Burdens Shared

There’s a saying that a burden shared is a burden halved but a joy shared is a joy doubled.  I’ve seen and experienced the second half of that saying but in this last month I’ve really, truly experienced the first.

Overall, I’m an introvert who’s also rather shy and awkward in normal social interactions.  I try but I’m not always sure I’m “doing it right.”  I show my heart and give my full trust to only a few but will gladly be a true friend to anyone who honors me with that title.  I want to be able to help others, to be known as someone fully trustworthy, someone to whom it is safe to confide your hopes and hurts alike.  But I’m not used to the idea that someone else might want to do the same for me.

When things grew suddenly difficult at work, I spent two weeks trying to bear the burden alone.  “My friends and family have enough troubles of their own right now.  They don’t need me adding to them,” I thought.  And I struggled.  I dreaded leaving for work in the morning - wanted to call in sick several times though I was physically fine.  The stress ate at me and I did get sick(ish).  When I got home, I wanted nothing more than to curl up under the blankets and hide (it didn’t help that the weather was rather dull…).  But I didn’t tell anyone that I was struggling because I thought I was strong enough alone and didn’t want to be a bother.  And there was one person I wanted to tell before anyone else and we just couldn’t seem to find a way to get together for those first two weeks.  It was not a fun time.  At all.

And then the meeting I was hoping for happened.  I got to tell my mom what had been eating at me for a fortnight.  And just telling her felt like I’d dropped a heavy pack - her encouragement after was like massaging the kinks out of my shoulders.  Then I told another friend and my brother.  And I wrote how I’d been feeling down and shared it with y’all.

It was like the sun breaking through the clouds after a thunderstorm.

My burden, my struggle, didn’t weigh anyone else down when I told them.  In fact, a couple of folks said it gave them relief to know what was going on because they’d seen that something was off but didn’t know what.  And for my part, I felt lighter, freer, more relaxed.  The weight wasn’t gone, but it wasn’t pressing me into the ground any more.  I could breathe again.

As Christians, we’re told to “bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ” (Gal. 6:2) and also to “rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep.” (Rom 12:15).  Now I really can see why.

After my last post, I had a friend apologize for telling me about her problems with class and say that she wouldn’t have bothered me if she’d known what I was struggling with.  Maybe her problems seemed insignificant to her but I never want anyone to feel that way.  I’ve friends who are battling physical ailments and family problems and others who are trying to find the direction God wants their lives to go in but knowing their struggle doesn’t make mine worse.  Rather, it reminds me that I’m not the only one with difficulties to overcome.  It lets me focus on others rather than myself.

And it reminds me to go before the Throne of Grace.

“Casting all your cares upon Him for He cares for you,” we’re told in 1 Peter 5:7.  If sharing my burdens with other mortal beings who cannot actually change my circumstances makes me feel this much lighter, how much more when taking them before the King of kings who controls all things?  A not-distant King who walks among His people and will gladly bear us up if we will but ask.

Does this mean everything is smooth sailing?  That it’s all sunshine and roses?  No.  It does mean that I am never alone.  That my troubles are a passing thing compared to what will come.  Though the way may be rough and filled with turmoil, I have the truest of friends who will walk beside me into His glorious kingdom.  And that Friend has been generous enough to give me other friends and family who will lighten my burdens when I share them – and whose burdens I can help carry until the day when He takes them away for good.

“…In the world you will have tribulation; but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33b)

Hope Unquenchable

As most of my friends know, my favorite character from literature is Samwise Gamgee of The Lord of the Rings fame.  His down-to-earth practicality, his unwavering loyalty, and his unfailing hope made him my favorite very swiftly.  I liked Sam’s lack of trust in strangers until they’d proven themselves – even among the Elves of whom he was in awe he did not immediately let down his guard. And then he killed Shelob too (my nightmare for years was being trapped in a cave with a giant spider in front of me – I never had that dream again after reading that passage in The Two Towers).  I saw myself in Sam.  Or perhaps, myself as I would like to be.

I recently came across a passage by Tolkien that said the name the Elves gave Sam meant “Hope Unquenchable” and that they called Frodo “Endurance Beyond Hope” for their efforts in destroying the One Ring.  That little snippet has been rather significant to me.  It’s two different kinds of strength – one to never lose hope no matter how dire the circumstances and the other to keep going even when hope is gone.  I have a friend to whom I would give the name “Endurance Beyond Hope.”  She’s much more pessimistic than I, tends to “see the glass” as half-empty, and doesn’t easily find the good in the world.  But you know what?  It doesn’t matter.  She keeps the Faith and keeps going.  And she is a lot of fun to be around.

That’s not me.  I’m “Hope Unquenchable” and I’ve only just begun to see what that means – and how hard it can actually be.  I’m having a really tough time at work right now.  A tough time that just exploded in my face and for which I was utterly unprepared.  I’m terrified in a way that I’ve never been before.  I’m used to the fear associated with going strange places and meeting new people.  As paralyzing as it is sometimes, it’s an anticipated reaction and I know how to deal with it.  Not so much right now.  I’m finding it really hard to smile, especially at work, which is a strange sensation for me.  When people at work ask the casual “How are you?” my response used to be “I am doing well” in an upbeat tone.  Now it’s “I’m ok” with the hint of a question or a sigh.  I don’t want to lie because I’m not doing well, but I couldn’t say that I’m terrified because my job that I enjoy is on the line.

And then I realized, I am ok.  Despite everything, I’m ok.  I’m not happy per se but that’s ok.  I feel like a deep river might when there is a storm crashing overhead.  The surface waters are rough and choppy, you can’t see a thing.  The river is a mess with debris clogging the waters and making it exceedingly treacherous.  It’s frightening and horrifying and it doesn’t seem like anything could be ok

But deep down near the riverbed, all is calm.  The current flows smoothly, steadily, heedless of the wrack and ruin above.  It’s pulling the mess along, dragging it further along the flow, dropping bits and pieces as it goes until the storm is past and even the surface flows clear again.

I’m in a big storm right now.  One that stirs the water at greater depths than I have felt them disturbed in a long time.  But the deepest parts still flow clear because my Hope is secure.  I’m worried and scared and more flustered emotionally than I really know how to deal with but that’s ok.  I’m ok.  I’m not despairing and still going on anyway because of my Savior.  Somehow, I find an undercurrent of hope – even hopefulness – instead because of my Savior.

I still don’t know what tomorrow holds.  I’m frightened of what it might.  I don’t want to leave my position here, especially under sour circumstances.  But even if that should happen, I’ll still be ok.  I will have hope that will not be quenched.

“I will lift my eyes in the darkest night for I know my Savior lives.  My Savior lives!”

--From the song “How Can I Keep from Singing Your Name?”