packing

if you’re anything like me (which i hope you aren’t bc wow, i’m a lot) you like to think that you can muscle through anything.
mind over matter.
you’d finish a marathon with 2 broken ankles + appendicitis.
the same goes for my heart, i like to think that i can push through just about anything if i simply keep my eyes on the prize. my nature pulls heavy towards the destination at the expense of the journey.
and i live in a world that tells me that this mindset, this blind determination, this tunnel vision, is strength and power and value.

but the still small voice within me, the one that gets ignored far more often than i would be proud to admit, constantly pulls my rebel heart in a different direction.

it’s like being on a hike and having someone put rocks in your backpack. at first you don’t notice, the weight feels virtually unchanged. but little by little, as the miles drag on and the rocks pile up, the weight begins to slow you down. you feel the pains of a load that you never planned on carrying, but the stubbornness of your pride tells you to
just.
keep.
moving.
until you lift your foot and suddenly you’re not moving. not forward at least.
eventually the weight defeats you. it has to. in that moment you remember that if you could carry it all, you’d have no need for more.
no need for a Savior.

i’ve been thinking a lot about my own backpack of rocks recently.
how funny it is that no matter how far i’ve come, or how much i grow, i still forget that i don’t have to carry that backpack as it slowly takes me down under it’s weight.
you see, my pride says that the backpack is my responsibility. it’s my duty. it’s just part of life.
that the hard things or the sad things or the disappointments or unmet expectations or injustices don’t matter in light of the big picture.
that really in the scheme of things it’s not that bad, not that hard, not that important.
i should be stronger than the sum of the things that make life hard.
but time after time, i still find myself facedown, bruised + broken, desperate for help.

and yet.
i’m reminded that there is another way.
that the real question is, why am i even carrying the backpack in the first place?
i don’t have to wait till my face is in the dirt to cry out for someone to come and take the rocks out of my pack and put me on my feet again.
the truth is that my Savior. my Jesus. is more than just a shoulder to cry on, but a refuge from the very storm that brought the tears.
in His perfect grace He lets me fall, then binds my wounds every time. but all along this rocky trail He is whispering that His love is strong enough to carry my pack. all i have to do is hand it over.

you see, i don’t want to live a life that constantly forgets His faithfulness. that lives blind to His strength.
i want to be the kind of person who walks with passion and purpose, knowing that a perfect protector is carrying the weight.

i want to trust that my trail guide can bear the weight better than i.