Hope When Life Feels Heavy

When I taught language arts at an international school in Salzburg, Austria, I often held creative writing class at a quaint cafe in the center of town. 

With cappuccinos and notebooks in hand, my high school students and I practiced the art of “noticing.”

“Creativity begins with paying attention,” I said as we watched everyday life unfold on the cobbled streets of the historic old city.

From our table near the window, we observed tourists meandering through the square with knapsacks and cameras, mothers pushing prams, and shoppers bustling by with bulging bags and purposed steps. 

“You don’t need to go somewhere to find inspiration,” I reminded my budding writers, “You just need to open your eyes right where you are.”

Each week at the same time, the same man came shuffling into the plaza. He wore the same black hat, the same wool sweater, and the same gray trousers. And without fail, he arrived with the same black bag– a mix between an oversized purse and a briefcase— flung over his shoulder.

His shoulders appeared to be frozen in a permanent hunch and his knees wobbled with each step. Gingerly, he eased himself onto a park bench and pulled a large baguette out of that weathered bag. Then, as his lips moved in conversation to no one in particular, he fed the resident pigeons one crusty crumb at a time. 

Week after week, my students watched the scene repeat itself and wondered aloud about the old man’s story. 

“Do you think he comes every day?” one asked.

“Is he talking to those birds or himself?” another wondered.

“Why is always alone?” a third questioned.

Then, one afternoon when the old man shuffle across the plaza, one of my younger students grimaced as she studied his bowed frame. “Whatever he’s carrying in that bag must be heavy,” she said with a shake of her head.

Soon my students were discussing what might be in that bag besides the obvious baguette.

Imaginations stirred, they concocted outlandish tales about an exiled prince (disguised as an old man, of course) carrying jewels from his war-torn kingdom in a faded black bag and a notorious pirate living out his last years in a mountain-wrapped village where he confessed his lifetime of devious deeds to the pigeons in the town square.

I smiled at their playful musings and encouraged them to let their questions serve as a launching pad for the stories and poems, scripts and songs they would create after class.

Then, above the scratch of pencils and the muted giggles, an older student spoke with quiet certainty: ”It’s not what’s in the bag that’s heavy; it’s everything else he carries.”

A startling hush hovered over our table and students’ eyes began to seep with tears.

What invisible loads are these kids carrying? I wondered as 23-year-old me tried to figure out how to respond to the emotions spilling free.

It’s been decades since I sat in a quaint cafe with a class of teenage creatives. But I haven’t forgotten the wisp of wisdom that hung between us on that long-ago day.

It’s easy to recognize someone’s visible load—the cranky toddler in a mama’s arms or the overstuffed school bag on a student’s back, the briefcase filled with unfinished work or the crutches supporting wobbly steps.

It’s everything else that can be difficult to detect.

It’s everything else that saps our strength and slows our steps.

It’s everything else that steals our hope and stirs our angst.

It’s everything else that distorts our vision and dismantles our joy.

And, more often than not, it’s the wordless weight of everything else that makes us feel so very, very alone.

That’s why I love Jesus’ invitation in Matthew 11:28:

“Come to me, all you who are struggling hard and carrying heavy loads, and I will give you rest.”  (CEB) 

With one simple word—come—Jesus reminds us He is here. And He’s willing to hold the heft of our unseen load…

If we’ll give it to Him.

We weren’t crafted to haul around the hurts and hang-ups, worries and disappointments of this broken world alone.

We have a Savior who already carried the weight of our sins to the cross (2 Cor 5:21), so let’s allow Him to carry “everything else,” too.

Let’s become women who humbly trade the load that weighs us down for the Love that holds us up.

And as we do, let’s remember our unseen cargo isn’t the only thing God wants to carry.

He’s willing to carry us, too.

 And when you are old, I will still be there, carrying you. When your limbs grow tired, your eyes are weak, And your hair a silvery gray, I will carry you as I always have. I will carry you and save you. (Isaiah 46:4)

 

Dear friends, thank you for spending time with us today. If you’re new here, welcome! If you’re an old friend, I’m so glad you stopped by again.

I don’t know about you, but sometimes I can go through my entire day without noticing Jesus beside me. Sometimes in the spin of life, I simply forget He’s right here sharing my steps and offering to carry my load. I need something to help me stop and notice His presence in the middle of my ordinary days.

That’s why I created Encounter. It’s a 31-day devotional resource designed to help you connect with Jesus from the middle of the life you’re actually living. It’s an invitation to turn your faith from a drudgery into a delight. It’s packed with stories and scripture, response questions and creative ways to engage with Jesus long after you close the pages of your Bible. If you’d like to grab a copy for yourself or for a friend, you can find it here.

You can also find the most recent devotion I wrote for Proverbs 31 Ministries here. It’s a story about a shimmery pink backpack, a little girl, and an invisible cache of rocks. I hope it encourages you to share your load with Jesus today.

And, speaking of sharing the load, if you have a minute, drop a note in the comments and let us know how we can pray for you today. That’s one of the best parts of doing life together!

Until next time,