The Burden
"Why was my burden so heavy?"
I slammed the bedroom
door and leaned against it.
Is there no rest from this life?
I wondered. I stumbled to my
bed and dropped onto it,
pressing my pillow around my
ears to shut out the noise
of my existence.
"Oh God," I cried, "let me sleep.
Let me sleep forever and
never wake up!" With a deep
sob I tried to will myself into
oblivion, then welcomed the
blackness that came over me.
Light surrounded me as I regained
consciousness. I focused
on its source: The figure of
a man standing before a cross.
"My child," the person asked,
"why did you want to come to
Me before I am ready to call
you?"
"Lord, I'm sorry. It's just
that… I can't go on. You see how
hard it is for me. Look at this
awful burden on my back. I
simply can't carry it anymore."
"But haven't I told you to cast
all of your burdens upon Me,
because I care for you? My yoke
is easy, and My burden
is light."
"I knew You would say that.
But why does mine have
to be so heavy?"
"My child, everyone in the world
has a burden. Perhaps
you would like to try a different
one?"
"I can do that?"
He pointed to several burdens
lying at His feet. "You
may try any of these."
All of them seemed to be of
equal size. But each was
labeled with a name. "There's
Joan's," I said. Joan was
married to a wealthy businessman.
She lived in a sprawling
estate and dressed her three
daughters in the prettiest
designer clothes. Sometimes
she drove me to church in
her Cadillac when my car was
broken.
"Let me try that one." How difficult
could her burden
be? I thought.
The Lord removed my burden and
placed Joan's on my
shoulders. I sank to my knees
beneath its weight.
"Take it off!" I said. "What
makes it so heavy?"
"Look inside."
I untied the straps and opened
the top. Inside was a
figure of her Mother-in-law,
and when I lifted it out, it
began to speak.
"Joan, you'll never be good
enough for my son," it began.
"He never should have married
you. You're a terrible mother
to my grandchildren…"
I quickly placed the figure
back in the pack and withdrew
another. It was Donna, Joan's
youngest daughter. Her head
was bandaged from the surgery
that had failed to resolve
her epilepsy.
A third figure was Joan's brother.
Addicted to drugs, he had
been convicted of killing a
police officer.
"I see why her burden is so
heavy, Lord. But she's always
smiling and helping others.
I didn't realize…"
"Would you like to try another?"
He asked quietly.
I tested several. Paula's felt
heavy: She was raising four
small boys without a father.
Debra's did too: A childhood
of sexual abuse and a marriage
of emotional abuse. When
I came to Ruth's burden, I didn't
even try. I knew that inside
I would find arthritis, old
age, a demanding full-time job,
and a beloved husband in a nursing
home.
"They're all too heavy, Lord,"
I said. "Give back my own."
As I lifted the familiar load
once again, it seemed much
lighter than the others.
"Lets look inside" He said.
I turned away, holding it close.
"That's not a good idea,"
I said.
"Why?"
"There's a lot of junk in there."
"Let Me see."
The gentle thunder of His voice
compelled me. I opened
my burden. He pulled out a brick.
"Tell me about this one."
"Lord, You know. It's money.
I know we don't suffer like
people in some countries or
even the homeless here in
America. But we have no insurance,
and when the kids get
sick, we can't always take them
to the doctor. They've never
been to a dentist. And I'm tired
of dressing them in
hand-me-downs."
"My child, I will supply all
of your needs… and your children's.
I've given them healthy bodies.
I will teach them that expensive
clothing doesn't make a person
valuable in My sight."
Then He lifted out the figure
of a small boy. "And this?"
He asked.
"Andrew…" I hung my head, ashamed
to call my son a burden.
"But, Lord, he's hyperactive.
He's not quiet like the other two.
He makes me so tired. He's always
getting hurt, and someone
is bound to think I abuse him.
I yell at him all the time.
Someday I may really hurt him…"
"My child," He said, "If you
trust Me, I will renew your strength,
if you allow Me to fill you
with My Spirit, I will give you patience."
Then He took some pebbles from
my burden.
"Yes, Lord," I said with a sigh.
"Those are small. But they're
important. I hate my hair. It's
thin, and I can't make it look nice.
I can't afford to go to the
beauty shop. I'm overweight and can't
stay on a diet. I hate all my
clothes. I hate the way I look!"
"My child, people look at your
outward appearance, but I look
at your heart. By My Spirit
you can gain self-control to lose
weight. But your beauty should
not come from outward
appearance. Instead, it should
come from your inner self,
the unfading beauty of a gentle
and quiet spirit, which is of
great worth in My sight."
My burden now seemed lighter
than before.
"I guess I can handle it now,"
I said.
"There is more," he said. "Hand
Me that last brick."
"Oh, You don't have to take
that. I can handle it.
"My child, give it to Me." Again
His voice compelled me.
He reached out His hand, and
for the first time I saw the
ugly wound.
"But, Lord, this brick is so
awful, so nasty, so….Lord!
What happened to our hands?
They're so scarred!"
No longer focused on my burden,
I looked for the first time
into His face. In His brow were
ragged scars-as though
someone had pressed thorns into
His flesh.
"Lord," I whispered. "What happened
to You?"
His loving eyes reached into
my soul.
"My child, you know. Hand Me
the brick. It belongs to Me.
I bought it."
"How?"
"With My blood."
"But why, Lord?"
"Because I have loved you with
an everlasting love.
Give it to Me."
I placed the filthy brick into
His wounded palm. It contained
all the dirt and evil of my
life: my pride, my selfishness, the
depression that constantly tormented
me.
He turned to the cross and hurled
my brick into the pool of
blood at its base. It hardly
made a ripple.
"Now, My child, you need to
go back. I will be with you
always. When you are troubled,
call to Me and I will help you
and show you things you cannot
imagine now."
"Yes, Lord, I will call on You."
I reached to pick up my burden.
"You may leave that here if
you wish. You see all these
burdens? They are the ones that
others have left at My feet.
Joan's, Paula's, Debra's, Ruth's….
When you leave your
burden here, I carry it with
you. Remember, My yoke is easy
and My burden is light."
As I placed my burden with Him,
the light began to fade.
Yet I heard Him whisper, "I
will never leave you, nor forsake you."
A peace flooded my soul
Author Unknown
Learn to lay your burdens at the Creator's
feet.
He will carry them for you when the load is
to much to bear.
