#23. If It's Heavy, Drop It.

David* shuffled up to our table, backpack on his back and a shopping bag in each hand, along with his sandwich.  His load was made more difficult by the bandage on his right hand, limiting the mobility in his fingers.

“Please, have a seat,” we said.

I went to get him a cup of water, as I could see that he’d already had enough to carry.  

When I returned, he was already in the midst of sharing his story with my friend—how he had essentially lost everything in his life except for what he carried with him in those bags.

“This is it, this is my life,” he said, pointing out his old military uniform.  

“You know, you don’t have to carry that burden on your own,” my friend said.  You can take it, take all of your problems, and put them at the foot of the cross.”

"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest."

David’s eyes filled with tears, as if he wanted to believe that what she said could be true.  But he shook his head.  “No.  I can’t.”

We talked for quite a while that day, but at the end of the conversation, he picked up his bags again, and he left.  “Oof,” he grunted as he swung his backpack over his shoulder.  “It’s heavy.”

"My yoke is easy and my burden is light."

A few nights later, in a totally different part of the city, I stood waiting for some friends.  I looked around me, not sure from which direction they would come.  I saw a man with a bandaged hand, carrying two bags, walking toward me.

“David?” I asked.  

It was him.  He stopped and we talked.  His burden had only become heavier since the last time I saw him.  I asked him if he needed anything, some food or some money to pay for lodging that night.

“No, no,” he said.  “I found a good spot near the Métro; I’m on my way there now to meet a friend.”

While we were talking, another man came up and asked if we had any money so he could get a bite to eat.  I offered him some and, after he left, again asked David if there was some way I could help him.  

“No, there’s nothing,” he said.  He was convinced that it was up to him to resolve his problems on his own, even though he had no idea how he was going to do it.

I let him know I’d be praying for him anyway, and he picked up his bags and left, saying he hoped we’d cross paths again someday.

I hope so, too.  I hope that the next time I see him, he’ll have some good news to share.  I hope that the next time I see him, he’ll have given up trying to carry his burden on his own.

I can understand how David feels.  I’m a pretty stubborn and independent person.  I don’t like to ask for help.  I don’t like to admit that I can’t figure something out on my own.  But over the years, Jesus has made it clear to me that apart from Him, I can do nothing (John 15:5).  Every time I try, I fail.  Every.  Time.  And it's exhausting.

I don't know the extent of David's burdens, but I do know that they are too heavy for him to carry on his own.  And I know that Jesus is ready and waiting to pick them up, as He has done for me, and as He can do for each person.  But first, we have to be willing to put them down.

"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy and my burden is light."  -Matthew 11:28-30

*name changed

#18. Incompetence is Ok.

Recently, I saw an episode of the TV show Mike and Molly in which Molly experiences a bit of an identity crisis after quitting her teaching job to pursue writing full time.  She even goes back to her old classroom to take a peek at her former students:

However, it becomes clear very quickly that she no longer has a place there.  The show was hilarious, but I truly did identify with Molly's feelings of incompetence and lack of belonging.

This past year has produced in me these same feelings as I left my full time teaching job to follow God's leading to France.  It's been a year of having hard conversations, sending emails until my fingers cramp, visiting unfamiliar places and cursing Google Maps for leading me astray once again, and substitute teaching...which it turns out, is not much like teaching at all.

I realized about halfway through the year that it had been a really long time since I actually felt competent at anything.  Although I certainly never felt like I had it all together as a teacher--I still have a lot to learn--I at least had a certain level of comfort, familiarity, and skill.  And I loved my job!  But more than once this year, I've found myself looking out at a group of students who probably could not care less about me as I've thought in my head, "You don't even know me!  I'm a nice person, and I'm actually pretty smart.  So please, be nice to me!"

This feeling of incompetence is not particularly pleasant, but I think it's actually a good feeling to have.  Because it means I'm no longer able to rely on myself at all; I have to rely on God completely.  And while I'm still not in France, I am getting closer...and then I'll experience a whole new level of incompetence as I navigate a new language, culture, and career.

So I am thankful for the lessons that God has taught me during this year of transition.  I'm not where I was, and I'm not where I'm going to be.  But that's ok, because I'm exactly where God wants me to be right now.

But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.   

-2 Corinthians 12:9