Coping with Dropitis

So far, “dropitis” hasn’t made it into the medical manuals, but it’s a real and serious syndrome. I should know.  The other morning I hoped to do something noble for humanity, after I changed the sheets and washed the dishes. But as I pulled fresh sheets on the bed, I discovered a dirty sock with an air-conditioned toe. Going to the sewing machine to mend it, I realized my machine’s needle needed tightening. Dropping the sock, I went out to the garage for a tiny screwdriver. I found it okay, but noticed the measuring tape and hammer from the last fix-it project were in a pile on the workbench. Dropping the screwdriver, I tidied the workbench and went back in the house. That’s when breakfast dishes confronted me. After washing them, I decided the dishrag was hosting a few trillion battleship-gray germs, so headed for the bleach. Opening the cleaning cupboard, I saw I needed to buy bleach. I dropped the rag on the floor by the washer and reached for the car keys.

At the grocery store, after dropping bleach into my cart, I remembered wanting to cook a meal for a friend battling cancer. Home again with bleach and a bulging bag of groceries for my family’s and friend’s meals, I dropped my coat and purse and charged into cooking duties. As the sink piled with dirty dishes, I was glad I’d at least washed breakfast’s pile. By nighttime, I’d still hadn’t changed the bed or achieved world peace. But somebody in need had a meal.

 

I take comfort in knowing that Jesus picked disciples who had "dropitis."  Simon and Andrew dropped the net they were fishing with, and James and John dropped the nets they were mending. And don't forget short Zaccheus, who dropped out of a tree and asked the Lord, "What do you want me to do?" When Jesus drops into our lives, priorities change.