One Sunday morning, decades ago, my husband was in Germany where he attended a service at a large church, followed by a feast of a fellowship meal. Quite full, he left the church and began a four-hour journey to France where, as he discovered later, his host family had spent the day preparing a seven-course meal. 

He took his seat at the table and ate the two pieces of quiche he was served. When the plates were cleared, he thought he was done. But the meal would continue for three-and-a-half hours. 

Out came the soup and the bread. Then homemade pasta and meat. Then salad. Then cheeses, fruit, nuts. 

By the time coffee and cookies topped this all off at 11 p.m., my dear husband was bursting at the seams. He was so uncomfortable he could not lie down to sleep. All he could do was pace the hallways. 

As a child, when my parents poured my drink or put food on my plate, I was instructed to “say when.” “When” meant stop, no more, that’s enough. It was my responsibility to decide how much I allowed to fill my plate or cup. I was in charge of portion control. 

These words come back to me now as I have a lot of options, like my husband’s seven-course meal, to put on my plate: speaking engagements, writing opportunities, more spiritual direction clients to see. 

I’m not very good at saying when. At setting boundaries. At naming that I can’t possibly handle anything more right now because I’m full and it’s getting uncomfortable. 

Saying “when” is hard when one is offered such appetizing foods. I enjoy almost all that is put on my plate, but there is too much. And too much of a good thing is still too much. 

I wonder how my eyes might better listen to and honor my stomach (or spirit) so I don’t swell in such an uncomfortable way. Surely this is a matter of discernment. 

I look to Jesus and ask: How did you know when to say when? How did you know when to say 12 disciples was enough? To say it was time to leave a certain town?  To say “no” to more healings because you needed time in prayer? 

But then I realize discernment doesn’t always do the trick. Saying when doesn’t always stop the piling up on our plates. We don’t always get to say, “No more, please stop!” to what life’s dishing out. We are not always in control. 

As I look to Jesus for wisdom, one story stands out of when he was with his disciples and they had a lot on their plates (Mark 6). 

The good: The disciples had returned from a ministry trip, stuffed full of miraculous stories. 

The bad: John the Baptist had been beheaded, rendering them full of grief. 

The ugly: Jesus had suffered an early attempt on his life by those in his own hometown (Luke 4:29). 

And the cherry on top? So many people were coming and going, there wasn’t even time for them to eat. 

That’s when Jesus said when. 

In the midst of the mayhem, he gathered his disciples and invited them out. He had a solitary spot in mind where they could rest and digest all they’d just swallowed whole.

But we know the story, don’t we? They said when. Said “no more!” Said they simply and surely could not. 

They drew their boundaries, but: While the boat carried Jesus and the disciples away, the people gave chase on foot. Five-blessed-thousand of them, plus more. 

I want to tell you this won’t happen. That you won’t be overwhelmed. That God won’t give you more than you can handle. But I would be lying, and we know it by now. 

Say when. Say it loud, say it clear. And when the best-laid boundaries fail, know this: Jesus will be there with compassion, care and the resources that help us to bear.