Reader,

"We need to talk."

My stomach sank at those words. I'd just collapsed on the couch and flicked on the TV. The work day had been long; the dinner / bedtime routine even longer. Any mental energy I had to "talk" was long gone, used up by reading Goodnight Moon three times in a row.

With an exasperated sigh, I paused my show and turned to look at my wife.

She met my gaze with quiet determination. "We can't keep doing this."

"We can't keep doing what?" I responded with more edge than I intended.

"We can't keep living like this. You leave before the kids are up. You come home at dinner time. We put them to bed, and then you collapse in front of the TV. I'm here managing the kids and our home by myself. It's not sustainable."

Softly nodding to show that I had heard her, I relaxed and pulled out my tried-and-true trump card: "Honey, it's just a season."

But this time, the trump card didn't work. My wife shook her head, refusing to mask the weariness in her voice as she replied: "It's always a season."

She wasn't wrong, and I knew it. The evidence of our piled-up years together was undeniable. We'd had this discussion before, but nothing ever seemed to change or get better.

As I realized this, my frustration erupted. "This is just life!" I said. "This is how it works. If you want to make a difference, if you want to provide a life worth living, you've got to roll up your sleeves and do what needs to be done!"

It's not that I liked the pace and rhythms of our life. I'd simply chosen to settle. I was content just trying to survive our life.

But my wife was done surviving. "If something doesn't change," she said, "I'm afraid we're going to be done."

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If you've ever had a conversation like this, you'll perceive a third character in this scene. It's invisible and silent. At the same time, it's insidious and seemingly inescapable.

I call this character "The Smothering Grind of Life." (Or "The Grind" for short.) And if you ask me, The Grind is the chief villain we face in our day-to-day lives.

The Grind shows up in many different shapes and sizes.

It's the pressure businessmen feel to work late, avoid using personal days, and constantly monitor their emails while on vacation.

It's the guilt that moms feel when their kids don't make the travel ball team or deliver a 4.3 GPA.

It's the fear that ministry leaders feel when their congregations stop growing or their giving receipts plateau.

It infects every corner of our lives, and its most common symptom is busyness. And that's the challenge. As researcher Brené Brown observes in Daring Greatly, we wear busyness as a badge of honor. I know that I did. Go back and reread what I said to my wife above. To my way of thinking back then, the frenetic pace of our life was proof that I was on the right track.

But that was a lie straight from the pit of hell.

"In contemporary society," writes theologian Richard Foster, "our Adversary majors in three things: noise, hurry, and crowds. If he can keep us engaged in 'muchness' and 'manyness,' he will rest satisfied."

Philosopher Dallas Willard was even more blunt: "Hurry is not of the devil; it is the devil."

If you and I are going to live as our true selves — as the people God made us to be — we have to recognize and contend with The Grind. Our lives are too precious to waste in striving and busyness.

Remember:

You are loved.

I am for you.

You've got this.

Jake

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