Heavy

what to do with the weight of the world

I sip my coffee in the early morning light, memories of last night’s party loop through my mind. Each scene dances across my heart like the three shiny, pink balloons dancing across my ceiling, their curly ribbon tails trailing below.

This week has felt especially heavy, y’all.

So last evening we embraced the levity of chattering guests with plates full of food, colorful birthday banners, and a whimsical butterfly cake to celebrate life in the sweet joy and innocence of a princess-loving little girl.

All of this while half a world away our Dear Ones wait and wonder when they’ll be able to get home, a four-layover turned into a six-day-and-counting test of faith, caught in the crosshairs of a sudden war instigated by their own homeland. And we have been waiting and wondering with them, almost 7,000 miles away.

All of this while mostly millions suffer, mostly innocents, under the weight of war, largely driven by

rhetorics of fear.

taunts of ego.

blasts of aggression.

tremors of violence.

Families displaced by sirens and evacuation orders, children’s lives snuffed out like the candles on the butterfly birthday cake my granddaughter blew out. Gone with the puff of a breath.

All in the name of what? Safety? Whose? . . . Defense? Of what? . . . Dominion? To what end? It all feels so pointless.

I pray and pray some more, but my phone buzzes with another update from my Dear Ones. Another flight cancelled. My pointer finger taps and scrolls, taps and scrolls, scanning headline after headline for some tidbit of information that will ease the fear that presses, that will somehow lighten the weight that presses on my soul.

Before long, thirty minutes have ticked by, and all I feel is more tense, more burdened, more strained.

And all of this while we collectively stagger under the weight of the innumerable, everyday maladies that plague our society and culture — sickness, lack of resources, loneliness, self-centered consumption, apathy, racism, misogyny, and the list goes on.

What are we to do with the weight of the world that takes up residence on our small and weak shoulders?

How are we to hold up as our knees shake and our hearts race?

How do we adjust when beads of sweat form on foreheads, turning into bloody droplets dripping down the sides of faces under the strain of it all?

The thing is we were never meant to carry the load on our own.

“Then Jesus said, ‘Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you. Let me teach you, because I am humble and gentle at heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy to bear, and the burden I give you is light.’”

(Matthew 11:28-30, NLT)

The invitation is to come, to receive rest from Jesus, to learn his humble and gentle way, that is, the easy and light way to live. This is our resistance.

And just like resistance training strengthens our bones, this kind of spiritual resistance training strengthens our souls.

Seek stillness.

The noise is relentless — whether from our own inner dialogue and racing thoughts or from the external chatter of the podcasts and talk shows and music and entertainment we consume from the moment we wake up until our eyes close at the end of the day (and even then, some - including me - have white noise whirring in the background).

True silence is hard to come by. But we build the kind of soul muscle that helps us bear the weight of our lives by seeking stillness in the silence.

It can be taking a walk in the still of the morning or evening, without AirPods or headphones, without talking, but simply as a way of being with God in the silence and receiving the stillness that only he can provide.

It can be sitting in the car for an extra five or ten minutes before walking into work in the morning or walking into the house at the end of the day, without the radio or the stimuli of your phone, but simply as a way of allowing the stillness that emerges from the silence to tend to your weary soul.

It can be waking ten minutes earlier than everyone or staying up ten minutes later than everyone.

However you choose to engage it, seek stillness with relentless intention.

Gather.

God has always used community as a means to build us up, to encourage us on the journey, to incarnate his strengthening and healing presence. And now more than ever we need one another.

When we gather, when we show up with each other as we really are - not hiding behind masks or screens or facades - and showing up for each other with compassion and grace, we share the load and strengthen our souls.

“Two people are better off than one, for they can help each other succeed. If one person falls, the other can reach out and help. But someone who falls alone is in real trouble. Likewise, two people lying close together can keep each other warm. But how can one be warm alone?” (Ecclesiastes 4:9-11, NLT)

Training ourselves to be present, to celebrate, to cry, to be with the real-live people in front of us and around builds the kind of strength that helps us bear the weight of this life.

Sing.

When we sing, our voices billow up, meager and desperate offerings to a God who once walked among us, who felt the crushing weight of all that oppresses and steals and violates and taunts and aches.

Poetry put to melody uniquely tills the soil of our hearts, planting Truth and rooting it deeply. Singing words that declare God’s goodness and justice and power reminds our hearts of what is real and true.

Singing our praise even under the pressure of all that weighs us down, especially then, is an effective form of resistance training for our souls.

Pray.

Prayer doesn’t always change the situation, but prayer always changes us.

Now I’m not talking about the hand-wringing, ruminating version of praying we can tend toward, the kind that only stirs up and provokes our anxiety, nor am I talking about the me and mine kind of praying that only focuses on those I know and love.

I’m talking about the quiet-seeking, resting version of prayer our Savior invites us to,

the kind that leads us by still waters and to green pastures that restore our souls,

the kind that reminds us of the heights and depths and lengths of God’s love so that we can be free and compelled to pray even for those we struggle to love, those who have wounded us.

The core of our resistance training, prayer binds us with a thread of strength stitched by trust in a God who gently invites us to trade the weight of the world we carry for the light and easy yoke of Divine Love.

Prayer holds us together. It’s the sinew and tissue, the cartilage and ligaments, that connects our very hearts to their Source, the one in whom we live and move and have our being.

This is our resistance: Seek stillness. Gather. Sing. Pray.

In our training, we find that the weight of Love counterbalances the weight of the world, lifts our heavy hearts, and gives us rest.

Here’s to resisting and finding rest.

Until next time,

Kerry

*Photo in dashboard by Victor Freitas on Unsplash