Responsibility Overload
In programming, there is a philosophy called the Single Responsibility Principle (SRP). It states that a class should have only one reason to change. In other words, its purpose and responsibilities are laser-focused, much like a hammer. A hammer's job is clear: to manipulate nails (driving and removing). Ultimately, this philosophy aims to create focused, cohesive, easy-to-understand, and maintainable code, which are great goals I can get behind.
It's a simple principle, but it's surprisingly easy to violate, even as an experienced programmer. I've been programming for over fifteen years and still find myself doing it. Why? Sometimes, it's because I lack clarity or focus; other times, it's out of convenience. It's like the junk drawer in our kitchen; things end up there because we don't know where they go, and the drawer is a convenient container. On the other hand, our utensil drawer has zero chance of turning into a junk drawer because it has a clearly defined purpose, and people (mainly my wife) diligently ensure only the proper utensils go in there.
Still, beyond the confines of my kitchen cabinetry, practicing this philosophy in life feels orders of magnitude trickier to maintain. I'm in a season of life that is exceedingly full—it's full of exciting changes, opportunities, and joys, but it's also full of responsibilities and demands—some things I willingly took on, and some were placed on me by others. I'm sure you can relate. In seasons like this, you come face to face with your limitations, and I'm currently staring at mine.
I don't like having limits, but the effects of those limits are even worse. I get an awful feeling saying no to people. It's not a people-pleasing thing, but more of a disappointment that I can't help the people asking me. Some requests can be rescheduled to future dates, but others cannot, and those are the ones that stick with me. I've found that it's deceptively easy to add responsibilities but surprisingly difficult to remove them. Furthermore, it takes diligence, self-awareness, and even some bravery to keep things from your responsibility in the first place.
“When he came as a man, he knew his mission was for the lost sheep of Israel.”
No one in the history of the world felt this tension more acutely than Jesus. He literally carried the weight of the world on his shoulders with the cross. The Bible tells us that God's heart is that everyone would be saved (2 Peter 3:9, 1 Timothy 2:4, Ezekiel 33:11, John 3:16). The interesting, maybe even peculiar thing, is that even though His love is general—all people—He came to earth with a specific focus in mind. In verse 24 of chapter fifteen, Matthew writes, "When he came as a man, he knew his mission was for the lost sheep of Israel." You could say that Jesus was following the Single Responsibility Principle.
We see this tension most acutely with a Canaanite woman who approaches Jesus and asks him to heal her demon-possessed daughter. His friends want Him to send her away because she is causing a disturbance. Jesus even tells her, "I was only sent to the lost sheep of the house of Israel," of whom this woman wasn't a part. But her faith and humility move him, and he heals her daughter. This story is just a tiny peek into the tension Jesus lived in. Seeing all the needs around him, I can only imagine how easy it would have been for him to continue to bless and heal people and never actually make it to the cross and fulfill his purpose.
So, as I examine all the responsibilities on my plate, I wonder if some refactoring is required. What am I doing well, and what am I doing poorly? What things did God create me to do, and what should I hand off to someone else? It's an essential exercise for any season, but especially in the busy ones, to ensure we're walking out our callings and not burning ourselves out or losing focus.
