Choosing Presence Before Productivity
“Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.” — Luke 10:42
If I’m honest, I know how easy it is to confuse serving God with simply staying busy for God.
I love serving. I love creating, planning, teaching, encouraging, and saying yes to opportunities that help people grow closer to Jesus. Most of the time, those “yeses” come from a sincere desire to honor Him.
But I’ve also learned something about myself.
When my time with Jesus begins to shrink while my list of things to do keeps growing, something in me begins to change.
I become overwhelmed.
I become frustrated.
I start looking for shortcuts.
I carry burdens that were never mine to carry.
And before long, I realize that somewhere along the way, I quietly stepped into the role of leader while expecting Jesus to simply bless my plans. Instead of following Him, I’m asking Him to keep up with me.
For me, those are the warning signs.
They tell me I’ve drifted from His feet.
That’s one of the reasons I keep coming back to Mary in Luke 10.
When she sat at Jesus’ feet, she wasn’t avoiding responsibility or choosing the easier path. She was choosing the place where disciples are formed. In Jesus’ day, sitting at a rabbi’s feet was the posture of someone who wanted more than information—they wanted transformation. They wanted to become like their teacher.
The truth is… we all become like whatever we spend the most time around.
The voices we listen to shape our thinking.
The pace we keep shapes our expectations.
The people we admire influence our priorities.
Our habits quietly form who we are becoming.
If I spend more time with hurry than with Jesus, I’ll begin to look like hurry.
If I spend more time chasing productivity than pursuing His presence, I’ll begin to measure my worth by what I accomplish instead of whose I am.
But if I remain at the feet of Jesus, His character begins to shape mine. His peace steadies me. His compassion softens me. His wisdom redirects me. His presence reminds me that my identity is found in being His disciple before being His servant.
I’ve also discovered something else: it’s incredibly difficult to keep pouring from an empty well.
Eventually, exhaustion catches up.
Joy fades.
Ministry starts to feel heavy.
Relationships become another responsibility.
What once flowed naturally begins to require sheer effort.
I’ve learned those moments aren’t usually a sign that I need a better planner or another productivity system.
More often than not, they’re an invitation to return to the feet of Jesus.
Because He never asked me to carry the weight of becoming Him.
He simply invited me to follow Him.
Everything else grows from there.
Rooted Response
Before moving on with your day, take a few quiet moments to sit with what God may be stirring in your heart through this reflection.
Consider these questions:
What has been shaping me lately?
Am I spending enough time with Jesus to become more like Him?
Where have I been trying to carry what God has invited me to surrender?
Take a few moments to pray, journal, or simply remain in God’s presence.
Download the Rooted Reflection Companion to create space for your response and continue the conversation with Jesus beyond this reflection.
Remember:
Our identity is not formed by what we do for Christ, but by who we become as we remain with Him. Service is the fruit; abiding is the root.
Prayer
Jesus,
Thank You for inviting me into Your presence before asking anything from my hands. Forgive me for the times I’ve measured my worth by my productivity instead of my relationship with You. Teach me to slow down, to listen, and to choose the better part. May everything I do flow from a heart that has first been rooted in You.
Amen.
Rooted Reflection
The banyan tree does not become strong in a single day. It grows as its roots reach deeper and deeper into the ground, finding strength beneath the surface. In the same way, every quiet moment spent at the feet of Jesus deepens our roots. Hidden moments in His presence become the source of visible fruit in every area of our lives.
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