Baggage: A Call to Drop It (A Poem)

“Therefore, since we also have such a large cloud of witnesses surrounding us, let us lay aside every weight and the sin that so easily ensnares us. Let us run with endurance that race that lies before us, keeping our eyes on Jesus, the Source and Perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that lay before Him endured a cross and despised the shame and has set down at the right hand of God’s throne.” (Hebrews 12:1-2, HCSB)

We bog ourselves down with the baggage we carry.

Pain turns numb at the length we tarry.

Joyfully we walk the narrow road,

Until we become discouraged by our load.

“Drop it. Drop it. Drop it.” He asks.

“You don’t have to carry alone this daunting task.”

“Drop it at My feet,”

“Take a seat”

“Drink from My well.”

“Shed that outer shell.”

We shed an outer outer shell.

Redefining more our citadel.

Releasing a little more,

We allow Him to partially restore.

Merrily we walk along,

Singing a joyful song.

People along the path, stopped to take a break

Surprise and shock,

“Come on! Walk with me!” you say

“No, we need a break. The road is too narrow.”

Saddened by the images in your head of those behind,

The baggage cuts in a little deeper.

“Drop it. Drop it. Drop it” He asks.

“You don’t have to carry alone this daunting task.”

The end of our baggage is the hardest,

For it has us harnessed

To the past of who we used to be.

We just can’t see,

The changed He wants us to be.

Nearing the end, discouraged and downtrodden.

The joy at the beginning long forgotten.

What could have made this easier?

How could I have stayed eager?

“Drop it. Drop it. Drop it.” He asks.

“You don’t have to carry alone this daunting task.”

“Drop it at My feet.”

“Take a seat.”

“Drink from My well.”

“Shed that outer shell.”

“But isn’t it too late,” you whisper.

“My shoulders are blistered,”

Interrupted by the response,

“It’s never too late with Me.” said with nonchalance.

“Look around you.”

“See the others that have pushed through.”

You look, bags are laid out on the bare ground

The image before you creates a campground.

“This is not the end. It’s only the beginning.”

“Drop it. Drop it. Drop it.” He asks.

“You don’t have to carry alone this daunting task.”

“Drop it at My feet.”

“Take a seat.”

“Drink from My well.”

“Shed that outer shell.”

“Join me on this new journey,”

Walking forward toward Him,

You hear the cheers from an army,

Your fellow Christians,

Renewing your ambition.


Enter In

Placeholder ImageAwhile back I listened to a message by Pastor Craig Groeschel titled “God With Us.” He preached from Psalm 84 and talked about how sometimes we really know God loved and cares for us on the mountaintop, but in the valley we sometimes question it. It got me pondering:
The valley is a journey that you can’t pitch your tent in and dwell. It’s a wandering journey, one you have to keep traveling, because it’s not a journey that lasts forever.
As I think about the valleys of life I’ve been through, I think about what I thought and felt. Deep down I knew God loved me and was with me, but it wasn’t making the journey to my heart. What stood out to me the most were those who entered into the trenches with me. Through them, God healed my hurt and encouraged me to continue in the journey to the mountain top. And those same people who entered the trenches, rejoiced on the mountaintop.
If there’s one thing I want to make a point about it’s this: enter into the trenches with a fellow brother or sister. Sometimes it takes you climbing down to where they are to help them start the journey up. It takes the hope that’s built on God’s faithfulness for them to see that He provides the same for them too. And in those moments that the valley gets to muddy and murky, you can be the hands and feet of Jesus and trudge through with them.
Please understand that I’m not discounting the presence of God, and the importance of Him never leaving you—but, there’s something about entering into the trenches that makes someone see that they do matter. That they are loved. And that they’re not walking this alone. It helps to have someone help you repair your armor, to restore the cleats on the bottom of your shoes of peace so that you can dig into the side of that muddy mountain and advance against the enemy to the mountaintop.
We need each other. And if more people entered in instead of letting people just wallow in the miry clay, there would be more well digging in the valley in hopeful anticipation that their journey through that valley is almost over.