Might as Well Face It, I'm Addicted to...Lists?

I have often wondered what Type A individuals did before the invention of the check-mark--and the helpful little square to put it in.  On their own, the check-mark and the square are pleasant enough, but put them together and, POW!  Magic.

Oh, bless the day that brought those two elements together into a marriage of unparalleled brilliance and productivity!  And bless their progeny, the glorious List.

How did people survive before lists? Without a running tally, how did they escape the feeling that their existence was one, interminable, unfinished task?  To complete something and not be able to check it off must have felt like having an unscratched itch--all the time.  

Was every accomplishment tinged with the feeling that it was somehow incomplete?   Was life missing that essential dash of flavor that perfects the dish? 

It would be like a world without salsa.  Or bacon.  

What a void!

You could survive, but every time you ate a plate of nachos, or ordered a Grand Slam at Denny's, a little part of you would die.  (Actually, I'm pretty sure a little part of you does die when you eat a Grand Slam even in a world with bacon, but I digress.)

The thought of life without lists makes me weep inside.  I understand that some of you don't require them.   Some of you are ambivalent toward them.  Some of you get downright hostile when confronted by them, but believe me when I say that lists are a magnificent invention for those of us who require constant, visible affirmation of our existence throughout the day.  

But it's more than just a proof of life, it is also a productivity gauge. 



Sometimes after a long day, I can look at a completed list, with it's row of jaunty, black check-marks winking at me and it is almost like having a pat on the back from an old friend.  "Well done!" they say, "You may have let a thousand other things slip through the cracks, but these eight (or ten or twenty)--you nailed 'em!"  

And those eight, or ten, or twenty things, just by virtue of appearing on a list, gain importance over the thousand others that didn't make the cut. 

 I have even, on occasion, added something to a list after it was a fait accompli, just so I could check it off.  Give it weight.  Make it speak. 

And now I have found myself on the cusp of a much-anticipated visit from relatives, to be followed shortly by a much-anticipated family vacation, interspersed in the meanwhile by school and extra-curricular obligations, church ministry opportunities, miscellaneous appointments, household duties--and of course the inevitable daily barrage of  interruptions to those aforementioned obligations, opportunities, appointments, and duties.  

Suddenly, I'm making lists about the lists I need to make, and in the middle of my frantic boxing and checking, I found myself at the end of last week rising like a specter from a pile of half folded laundry with my eyes blazing, lashing out in fury at my startled children--like some sort of a fastidious Balrog, or a laundry room Smaug.


Granted, the folding job wasn't done thoroughly.  It had taken twice as long as it should have with four times the normal nagging, and that's not good.  There were issues at hand which needed to be addressed, but I was not shepherding hearts that day.  

I was leading with my lists.  The children had put me off my schedule.  Their disobedience had disrupted my agenda.  I was overdue for a check mark, and they became speed bumps in my race for productivity and self-validation.  

  Later after our mutual apologies were made, it dawned on me that a list can become a god too.  Like every good thing, it can be twisted into a dark distortion of itself, becoming a master instead of a servant.

That incident has caused me to re-evaluate my relationship with lists.  My curriculum guide has empty boxes after every assignment.  How often have I rushed, pushed, scolded, and hounded my way through a school day, just so I could get my quota of check-marks?  

How many ministry invitations have I turned down because I was "behind" in my 36 week master schedule?  

How much impatient correction has been doled out to children whose little hands and feet and hearts could not keep up with my list-driven agenda?

Here is a confession:  I have left the house late for numerous commitments simply because I wanted to check one more thing off my list for the day.  

Stupid, meaningless things.  Like getting one last load of laundry put away, spraying down kitchen counters, or sweeping.  Check! Check! Check!  

Never mind that I just made other people wait for me, selfishly wasting their time so that I could leave my house with a head full of personal check marks.

Here is another.  On more than one occasion, my dear, patient husband has waited in the truck with all of the children while I made sure the house was 100% spotless before we left for a trip.  I have justified it by saying that it is a gift I give to our family--a clean house to come home to so that upon our return, all we have to do is empty our suitcases and relax!

That is well and good.  A worthy goal.  However, if the estimated time of departure has come and gone an hour ago and your family is sitting in the truck with the engine running, it is time to put down the toilet brush and join them no matter what the house looks like.  At that point cleanliness has pushed godliness off the throne (no pun intended), and my efforts have ceased to be a blessing to anyone but myself.  

Those are just examples from the life of one homeschooling mom, but I challenge all of you type A individuals to examine how your own lists may have sprouted horns and taken over.  

Work projects and deadlines displacing bonding and discipleship time with your wife and children?  Don't let what is merely important win over what is essential.

Urgent and endless ministry needs drowning out the little voices at your knee?  Children are easy to ignore.  They wield little power and they learn to stop asking when no one answers.  But they will fill their hearts somewhere (often with media and peers) and they will follow your example of how to lead a family.  

The human tendency is toward imbalance.  In everything.  The older I get, the more I see it.  The fact is, every person I know who has ever driven their life off the tracks in one area or another, has gone down in flames insisting that they were right and righteous.  Fair and balanced.  Logical and reasonable.  It's just that no one else on the planet was smart enough to see it.  

Most of the people I know who are workaholics, or internet junkies, or know-it-alls, or busybodies, or injustice collectors, or arrogant legalists, or selfish naval-examiners, or drama queens, or permissive panderers would all say they don't have a problem in those areas. 

 I myself have lived for years in one or another of those traps (thankfully, not all at the same time), and no doubt someone is reading this who could point out exactly where my blind spot is at this season of my life, but my point is this:

Without the Holy Spirit and the loving, "iron sharpens iron" refining that happens within the the body of Christ, we are doomed to blindness about ourselves.  

No one is strong on his own.  Not for a second.  We need to spend much, much more time on our knees, much, much more time meditating on the Word and listening for the Spirit's quiet leading.  We need one another to be bold and brave and loving in correction and restoration. 

The Bible stories that used to make me cluck my tongue, now make me blush because I see myself (and all of us) in them.  

I am David, who could commit an atrocity for selfish gain, and then become indignant over the story of someone doing the similar thing on a much lesser scale.  David confronted by Nathan

I am the victim of spiritual pride, who crows about my faithfulness, right before I fall on my fears. Peter denies Christ

I am the unsatisfied child, who is rescued from the slavery of sin, given a place in God's family, led by His hand, and then complains that His provision is not to my liking. Israelites complain about manna

I am the "servant of God" who looks with envy on the fruitful ministry of my fellow laborers.  John's disciples complain about Jesus' success

So I guess what I am saying is that I'm afraid I have let a tool become a tyrant in my life, and that henceforth I am going to try to put people first, even if I have to end the day with a completely blank list.  *Gasp*

OK.  Not blank.  I can’t do that. 

Maybe I'll just write...

1.     Roll over. 

2.    Hit snooze button. 

3.    Lie still for five minutes. 

4.    Turn off alarm for real. 

5.    Get out of bed. 

6.    Stand upright.

...every morning after I get up.  

That way, at the very least I'll know I have accomplished six things each day without compromising anyone else.

   

Now, since I get to be uncomfortable for the next few months as I recover from my list addiction, here’s a little assignment for you.  I dare you to ask one close friend to tell you where your life might be out of balance;)  

Time spent on social media?  Movie, music, or book choices?  Sports or shopping addiction? Obsession with children? Work?  Nutrition?  Hobbies?  Video Games?  Home improvement?  "Toys"?  

Lists?

And don't ask the friends who are just as "balanced" as you are.  Ask someone who is onward and upward from you  (or at least someone who isn't into your exact same habits;) 

Or if all your friends are too chicken to say anything, pray and wait for the Holy Spirit to show you where your tail is dragging on the teeter-totter of life.  

If you listen, He will speak.