About two months ago began one of the heaviest, hardest, and weirdest seasons that I’ve ever done. It’s involved a lot of conflict, confusion, honest communication, anxiety, up ups and down downs. This season thus far has been marked primarily by unbearable weight. And I guess I should say on the front end of this story that I don’t feel like I’m out of the hard season just yet; however, I have been feeling a bit of reprieve in the last few days. So while I have the emotional capacity to share a story, I’d love to do that and hopefully let you partake in the hope of which I’ve been reminded in the last few days.
I’ve been doing a lot of burden bearing — my own mess of burdens, others’ burdens, some random arbitrary burdens that were never mine to bear. It’s just weight that was driving me into the ground — some more than worth it, some not at all.
A few days ago I woke up feeling lighter, but not necessarily feeling better (that’s probably paradoxical, I get it; just bear with me). I’d gotten to a point in this season where it felt like the Lord had finally taken the burden weight off of my back and shoulders. For the first time in months I felt like I could actually take a deep breath.
I was driving to work that afternoon processing through that idea — that I’m not out of the hard season, but I’m just in a different place in the season. What does that mean? How does that work? Where exactly am I then? You know, all the thoughts you have when you’re just kinda confused and really just want to know what’s going on.
On the drive I begin to think about the fact that we’ve been called to run the race set before us. And that’s when the disappointment began to brew; that’s when I realized where I am in this season. Under all the weight, my soul feels like it’s been crippled into a bad limp and back deformation. So I as I thought through that “run the race” concept and discovered that I feel like I can’t physically run, I started to be disappointed at the fact that I can’t accomplish the action to which I’m called: run. Because how can I possibly run if I can barely stand up in general? And in that moment, clear as ever, the LORD inserted his voice into my monologue and said,
“Hey bubba, I know. I know you have a limp and that you hurt, and I’m right here with you. Just keep coming this way.”
And I just started crying.
Just like that.
Because the way my soul received that was,
“Hey bubba. I see you and I’m with you always. And there are gonna be points where you’re gonna have to stop and you might even fall over onto the side of the road for a little bit because of your limp, but I’m not disappointed in you. I’m right there with you and I’m going to get you to the end. You’re gonna have a limp and some deformed limbs from the weight, because part of love is burden bearing. But that’s what I want from you, because I’m going to give you a new body when you get here that won’t have a limp or have a messed up back.”
And so I hobble on; not for the sake of proving to myself that I really can run the race before me, that’s not gonna keep me motivated. I hobble on because I’m not home yet.
So if running the race means that I fall over and have to crawl through the end, then for the joy set before me I crawl. And I’ll fight like hell to remember the hope that I have in the one who for the joy set before him, endured a suffocating and torturous death on a tree to give my orphaned heart a home.
And so I go; to that home I hobble and crawl until I once again can run, or until he gives me my new body. And so I go, may it be in tears and pain, down the road until I make it Home.