One time I pushed my kids down a mountain—in a stroller of course.
The rest of my party had gone off to hike trails I knew even my amazing double BOB couldn’t handle, so I was on my own. I had to get my toddler down to the creek bed and give him the chance to throw some rocks, so my toddler, my three-month-old, and I set out.
The path wasn’t bad for a while. We enjoyed the greenery and cool, mild weather. Then came some rocks and bumps. Then it got steep. Next came some fallen trees. Finally, it became steep and rocky and had more fallen trees.
I could see the water. I’d come this far. I knew I could make it the rest of the way. With much heaving and heavy breathing, I did. But my toddler decided he didn’t want to throw rocks and immediately got back into the stroller. Now I had to get back to the top.
When my group found me, they laughed at my craziness, hoisted my stroller above their heads, and carried it back up the cliff to even ground. I followed, insisting I could have done it myself—while feeling relieved and rather foolish at the same time. It’s always been difficult for me to accept help. I feel as if it’s an inconvenience.
I think God knew people struggled with helping and being helped, and that’s why He guided Paul to tell us to bear each other’s burdens. But He didn’t tell us not to let others bear ours. I get to help others, but I should also let them help me. We all need help. That’s why Jesus came.
God wants us to give and receive help with grace, for it’s a gift to help others and to let them help us.
Think of some ways you might bear someone’s burdens. Then, think of some ways you could let others help you.
(Photo courtesy of pixabay.)
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