I was playing ball in the back yard with our crazy new puppy, Charlie. He has these two brightly-colored tennis balls. I would throw one, and Charlie would run full-speed and pick it up in his mouth. Then I would throw the other ball. And off he’d run toward that one. But then his own little personal crisis would begin. He’d get to the second ball and wouldn’t know quite what to do. He already had a ball in his mouth. And his little puppy-mouth cannot hold two tennis balls.
Every single time we played this little game, he would truly try to figure out a way to get both balls in his mouth. Or he’d draw them both up close and chew on one while protectively hovering over the other, then switch. But he had to choose just one to chew on at a time. There was no way around it — both tennis balls would not fit into his mouth.
I laughed at silly Charlie. But, doggone it, I do the same thing!
Not with tennis balls. That would just be weird.
But I chase after stuff when I cannot possibly hold another thing. Or I stumble upon a new interest or job or activity or hobby or opportunity to serve, and I want to pick it up. And I’m shocked that I cannot possibly fit it all in. So I stand there, wasting time and energy trying to figure out a way to get another tennis ball in my mouth, so to speak. Finally — every time — I just have to choose which ball I want to chew on. I either drop one to pick up the other or I keep the one I have and let the new ball lay in the yard.
Because a puppy’s mouth is only so big and a momma can only do so much. And that’s OK.
And it’s OK for you too. Drop the ball. Or let the new one lay in the yard. It’s OK. You can only do so much.