To get an idea of the freedom found in Jesus Christ, imagine yourself donning the literal pieces of luggage (all overpacked) that were just described. You're carrying a suitcase of guilt in one hand and a sack of discontent in the other. There's a duffel bag of weariness slung over one shoulder and bag of grief on the other.
A backpack of doubt is strapped on your back.
Let that mental picture linger for a moment. The exhaustion. The stretched muscles. The strain on your cramped fingers and your aching back. Now, imagine dropping each piece. Feel the release. Take in a deep breath. Finally, you are free!
- If we let Him, God will lighten our loads.
But how do we let Him? May I invite an old friend to show us?
The Twenty-third Psalm. You know how it starts:
The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing. He makes me lie down in green pastures, He leads me beside quiet waters, He refreshes my soul. He guides me along the right paths for His name's sake. — Psalm 23:1–3
Does a more beloved psalm exist? Framed and hung in hospital halls, scratched on prison walls, quoted by the young, and whispered by the dying. In these lines sailors have found a harbor, the frightened have found a Father, and strugglers have found a friend. It's been set to music in a hundred songs, translated into a thousand tongues, domiciled in a million hearts.
One of those hearts might be yours. What kinship do you feel with this psalm? Where do its verses transport you? To a fireside? Bedside? Graveside?
This passage is to the minister what balm is to the physician. I recently applied them to the heart of a dear friend. I was summoned to his house with the words, "the doctors aren't giving him more than a few days." I looked at him and understood. Face pale. Lips stretched and parched. Skin draping between bones like old umbrella cloth between spokes. The cancer had taken so much: his appetite, his strength, his days. But the cancer hadn't touched his faith. Pulling a chair to his bed and squeezing his hand, I whispered, "Bill, 'The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.'" He rolled his head toward me as if to welcome the words.
Reaching the fourth verse, fearful that he might not hear, I leaned forward until I was a couple of inches from his ear and said, "Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me." He didn't open his eyes, but he arched his brows. He didn't speak, but his thin fingers curled around mine. I wondered if the Lord was helping him set down some luggage: the fear of dying.
Do you think God might use David's psalm to lighten your load? Traveling light means trusting God with the burdens that you were never intended to bear. He wants to use you. But how can He use you if you are exhausted?
It reminds me of a time I was preparing for a jog but couldn't decide what to wear. The sun was out, but the wind was chilly. The sky was clear, but the forecast said rain. Jacket or sweatshirt? The Boy Scout within me prevailed. I wore both.
I needed to stay in touch with my kids, so I carried a cell phone. I worried that someone might steal my car, so I pocketed my keys. As a precaution against thirst, I brought along some drink money in a pouch. I looked more like a pack mule than a runner! Within half a mile, I was peeling off the jacket and hiding it in a bush. That kind of weight will slow you down.
What's true in jogging is true in faith. God has a great race for you to run. Under His care, you will go where you've never been and serve in ways you've never dreamed. But you will first have to drop some stuff.
After all, how can you share grace with others if you are full of guilt? How can you offer comfort to someone in need if you are disheartened? How can you lift someone else's load if your arms are full with your own?
Have you ever considered the impact that excess baggage you are carrying has had on your relationships? We've made this point at our church by virtue of a drama.
A wedding is reenacted in which we hear the thoughts of the bride and groom. The groom enters, laden with luggage. A bag dangles from every appendage. And each bag is labeled: guilt, anger, arrogance, insecurities. This fellow is loaded. As he stands at the altar, the audience hears him thinking, Finally, a woman who will help me carry all my burdens. She's so strong, so stable, so...
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