Category Archives: Peace

The Responsibility Backpack

Posted on by under Emotions, Peace, Quotes, Scripture

Responsibility (n): a moral obligation to behave correctly toward or in respect of; a thing that one is required to do as part of a job, role, or legal obligation

Responsibility is a backpack. It’s light if nothing is in it. But if another person inserts a nature-climbing-backpack-mountain-cloud_1320-154load of rocks, it feels like there’s nothing I can do, except carry it. I may release resentment, but I’m still carrying the load because the person is unable to do so right now. Tired. Tiring. Willing—because I have no choice, but hard nonetheless.

Oh, I could take the backpack off and lay it down, but that’s not really an option. Remember: “He’s not heavy; he’s my brother.” But that thought doesn’t help. The rocks are still heavy on my back. “Let Jesus carry it” doesn’t cut it either. I believe He’s the One who put them there in the first place! It’s my responsibility.

Why do I feel like I need to bow my soul in sympathy when a hurting person bares her heart to me? When a natural disaster occurs? When someone is dying or sick or depressed? I don’t want to be blasé about it, but I also can’t carry the weight and the pain for another person.

But it’s when I feel something that I spring into action. If I don’t feel, does that mean I don’t care? If I don’t care, will I spring into action? Is it a trigger or a prompting of the Holy Spirit?

What am I believing? That I need to curb my emotions and inner joy when I’m working with depressed and wounded people? It would be like joking at a funeral parlor—disrespectful of the mourners. But in the process, I weigh down my own soul.

The Scriptures say, Carry each other’s burdens (Gal. 6:2) AND Each one should carry their own load (Gal. 6:5). So which is it: carry my own or carry another’s? When I’m praying with someone, I’ve agreed to take their load for a bit, but it can get heavy after a while.

So . . . when a person I’m ministering to hands me her burden, it’s okay if it’s only a backpack or a lunch basket. But when she hands me a boulder that I’m unable to lift, I can’t just walk away and say, “Sorry, that’s your problem.” Instead, I can stop, ask the person what she wants to do with her boulder, and then pray for God to lift it for her.

Or . . . if a person hands me her backpack, after a while I can hand it back to her and say, “I can’t carry it for you anymore. You carry it, because when it’s in your hands, you can then make the choice to hand it to Jesus instead.”

As soon as I come to the end of the trail, I can put this backpack down. But then I must pick up another and start down another trail. There’s no break; no rest in between. And not many rest stops along the trail.

Jesus says, “I can carry you as well as your backpack.”

And so, dear Lord, I ask today that You carry me. I am weary, tired, worn out, weak. I need a blessing today, a miracle, some cool clear water to refresh me.

Jesus says, “I am your Sabbath rest.” And that is enough.

(From my 2007 Journal)

A Caged Bird – On Rights and Privileges

Posted on by under Emotions, Inner Healing, Peace

Alone time is a precious commodity for an introvert like me, so when it doesn’t happen, I can feel resentful—like it is a right or something. But I know it’s not. So what’s the difference between a Right and a Privilege?

A right = something universally available (ex: oxygen).
A privilege = a luxury (ex: pure water).

Luxuries can quickly turn into perceived rights. Take cell phones, for example. Before we had instant connections with our loved ones, we had to wait until we returned home from the grocery store to make that landline call to Mom or Dad. And in my grandparents’ day, they had to walk next door if they wanted to communicate with their neighbor. Is a cell phone a right or a privilege?

My mother did not care for pets. It was only after much pestering by her kids that she consented to having a dog or a cat in the house. But one day she decided she wanted a bird, captured from the wilds in Africa. It was not a domestic bird. It didn’t deserve to be confined after living a life of freedom. It had lost its rights. Did it resent being stuffed inside a confined space, unable to extricate itself?

Am I that bird when I don’t get my desired solitude–resentful toward those who box me in, interrupt my schedule, or crowd my  emotional space?

Jesus asks, “Are you willing to be caged if I ask it of you?”

I want to say yes, but I’m uncomfortable all scrunched up in a ball, confined by a metal cage.

Jesus freedom_318-116635asks again: Are you willing to be uncomfortable for Me?

“Yes,” I say, “I’m willing. . . If that’s what you’re asking of me.”

And I watch in amazement as the metal bars drop away. The cage was my own sin of resentment for not getting what I believed was a right.

Now I’m free of the cage, but I’m still confined to my own home. Like the bird that escapes its cage, it’s free to fly around the house, but it still longs to be outdoors, free to fly and roam and explore or at least free to make the choice to stay in the house if desired.

I find I’m in a double-bind. I want to open a window and let the bird fly out of the house and return to its natural habitat, but I know it would make my mom mad if I did. Lord, I need help here.

And I watch as God’s large hand enters the home and the bird rests on His finger.

I sing because I’m happy;
I sing because I’m free;
His eye is on the sparrow
And I know He watches me.

So I now know the process to peace:

1. Release resentment.
2. Relax and let God take of my worries, problems, or pain.
3. Relish His care and sing!

But there’s a residual emotion: I still long to be free. Responsibility is sometimes a hard or heavy load to carry. It would be easier to lay it down than to carry it. But that’s a topic to explore on another day.

What privilege do you mistake for a right?

On Regaining Peace

Posted on by under Peace

Journaling is one of my favorite ways to process my emotions. Here’s an entry from 2007 when I was teaching at a junior college.

I’m really struggling right now. I’ve lost my joy and I’ve lost my peace and I don’t know the way back. I have a bad attitude about teaching. I’m angry, resentful, proud, defensive, hurt, stressed, and just trying to tread water and not drown. I’ve had to let go of other areas of responsibility in order to survive. My friends say I sound depressed.

A VISUAL: These students are in a race and I’m their coach. I can encourage them, call from the sidelines, or lead them from out front. But if they choose to stop running, I can’t force them to continue. I can’t hold each of them at the same time and drag them along. While I’m helping one, another is lagging behind. I get them to help each other, but it’s not enough. They keep sitting on the sidelines and complaining that it’s too hard. Others stay in the race but can’t figure out where the path is and they keep wandering off into the marshes. Others are so far behind that they’ll never catch up and so they get discouraged. Some keep stepping off the track to care for business on the sidelines. Distractions abound (illness, deaths, winter weather, family stressors).

Meanwhile, my boss is yelling at me that I’m not trying hard enough. It’s my fault if I don’t provide the running shoes, hold their hands, stay with them till the sun goes down.

And me? I’m wearing myself out trying to be in ten places at once. I’m working day and night to keep the pace for the good, motivated student runners and still spending time running back and forth to grab the laggers. I can’t do it all. I hear my boss yelling in my ear, the runners wheezing and gasping at the effort, the ones in front complaining that I’m spending too much time in back, and the ones in back complaining I’m out front too much. I’m angry, tired, discouraged and ready to have this race come to an end.

What to do? I’m ready to listen, Lord.

Now rainclouds are forming overhead. It’s about to storm. I am at fault. I have not bathed my classes in prayer. I have not prayed for my students by name. I have not consistently blessed my classroom. I have asked for help for myself, but I’ve been too tired, distracted, and preoccupied to give it all over to God. I keep complaining, griping, crying that it’s too hard, too impossible a task that God has put in front of me. Now I sound like my students!

And so, first I repent for my neglect of my spiritual disciplines. I’ve lost my way, and I can’t keep the students on track if I don’t have the right focus.

So God gives meCave Waterfall another VISUAL: I’m a tour guide in a cave. I can point out the beauty along the way, and I’ll give my lecture to those who keep up. I can wait for a few stragglers to catch up before I begin lecturing, but if they are talking in the back and not listening, or if they turn back to the entrance of the cave because they got too tired to keep on going, I have to let them go. It’s their choice if they don’t listen. And it’s not my fault if they are physically incapable of keeping up. I can provide a wheelchair, but unless they get someone else to push them, they’re stuck. I have six people in my group who need wheelchairs! What is my job? To keep teaching, keep lecturing, keep pointing the way with my flashlight.

I become discouraged when I discover that only 8-10 out of my original 20 make it to the beautiful waterfall at the end of the tunnel. The strugglers have missed it!

Do You feel this way, sometimes, Lord, with Your children? Is that why You continually charge us to be overcomers?

And so I realize that it’s the company’s responsibility, not mine, to make sure the spelunkers sign a waiver saying they are physically and mentally fit for the journey BEFORE they enter the cave. Now that I understand it’s not my fault and that I’m doing all I can do, what do I do with those in wheelchairs that the company requires me to get safely back to the entrance? If I leave them in the cave, it will be pitch black. It’s then that I notice permanent lights along the path. They will have to wait there alone until we send for help, or they can join another tour that’s returning to the entrance. I am at peace. I have done all I can do with the resources I have. 

What do you do to regain your peace?