Heaviness. Not based on my scale, though that’s its own issue. Rather heaviness in my heart. But not for myself.
I’ve got a friend concerned about her mom’s salvation and mental health. Another struggling with her husband’s emotional absenteeism. One battling temptation, regret, and a fall. Still another weighed down by her teenage daughter’s poor choices. And that’s only some of the women I’m praying for.
This world is a heavy place. Some heaviness is our own making. Then others add to the weight. What do we do when our shoulders are stooped and everything just feels like too much?
There are obvious answers to this question. First and foremost, we pray. Our Father wants to know our burdens. He wants to share in them. He wants to exchange our load for His light and easy yoke. He tells us to cast our cares upon Him. Yet, for some of us, that’s particularly challenging.
My friends are strong women. They have come through some seriously rough lives and have learned to be independent in the midst of their adversities. But that’s not what He wants of us. He wants us to be little children running to Abba crying out, “I can’t do this, help me!” Just like our own children have run to us.
And here’s something else that seems to be a serious problem in our walks. We’ve lost the real meaning of fellowship. We aren’t partnered with and participating in each others’ lives. The Word says that the prayers of the saints availeth much. But if we’re stuck in our own travesties and irritations, we are failing our spiritual siblings. We are not being the hands and feet of Jesus for them.
Sometimes lightening that load means helping each other carry it. Maybe physically, maybe emotionally, but ALWAYS prayerfully.
If your friends’ lives are passing you by, if you don’t know the battles they’re facing, it’s time to reach out to them. And if you do know, get on your knees and help them bring this angst to the Lord. They need you, and chances are, you need them!
Featured image: Luis Reyes
Women carrying stone bricks: Artem Bali
Woman sitting alone: Andrew Neel