>
> 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.
>
> "Let's 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....Lord! What happened to
> your 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