When Ish Gets Heavy

Last week, our family decided it might be a lot of fun to pack a lunch and have a picnic at Buckroe Beach. The new pier has a large picnic shelter, and it's a pretty awesome space.

So, even though babies hadn't had naps, I hadn't showered, and the day just was not going well, we packed like 8 trillion peanut butter and banana sandwiches, chips, apples, and some bottled waters and loaded up the van.

When we arrived, each older kid grabbed a younger sibling, and headed across the field. Since Josiah's back has not been 100% lately, he pushed the youngest in the stroller, and I carried all the food.

To get to the picnic area on the pier, you have to cross a pretty decent sized field, and then, of course, walk the length of the pier itself. It's not a long walk, though, so initially I didn't bat an eye. I just slung the picnic bag across my body, grabbed the bag of bottled waters in one hand and another bag of random goodies in the other.

At first, it felt kind of nice to be carrying all that stuff. Sometimes, when I do things like that, I get an secret sense of pride that my body is capable of carrying heavy loads. It's like it wakes up my inner badass (yes, I said "badass." I couldn't think of another word that carried the same sentiment). I started across the field, back straight, with long, proud strides, rejecting any help offered by the kids. I got this.

Halfway across the field, though, the weight of the strap started to dig in to my shoulder and holding the bags away from my legs made my shoulders and forearms burn. What was an easy load at the outset was getting heavier with every step, and a quick jaunt across a field started to feel like crossing the state.

In that moment, I felt like I heard God say, "This is what it's like to follow My purpose for you carrying baggage you're not supposed to have."

A while back, there was a part of me that I'd come to recognize as extra baggage that I wasn't supposed to be carrying, but it had been with me my whole life. I considered it just "part of who I am." It was damaging, but comfortable, well-worn, and mine.

But when I asked a friend at church to pray for me and told her how I felt, that I just didn't want to let go, she looked at me and said, "Okay, now the next time you go to the gym and get on the treadmill, I want you to strap a ton of chains to your body, and then let's see how you do."

Wise words. (You can read that blog post here).

Here's the catch, like the stuff I was carrying across the field that day, there are some things you're just going to have to carry in life. It's going to get heavy and hard, and you're just going to have to push through, even if you have to stop and rest every now and then to get there. (Or do what I did and go even faster)

But that's all stuff I KNEW I was carrying. This invisible baggage we carry with us has often been handed to us through station or circumstance, and we've carried it so long we don't know it's baggage. Life feels heavy and we trudge through, weighted down, but we can't figure out why or by what. All we know is that it hurts and burns, and we want to go on, but we're Just. So. Tired.

And sometimes, we've identified exactly what needs to be put down, tossed aside, or thrown away, but it just doesn't seem possible. The pain has become part of us. To cast it aside now would be to cast part of ourselves aside, leaving a piece of us behind.

And then again, some of us lay it down, just to pick it back up again. We cast off the chains, claiming fullness and freedom, but pick them right back up again, through coping or custom.

In my life, I can identify the latter two; the former will come with time. Praise God, He accepts us where we are, but won't leave us where He found us. 

My weights are often my "shoulds" (the expectations I or others have put on me that have no business being there), my "ams" (harmful and negative parts of my identity I've long adopted as who I am, but that have no place in my future), and my "am nots" (limits I've placed on myself our of fear and insecurity that don't belong there).

I have been walking with these things for as long as I can remember, letting them slow me down or just gritting my teeth and bearing the pain. But the longer I walk, the heavier they get, and there comes a time when you have to choose: fetters or future, destined or defeated.

The answer is so clear.

Friend, whatever is holding you back and weighing you down, keeping you from the purpose God has for you, I pray you would LAY IT DOWN. Don't wait until tomorrow or Monday or "things get better." Seek God's face and let it go.