Jesus Ran My Calendar!

I let the Gospels schedule my week and here’s what stayed, what got cut, and what actually changed. On Monday, my calendar looked like a Tetris board. Blocks jammed together in proud little towers, one email away from collapse. I’ve always believed that if I stacked enough colour-coded rectangles, I would feel whole. The thing about idols is they don’t hug back. So I tried something reckless: I handed my week to the Gospels. Not a mood board. Not a “spiritual productivity hack.” I mean I read how Jesus moved, how He slipped away to pray before the sun had opinions, how He let love interrupt Him, how He guarded rest like a gift, and I let that pace start bossing my calendar around.

Monday: The First Word

The day usually begins with a news feed. This time it began with a Word. I didn’t negotiate with myself; I just opened to the Gospel of the day and sat there, like a thirsty person who finally found the tap. “Rising very early… He went out to a deserted place; and there He prayed.” (Mark 1:35). Fifteen minutes later, the to-do list hadn’t shrunk, but something inside me had. Pride and panic are loud first thing; Scripture is quieter, but it carries authority. I closed the Bible feeling less like a task manager and more like a son who had already been welcomed.

Tuesday: The Holy Interruption

I had a tight schedule and a neat plan, and then a message pinged in from a friend whose life had come apart midweek. My reflex was to protect the plan. The Gospels wouldn’t let me. Jesus had places to be, yet He stopped for the woman who reached for His cloak on the way (cf. Luke 8:43-48). He let mercy re-route Him. I called my friend. We spoke in a car park with the engine off. The plan dissolved; something better happened. I remembered that ministry starts wherever love is most needed, not where my calendar says it’s convenient. “I desire mercy, not sacrifice.” (Matthew 9:13).

Wednesday: The Better Portion

Midweek is where I usually try to be Martha and Mary at the same time, busy and contemplative, efficient and deep. It rarely works. I kept hearing Jesus’ line as if it were underlined just for me: “Mary has chosen the better part.” (Luke 10:42). I didn’t empty the day; I chose one thing in each piece of it and gave that thing my full attention. Strangely, the work got better, and my soul stopped looking over its own shoulder. I didn’t feel heroic. I felt human.

Thursday: The Yoke Check

By Thursday, I was behind. Old me would have crammed more tasks into the cracks and called it faithfulness. Instead, I asked a blunt question: Is this a yoke Jesus actually asked me to carry? “My yoke is easy, and my burden light.” (Matthew 11:30). Some of what was crushing me came from fear. A fear of being overlooked, a fear of letting someone down, a fear of being less impressive than last time. I moved two “important” things to next week and wrote a single line on a sticky note: Obedience is lighter than image. The day breathed again.

Friday: Mercy in the Inbox

My inbox is where hope goes to nap. Usually, I attack it like a gladiator. This time I looked for people, not problems, names, stories, souls, and replied like a Christian rather than a vending machine. A strange thing happened: the admin still got done, and the temperature of my heart stayed warm. When you remember there’s a person behind the subject line, you begin to send grace instead of just information.

Saturday: Table Theology

I cooked a simple meal and invited someone I usually only “catch up with soon.” Jesus loved tables, the awkward ones, the crowded ones, the joyful ones. Conversation wandered into confession (the honest kind, not the sacramental kind, though that’s good too). We blessed the food out loud. We listened. It felt like Church without the pews.

Sunday: A Day Made for Me

I used to treat Sunday as the ramp for Monday. Not this time. I gave the day back to God: Mass, slow lunch, a walk without headphones, a nap without guilt, and no “just quickly” work at all. “The sabbath was made for man.” (Mark 2:27). I didn’t earn rest; I received it. That’s different. Earning keeps score. Receiving says thank you.

What Actually Changed

By the end of the experiment, the miracle wasn’t that I discovered a secret productivity rhythm; it’s that peace stopped being something I scheduled for later. The love of God began leaking into moments that used to be held hostage by performance. I still made plans. I still kept commitments. But the engine running those plans wasn’t ego anymore; it was grace. Interruptions felt less like thieves and more like invitations. Meals became altars. Work felt cleaner. Prayer stopped competing with “real life” because it was real life, like oxygen, like light through a cracked curtain. And the calendar? It finally did its job. It stopped pretending to be my saviour and went back to being a tool.

A Small, Honest Invitation

If any of this stirs something in you, try it this week, not as a stunt, but as a quiet revolt. Give God the first word of your day. Leave one square of white space on your calendar for mercy. Guard Sunday like it’s a gift because it is. Then tell someone what changed, shoot me a message, send a prayer request, or share a story of a “holy interruption” you noticed. “Come to me, all you who labour and are burdened, and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:28). If Jesus runs your calendar, He won’t make you busier. He’ll make you truer. And the world doesn’t need a more impressive you; it needs the real you, living at the speed of love.