REFLECTION:

I’ve had this happen many times.

I double-book myself for a meeting or an event. Two important things. Two good things. And then I’m sitting there staring at my calendar thinking: Which one should I go to? Who do I call to apologize? How did I let this happen?

And in that moment, you feel it — that tension. That pull. You can’t fully give yourself to both. You can’t be present in two places at the same time. Something has to give. That uncomfortable feeling of being split… that’s what it means to be divided. In many ways, that is the story of Solomon.

Solomon was not an ordinary man. He was the son of David. He was the king who asked God for wisdom instead of wealth. He built the Temple. His prayer once moved a nation. His heart, at one time, was fully turned toward the Lord. But in 1 Kings 11, we hear something tragic: “When Solomon was old, his wives turned his heart after other gods, and his heart was not wholly true to the Lord his God.” Not atheist. Not rebellious. Not hostile. Just divided.

Solomon didn’t tear down the Temple. He simply added other altars. Political alliances, relationships, security, influence — slowly they filled the calendar of his heart. And eventually, he was spiritually double-booked. Part of him belonged to God. Part of him belonged to other loves. And when the heart is double-booked, something always suffers.

If we are honest, we recognize this tension within ourselves. We want to follow God — but we also want approval. We want holiness — but we also want comfort. We want to trust — but we also want control. We say prayer matters — but our schedules tell another story. We may not build high places to ancient gods, but we build subtler ones: success, achievement, image, busyness, security. None of these are evil in themselves. But when they compete with God instead of flowing from Him, our hearts begin to split.

Solomon’s tragedy is not that he lacked wisdom. It is that wisdom alone could not protect him from a divided heart. Talent does not guarantee fidelity. Knowledge does not ensure devotion. Even great beginnings do not prevent quiet drift.

The question this passage gently asks us is this: What is double-booking my heart?

Where am I trying to give myself fully to God while still holding onto something else that competes for first place? God does not ask for perfection. He asks for wholeness. An undivided heart does not mean we have no responsibilities or ambitions. It means every love is properly ordered — that God is not squeezed into the schedule, but at the center of it.

Perhaps today the prayer is simple: Lord, if my heart is double-booked, help me reorder it. If something is competing with You, give me the courage to choose. Make my heart whole again. Because when the heart is whole, peace returns.