Raising Magnolias

Looking up. Seeing the Crystal.

Usually I scroll; skim and scoop, but at this.

I stop.

My friend, Queen Cindy writes—

“I’m thinking and praying  about how well I will carry my load today and how will I help carry the load of others.”

How well will I carry my load ?

defeated?

Teary?

Heavy-burdened with shame and regret—

Mad?

Yes! I’m just so dang mad!

But here’s the thing.

They know that I love Jesus.

They know that I believe in Him.

Trust.

In Him

So what do they see?

It reminds me of my friend, Jenna. She never wanted to put one of those fishes (and yes, I know they have a name) on her car because her foot was a little heavy. She didn’t want to give Jesus a bad name.

And I’m sure there are times when Jesus cringes and has that gritting his teeth thing goin’ on….I’ll never leave you nor forsake you, but man, oh man, today, I’m kinda wishing people didn’t know you were in my family.

So how well do I carry my load? 

And.

More importantly.

How will I help carry the load of others?

It makes me think of the whole WWJD “thing”, which has always just  annoyed me a little bit. If I think I’m getting on some sort of bandwagon, even a Jesus wagon, I tend to shy away. Of course looking back, I’m thinking a different wagon here or a different wagon there might of—OK, never mind.

WWJD? I’ve discovered.

Is not the question.

WAIGD?

It doesn’t really have the same ring. Try it. Say it fast. WAIGD? As a matter of fact with the “G-D” at the end, it doesn’t sound very good.

Not good at all.

It’s not what would Jesus do? It’s we are the hands and the feet. We are the body.

So what are WE gonna do?

What Am I Gonna Do?

WAIGD?

Seriously. I should never write past 10 p.m..

Last week a young man; a husband and father and friend and son and yes, a much-much too young man, died.

I didn’t know him, but I’ve watched over the past few days as those around me mourn his passing.

Mourn for their friend.

His family.

His children.

And then  today.

Boston.

And I’m a runner.

Well sorta.

And I can’t imagine.

But all day, my friend Cindy’s words have swirled and spun and I’m taking in this and I’m taking in that and the Lord reminds me that we are to cry with those who cry; mourn with those that mourn.

And in a media saturated world, we focus on the big.

The tragic.

The shocking.

But here’s what I know. I’m in Fremont, Nebraska.

And I can not carry the burden of Boston.

I can not help them carry their load.

I can cry with them; mourn for them;pray for them; but can not help carry.

And when it’s too big—too hard—we do nothing.

I. Do. Nothing.

A man I didn’t know? How do I mourn him? It feels too big.

And I can’t and I shouldn’t but I can cry with those who cry.

Help carry the load of those who mourn.

So this week, I’m laying down my load. A load that in the light of true tragedy seems not quite so heavy.

And I’m giving thanks to a Jesus that will carry it for me.

And I’m going to ask myself over and over and over—

How can I help carry the load of others.

Because people are hurting.

In Boston.

In Fremont.

Down the street. Up the road. Across the tracks.

It doesn’t always make the news.

Sometimes. It doesn’t even make it to Facebook.

Our friends and our neighbors and our family and the very ones whose lives seem perfect and it is messy and hard and broken and right here in my own backyard—

WAIGD?

To love on others.

And help carry their load.

I’m not sure.

But for starters, I’m gonna look up.

Because another quote from Queen Cindy?

“And then the sun came out….and God showed how easy it is to miss the crystal chandeliers if you’re looking down.”

And then the sun came out. I don’t feel it yet. I don’t feel warm and I don’t see the sun, but I know that it shines.

And if I’m going to help others carry their burdens then I’d better start looking up.

Giving thanks.

And seeing the crystal.

.