Why is it so hard to preserve a clean margin?

For years, I have carried a notebook in my bag where I jot down sermon ideas, to-do lists, funny stories, and anything else I might want to remember. I prefer a notebook with graph paper because it accommodates my almost microscopic handwriting. It also provides clearly defined margins.

The problem is that I cannot seem to leave the margins alone. I write horizontally across the page, then turn the notebook and write vertically along the edge, filling nearly every available square.

Reading through those notebooks sometimes feels like reading a commentary on my life. Family, church, friends, writing, errands, yard work, hospital visits, phone calls, Bible studies, and seemingly endless meetings—who has time for margin? Even if we believe margin is good for us, we live in a world that rewards the marginless: those who maximize every minute, ounce of energy, and available resource.

Busyness can even wear spiritual clothing. We tell ourselves that because the work is good, necessary, or done in service to others, we should always be able to make room for one more thing.

We were never meant to live this way.

Earlier this week, a colleague summarized a teaching she recently heard with an important distinction: Scripture does not call us to “do everything” for the glory of God, as though faithfulness means cramming every possible task into our lives. Rather, Paul writes, “Whatever you do, do everything for the glory of God” (1 Corinthians 10:31). The point is not that we must do it all. The point is that whatever we do should be done in a way that honors God.

That changes things.

Faithfulness may mean leaving some squares blank. Instead of turning the page sideways to squeeze in one more activity, glorifying God may require enough margin to be fully present. It may mean saying “no” to some good invitations so that we can say “yes” to the most important ones.

God may be glorified most when a parent slows down enough to be present at the dinner table or stops entirely to read a bedtime story. God may be glorified when a teacher knows each child by name and learns something about the student’s life outside the classroom. God may be glorified when a nurse stays a few extra minutes with a lonely patient, or when someone pauses on an evening walk to listen to a widowed neighbor out sweeping her driveway at dusk.

You are not called to do everything. Neither am I. We have physical, emotional, mental, and material limits. Those limits are not defects in God’s design; they are reminders that we are creatures, not the Creator. Refusing to acknowledge them can become its own form of idolatry, as though the world depends on us.

Perhaps the blank spaces are not wasted space after all. Perhaps they are where attention, compassion, rest, and love have room to grow.

Today, remember that you are fearfully and wonderfully made—limits and all. And whatever you do, do it for the glory of God.