A story for those who are burdened

The burden

I slammed my bedroom door and leaned against it. Was there no rest
from this life? 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 do you want to come to Me before I
am ready to call you?"

"Lord, I'm sorry. It's just that…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 on 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, and 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.

"Oh, take it off quickly! What makes it so heavy?"

"Look inside."

I untied the straps and opened the top. Inside was the 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. 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 cure 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 were arthritis, old age, a demanding
full-time job, and a beloved husband in a nursing home.

"They're all too heavy, Lord. Give me 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 very good idea."

"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. And 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?"

"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, if you will trust Me, I will renew your strength. If you
allow Me to fill you with My Spirit, I'll give you patience."

Then He took some pebbles from my burden.

"Yes, Lord, 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 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 an ugly wound.

"But, Lord, this brick is so awful, so nasty, so…Lord! What happened
to Your hands? They're scarred!"

No longer focused on my burden, I looked up for the first time into
His face. On 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 me the brick."

I placed my filthy brick into His wounded palm. It contained all the
dirt and evil of my life: my sins, 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 must 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 even imagine now."

"Yes, Lord. I will call on You."

I reached down 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 here at My feet. Joan's, Paula's,
Debra's, and Ruth's, and many others. 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 that passed my understanding flooded my soul. I stood tall and
walked back into life.

"Come unto Me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give
you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and
lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For My yoke is
easy and My burden is light." Matthew 11:28-30.