Let me tell you a story about how small pieces of trash entrusted to me by our children have been drawing me closer to Jesus.
“Here, Mama.”
I hear this phrase over and over every day as I am handed various objects: damp lollipop sticks, used tissues, treasured pieces of tree bark, a tough bit of chicken rejected by a child, a discarded spring coat. There are days when I feel exasperated by this process. _Dear daughter, can’t you take care of that yourself?_ There is a skill to be learned here, to be sure, and when I can, I gently point toward a nearby trash can or indicate to the child that they must carry their own coat, as I am already burdened with my own, plus four bags of groceries. But I will often take the proffered detritus, relieving them of their burden so that they can more easily walk the balance beam (normally called “the curb”) or skip ahead to glimpse a squirrel climbing a tree.
It seems like a rather charmed life, to be able to cast off any bit of unneeded or unwanted material, trusting that the trash will go away, but that the treasures will remain until they are desired again. And lately, as I start to roll my eyes over the seventh “special rock” someone would like me to carry home, I’ve been pausing for a minute to think, _Maybe I need to do this more._
I’m not the first to draw parallels between the parent-child bond of trust and our relationship with God, but this particular metaphor is sticking with me in a deeper way. What am I carrying in my hot little hand, and would I be freer if I let it go — not into the great void, but entrusting it to the care of Jesus? He is good, and will take care of it or discard it as needed.
Jon and I have been studying “this book”:http://www.ivpress.com/cgi-ivpress/book.pl/code=3584 and the “accompanying videos”:http://www.ivpress.com/cgi-ivpress/book.pl/code=3585 by Dallas Willard lately, who appears to think Jesus was serious when he said,
bq. Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, 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, NRSV)
This passage sometimes becomes for me a lovely thing that people say when you’re tired, or just a beautiful piece from Handel’s _Messiah_ — sweet words, but does it really help when you’re racing to beat a deadline and dinner hasn’t been started and someone just scraped their knee? But the verse takes on fresh meaning for me when I watch Lucy and Rosie’s trusting openness as they hand over sweaters and candy wrappers — never tossing them at me, but making sure I acknowledge the burden and take responsibility for it. This seems to be at least one of the kinds of rest Jesus invites us into.
Here are a few more examples of how it is playing out for me these days:
* *With a weighty concern.* We all have significant worries from time to time. Often they are problems that fall in our realm of responsibility and oversight — but perhaps I can make sure that is the case. Dallas Willard says, “The easy yoke is to lay aside your projects and mine and to take up God’s projects.” Is this problem something that Jesus is asking me to carry? If so, how can I invite Jesus to work on it with me? If not, how can he help me give it back to him?
* *With a trivial concern.* I will frequently obsess over a very small problem. Does it feel too small to bring to Jesus? Does he care what I cook for dinner that night? He probably doesn’t have a strong opinion about it, but he cares about me and is willing to hash it out. Even trivial things can be entrusted to him. The lollipop stick is beautiful because it comes from someone I love dearly. In the same way, he can help me discern the question of quesadillas vs. soup because he loves me.
* *With a concern that is too heavy.* Perhaps the worry I have is just too big for me, like a grocery bag stuffed with a collection of cans and a gallon of milk. A child cannot carry it alone; it is a relief to give it to an adult. The weight of poverty and pain in the world is too much for me, but Jesus can carry it. He is the strongest person and he can carry the heaviest thing. Sometimes, however, a parent may want to train a child to carry a few things — a smaller load that fits their body size. The cans can go in a few smaller bags. Even our own children are getting strong enough to carry a gallon of milk by themselves. In the same way, Jesus might break down the problem of world hunger and give us one little piece of it. But this heavy carrying always comes with close supervision. There is help and comfort and encouragement in this training process.
* *At bedtime.* We don’t really need much in our hands while we are sleeping. What leftover things from the day am I holding on to when I climb into bed? Can I hand them over to Jesus? Can I entrust them to him for a few hours so that I can get some sleep? Sometimes I can’t — it’s just too hard to let them go. At those times, instead of berating myself over my controlling habits, can I at least ask Jesus to _teach_ me to let them go?
So when I hear those words — “Here, Mama” — and I receive the imperfect carrot or the sweaty pair of socks, I’m experimenting with a new practice: looking inside to see if there is anything I am carrying unnecessarily for which I can say, “Here, Jesus.” Maybe if I do this enough, I’ll be free to walk the balance beam myself — metaphorically, at least.