house slowly became quiet and ordered again. When everything was done, I sat down with a warm cup of coffee and looked around at the clean space. There was a deep sense of calm—not just because the chores were finished, but because something inside me had been different. I had done the work without crumbling under it, without letting irritation take over my heart.

As I sat there, I thought about the story of Mary and Martha in the Gospel of Luke (Luke 10:38–42).

Martha often gets remembered as the busy, critical woman in the story. She was the one moving around the house, preparing, serving, making sure everything was done well for Jesus. Mary, on the other hand, sat quietly at Jesus’ feet, listening to Him. At some point Martha became overwhelmed and said, “Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself?”

Her service wasn’t wrong. In fact, what she was doing was generous and hospitable. But somewhere along the way, her service became distracted. Instead of flowing from love, it began to carry frustration.

That evening in my kitchen, I realized something. The work itself was not the problem—Martha’s work was not the problem either. The real struggle is what happens inside the heart while we work.

When we serve without first sitting at the feet of Jesus, our hearts can easily slip into what I like to think of as the five Ds of distracted serving.

First comes disbelief—that quiet question Martha asked: “Lord, don’t you care?”

Then defensiveness—we begin to justify how much we are doing.

Then dismissiveness—people stop looking like people and start looking like obstacles.

Then demands—we begin trying to control others, even telling God what should happen.

And finally desperation—that lonely feeling that we are carrying everything ourselves.

Many women know this place well. We are often the finishers. We finish the laundry, the report, the meal, the project, the last detail that no one else noticed. Sometimes we even wear our busyness like a badge of honor, until one day that badge begins to feel heavy.

But Jesus’ response to Martha was gentle. He did not shame her work. Instead, He invited her back to the better place—His presence.

The lesson is not that we must stop working. Homes still need cleaning, meals still need cooking, responsibilities still exist. The invitation is something deeper: to let our hearts sit with Jesus before our hands start moving.

Because when we begin there, something changes. The work remains the same, but the weight lifts.

When we complain and feel resentful while doing chores, our brain releases more cortisol, the stress hormone. Cortisol prepares the body for conflict or pressure. That’s why when we work while grumbling, the work feels heavier than it actually is. The body stays tense, the mind keeps replaying thoughts like “I shouldn’t have to do this” or “No one is helping me.”

But when we accept the task and simply begin, something different happens.

As each small task gets completed—one plate washed, one surface cleaned, one basket folded—the brain releases small amounts of dopamine. Dopamine is the brain’s reward chemical. It creates a sense of progress and satisfaction. This is why finishing chores can actually feel calming when we do them with a settled heart.

By the time I sat down with my coffee, that sense of quiet satisfaction was partly spiritual and partly biological. The body had moved from cortisol stress to dopamine completion.

That evening, as I sat with my coffee in the quiet room, I realized that perhaps the goal is not to choose between Mary or Martha. The goal is to live with Mary’s heart and Martha’s hands—a heart resting in Jesus while the hands continue faithfully doing the work set before us.

And in that place, even ordinary chores can become part of what Jesus describes in the Gospel of Matthew (Matthew 11:28) as the “unforced rhythms of grace.”