Baggage Claim

Have you ever been walking through the airport and noticed a lady struggling to balance her human-sized suitcase, a carry on, a sleeping bag, a purse, a tech box, and 6 teenagers all while attempting to chug a bottle of water before it was confiscated by the TSA? If you happened to be one of the men or woman fortunate enough to see such an entertaining sight, that was probably me you were gaping at. The past two summers I have had the privilege of venturing abroad with an awesome missions organization called Global Expeditions as a missionary advisor. One of my responsibilities under that title was to make sure that I got myself, 6 teenagers between the ages of 13-17, all of our luggage, 7 passports and visas, and a box full of peanut butter and jelly onto the correct airplane BEFORE the gate was closed. Some of the most stressful moments of my adult life have occurred in the airport on the way out of the country, and some of the most relieving moments have occurred as they shut the door to the plane and we taxied down the runway with all of our luggage and all of my kids in the designated areas. Unfortunately, as soon as the plane would land in Sao Paulo or Lima, or back in Dallas, it would be my responsibility once again to collect all of the luggage as it made its way down the belt in baggage claim.

Sometimes my life feels a lot like the post-baggage claim trek across the airport. I have had a moment of rest without feeling the weight of worries slung across my back, but now here I am with my bags in hand bending beneath the load that seems too big to bear. I carry around a bag marked fear-- fear of the future, fear of being alone, fear of never amounting to anything, fear of the unknown. I carry around a bag marked weariness-- weary from the day's work, weary from my inability to be still and wait, weary from taking on things that I was never meant to carry. I carry around a bag marked frustration-- frustration with things that are out of my control, frustration with the things I see in myself that shout "you're not doing anything right!", frustration with the people around me who don't seem to be acting the way I desire for them to act.

The sad part is that unlike my luggage at the airport in Sao Paulo, or Lima, or Dallas, no one is asking me to pick up these weighty burdens. I am choosing to do it on my own. No one's life or well-being depends on me toting this heavy weight. I take it on by myself. Not a single person will benefit from the baggage in my hands, but many will suffer from it, including myself. In fact, not only am I not required to carry the burdensome load, but by picking up each of these marked bags, I am denying an offer from someone far more able than myself to come alongside of me and lift my burden.

Jesus is saying, "Come to me all you who are weary and burdened 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." And here I am saying, "No thanks Jesus. I've got it, but it looks like some of these other guys could use a hand. Why don't you go ask them?" What a huge error on my part. Here Jesus stands offering to take my heavy bag marked fear and replace it with a weightless backpack called peace. Here he stands offering to take the burdensome frustration and replace it with a carry-on called patience. Here Jesus waits to take my weariness and replace it with perfect rest. Each exchange depends solely on one thing-- my willingness to put down my bags and follow him.