Finding Contentment in a Disjointed Life

Disjointed seems to be my new “normal.”

I thought the start of the school year would bring structure and routine back into our lives, but that hasn’t been the case. The only constant right now is 7 a.m. driver’s ed. From there, the schedule unravels into a mix of work (but not every day, and not always full days), school drop-offs at 6:45, doctor and dentist appointments, orthodontist visits, after-school games—home or away—late nights and early mornings.

Some days the girls and I all leave together. Other days, I play taxi, making multiple trips back and forth. I often find myself rushing, only to wait: waiting in a parking lot, at home, or in between tasks at work. Sometimes I get 15 minutes, sometimes an hour, of random open time. And as a person who thrives on structure and routine, I’ll admit: I am not thriving in this chaos.

It feels a little like I’m living as both Mary and Martha at the same time. Martha, running around to make sure everything gets done—errands, appointments, practices. And Mary, sitting in the in-between moments, waiting, trying to be present. I can’t say I love this “Mary-Martha mash-up” life. It’s messy, unpredictable, and not where I thrive.

But then I remember Paul’s words: “I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances” (Philippians 4:11). He didn’t say contentment came naturally—he said he learned it. And I’m still learning too.

One routine that’s been helping me is the gratitude list I started this summer. It’s about to reach 500 entries. Even on the craziest days, I can find something to write down: a bleacher conversation with volleyball parents, laughter with co-workers, this stretch of warm sunshine filled days, or even the fact that I didn’t pass the two slow vehicles in front of me on the way home—because the second one was a police officer. Gratitude doesn’t erase the chaos, but it shifts my focus from what’s unraveling to the God who holds it all together.

So here’s where I land: disjointed may be my current normal, but it doesn’t have to steal my joy. I can be a little Mary, a little Martha, and a whole lot dependent on Jesus—learning, slowly, to be content in the middle of it all.