You know that weight? When your world squeezes tight and leaves you gasping for air. In and out. In and out. When you feel like you can take one more single step.
You’re not in the depths of depression. You’ve been there. This isn’t it.
Yet? You’re in the middle of life. And it’s cracking you up with its wearing-down force.
Your children argue and bicker. All. day. long. The news plays death and destruction and beheadings and rocket blasts and selling saints as sex-slaves. Work piles up at work and dust bunnies multiply themselves at home. Frozen pizza rears its ugly-time-saving-everyone’s-happy-with-dinner head.
Your fat jeans don’t fit.
So you stand in the shower where salty tears mix in. You wish you could stay there all day. But the cold comes too soon.
Confusion tightens its grip.
Because you know there are mothers who will never hold their babies again rocking themselves back and forth while you look for ways to escape your own two children for a few blessed minutes.
Because you know some walk miles and miles for clean drinking water and you complain when your local Starbucks can’t serve coffee because a water main breaks. Boil water alert for a day? Try boil water alert for life.
And you know you should be grateful for the beautiful home you have because you’ve walked across the sewage filled alleys of a slum.
And there are so many without good jobs or who scrounge in dumps for their living, yet I complain about files and grading and planning and teaching.
Guilt and confusion. Because I know I’m in desperate need of perspective, but the stress doesn’t end. My kids keep fighting. The silence between Prince Charming and I can get so, so thick. And those jeans…
There are lives harder than mine. So. much. harder.
Perspective is needed. An awareness of the hurting hearts walking by us each day, reminds me sometimes I blow my pain out of proportion—out of the big blue sky. Sometimes I don’t. Because the pain is real.
Each struggle is an opportunity to grow. A chance to learn how to deal. One learned experience built on the foundation of another and another and another. I can look back and realize I’m stronger than I used to be. What breaks me today would have killed me a few years ago.
This helps me pull the log out of my judgmental eye. The one that mutters I can’t believe she’s whining about that… Because we all are on this walk but no one goes at the same pace.
No one goes at the same pace.
So. When the weight of your own world? When it falls heavy on your shoulders? When one more step would put you under?
Lean in. Press into Him.
Because when someone whispers next to you, and you want to hear what they say? Your only option in this world-weary moment is to get close, to lean in to the voice so quiet.
Why does our Jesus whisper? Why is His voice so still? So small?
Because He wants us to lean in. To draw close. To sink into the safety of His embrace. When we enter the space of the Holy One, His voice becomes clear. His words understood. His love felt. We worship a Jesus who wants us to know who He is and how he loves us. And Oh. How He loves us.
The more we sit close to the One who loves us without restraint, the more we see. We see with fresh perspective the hard days will plague our lives, but the God who sees is there too. And when we choose to draw near to Him? The struggles don’t go away. Wish they did. So much.
But when we lean into the Jesus-love standing right there, He is magnified. Better than our bad days. Stronger than our weak moments. Calmer than our chaotic schedules.
Why does He whisper? Because He knows we need Him. The only way to survive this life is to snuggle up into the arms of the One who loves no matter what. And if you find His voice drowned out by life’s clamor, press further in.
Press in. Lean in. Don’t stop until you hear His whisper. Do you hear it yet?
His voice, His message for your weary heart will always glow with…Beloved. I love you. I love you. I love you.