My arms hurt. On Sundays after church, I carry my ten pound purse, my five pound Bible, Alan’s five pound Bible, two pounds of paper loaded with glue and glitter, and drag one little forty pound princess to the car. When I get there I quickly deposit each of my weighty items into the floorboard. After the instant relief, I hop in the front seat and sigh. Ahhhh. My arms feel weightless but hurt.
Today, I carried one chapter with a haunting deadline, one cookie cake needing to be bought, one room mom letter needing to be distributed, two children needing to be disciplined, two Glorieta workshop handouts needing to be written, one dinner needing to be cooked, one little ear threatening infection, two laundry baskets of wrinkled clothes needing to be folded, one friend needing to be lifted, and one husband in need of attention. My arms hurt.
Lord, I lay all of these weights at the foot of your cross. I know that you will carry them for me. Lord, they hurt. And it brings me to tears knowing you’ll carry them still. Oh God, hold me. How can I ask you to carry what I cannot and still ask you to renew me and fill me? I don’t deserve it God, but I know you are bigger than I can ever comprehend. I give it all to you, Lord. Every weight, every worry, every child, every friend, every need. Fill me. Oh God, tomorrow let me fly.
But those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint. (Isaiah 40:31 NIV)