The Weight I can't Carry

The Weight I Can't Carry

Cast your burden on the Lord, and He will sustain you; He will never permit the righteous to be moved.” 

 Psalm 55:22 

      A few years ago Tif and I belonged to Planet Fitness.  We would walk on the tread mill for a few miles but one day she talked me into trying weight lifting.  Needless to say I'm not built like a weight lifter.  I'm slightly chunky and no one is going to confuse me for Mr. Universe.  I have embraced the dad bod.  But as I lifted a few smaller weights a guy who was obviously stacked started to lift weights.  He was lifting weights with one hand that I was lifting with both.  I was totally unable to lift that kind of weight.  That day I also retired from professional weight lifting.

     That reminds me a lot of grief.  There are days when grief feels heavier than ever.  Some days it's lighter and more bearable but other days it feels like the weights are laying on your chest.  Grief is impossible to bear alone.  It will crush you.  Psalm 55 meets us when the weight feel unmanageable.  It meets us in the ache. David is writing from a wounded heart.  This time he isn’t just facing enemies in this Psalm; he’s facing heartbreak. He’s been betrayed by someone he loved and trusted. His pain runs deep. He writes, “It is not an enemy who taunts me… but it is you, my companion, my familiar friend.”  This Psalm is unique because of it's Messianic tone, pointing directly to Judas betraying Christ for thirty pieces of silver.   Betrayal has a way of piercing our heart in ways that are almost incomprehensible.  It shifts us to unsteady ground emotionally.

      Loss has a way of betraying us too. The person who once stood beside us—the one who shared laughter, prayer, and dreams—is suddenly gone. We find ourselves whispering, “If only I could fly away and find rest” (v.6). David knew that longing. I know it too. Maybe you do.  I never wanted to harm myself during my grief journey, but I understand people who do.  The life that made total sense is literally torched.  It's nothing more then ashes.  You are 'stuck' being alive and having to press on.  There are days when you just want to leave this world behind and go home to heaven.  Once again, you don't want to harm yourself, you aren't suicidal, but your zest for life has diminished.  You can't see past your grief.  David wants to escape the inward pain, he wants to get away from it.  If you are grieving, you want to fly away at 

      But in the middle of his anguish, David makes a choice: he casts his burden on the Lord. Not lays it gently down, not tucks it away for later—but throws it, hurls it, releases it.  The same Hebrew word was used when Joseph's brother hurled him into the pit.  That wasn't a gentle action, it was intentional and probably looked violent.  David encourages us to make a choice; hurl our cares onto the Lord.  Why?  Because he knows we cannot carry it alone.

      That’s the turning point for every grieving heart. When the weight feels unbearable, when the loneliness is too sharp to name, God invites us to hand it over—to trust that He will sustain us when we no longer have the strength to stand.  The New Testament repeats this theme in 1st Peter 5:7 which says "Cast your care on Him because He cares for you."  We are invited to cast our burden onto Christ who isn't just capable, but willing!

      “Cast your burden on the Lord.”  That’s not a one-time act—it’s daily. Sometimes hourly. Every moment when the ache returns, you hand it back to Him again.  I can't tell you how many times I had to cast my burdens onto Jesus while Tiffanie was sick.  I can't tell you how many times I had to take my lonely to Jesus after she passed away.  I can't count how many burdens I have had to cast onto the Lord when I started dating again.  And again I'm casting more unspoken burdens onto Jesus.  And you know something unique; He meets me right there in that moment.

      And here’s the quiet promise: “He will never permit the righteous to be moved.” Even when your world has shifted, even when your foundation feels cracked, God Himself becomes your steady ground. He holds what’s left of you—and somehow, that’s enough.  He cares for you friend.  You grief might be great, and I guarantee you it's not something you can bear, but your grief is not greater than the grace of Jesus.  Cast it onto Him.  He's inviting you right now, maybe for the millionth time, to cast that burden onto him.