My Family Hates My To-Do List

and I think I know why

I love a controlled life. I love things unfolding how I plan them to unfold. I want order, and one of the best, if not only, ways to order your life is the to-do list. To-do lists are the spine of my day—without them, I’m just a puddle of skin and organs, heroically trying to answer emails from the floor.

I’ve always thought of a to-do list as an act of kindness. A way to keep life, and those I love, from slipping into chaos. A way to make sure we don’t forget the milk, the appointments, the people.

But I just found out NOT everyone sees it that way.

Apparently, when I announce what we need to do next, it’s not calming. It’s stressful. Even though, for me, it’s the opposite. For me, the list is safety. For them, it feels like getting called on in class when they didn’t raise their hand.

The other day, I said, “We need to take out the trash and call the insurance and mow before it rains,” and you’d think I’d just handed out detention slips to everyone. Shoulders tightened. Eyes rolled. The room grew heavy with silent dread. Dread? Really?? For me, that list was comfort. For them, it felt like a failing grade.

And there’s the rub. Unbeknownst to me, to-do lists are life-giving to Judging types (J’s on the Myers-Briggs scale), people like me who thrive on closure, order, and planning.

But I hear there are other types—Perceiving types (P on Myers-Briggs) to be exact—who find freedom in flexibility and spontaneity. For them, a list feels like repeating a grade with no chance of summer break. Like their imagined freedom has been stripped away.

For them, a to-do list triggers threat mode: “I’m not enough. I can’t keep up.”

While for me, they trigger rest mode: “Now I know what to do. I can relax into it.”

I was today-years-old when I learned that “Here’s what we need to do next” sounds like stress to some people, not like rest.

It’s strange, isn’t it—how the same words can be like landing on a soft pillow or a craggy rock depending on who hears them?

I wonder what God thinks of our lists.

We all know that He’s a God of order. After all, Proverbs 21:5 encourages personal stewardship, doesn’t it? “The plans of the diligent lead surely to abundance…”

See? Planning equals diligence equals lists. Case closed.

But then I was told how my to-do list was anxiety-inducing for my people, and I got to thinking that maybe I misinterpreted that verse because God is not a God of anxiety, after all, even if it’s not my own anxiety, but the anxiety I inflict on others.

I thought announcing my to-do list was a kindness. I mean, after all, my list is not just mine. I have added your to-dos to it as well, just to help you out. Diligence isn’t just doing my part; it’s making sure everyone else does theirs too.

Ok, confession: I guess somewhere along the line, I did start believing my list was your responsibility. And that announcing it out loud made me faithful, but maybe it’s just made me controlling. Like I was proving to God—and to you—that I was being a good steward and all. But maybe my list-making was my attempt at playing God, rather than giving a loose list of possible to-do’s today, I turned them into law; Hayley’s law. And breaking them meant sure disaster for me and everyone else.

But God has proven that sometimes He has different plans than me.

I mean Jesus never handed out to-do lists.

He said, “Follow me.”

He didn’t say, “Here are your next five life tasks ranked by urgency.” He offered something deeper than steps. He offered direction. A direction that changed everything they did next, without spelling out every detail. Yikes!

I’m starting to wonder if my lists are born of faith or fear. I mean, I think fear takes over when my list becomes a way to hold back disaster.

So, with all this in mind, I think a big change for me needs to be the announcement part of the to-do list. Can I keep it in and not list it off like Siri always giving answers nobody asked for?

“Attention household: unload the dishwasher and do another load of laundry.”

New Paradigm:

One person sees a to-do list and feels free.
Another sees it and feels chained.
Both are loved by God.

So today, I’m keeping my list. But I’m keeping it as a prayer, not a pronouncement. Because maybe the most important thing on it isn’t the trash or the insurance or the grass that’s growing too long. Maybe it’s this: Love them well.