[pause] for the cause pace

The road trip from St. Louis to Denver takes its toll on a traveler.

It's 12-13 hours, minimum. It's one highway (I-70). The scenery mostly bores once west of Manhattan, KS. Also, the elevation above sea level slightly -- yet steadily -- ascends the entire drive; so while it appears flat as paper, it's nothing but incline. This adds to the drive time, and slowly induces altitude sickness symptoms if you're not hydrated.

This road trip I've done this a few times. Did a Colorado ski trip once with friends, and to arrive in Denver by 6PM for dinner, we hit the road at 6AM. While we pushed ourselves and made it, it felt miserable.

I preferred this trip when we chose to stop for the night. Hays, KS is an ideal location -- it's more than halfway, it's along the interstate.

This gets to my main thought for us all today: some journeys, some trips, some endeavors are better experienced when we take the built-in pause for the cause. Yeah, without a stop we'd arrive faster, but for what? Who's keeping track? By whose standard are we early, or late, or on time? 

We get there when we get there. 

In the meantime, let's stop to fill up on gas, take a leak, relax these brains of ours, fill up our water bottles, stretch our legs, gulp in some fresh air, grab a snack. This is a time when we're in one of the great, expansive in-betweens of life. We're on our way. We get there when we get there.

For every exit ramp, there's a nearby entrance ramp for us too.

heavy heavy sugar baby

Why in the world would God let such heavy weights in life fall into our arms, onto our backs, into our minds and hearts? What's the use of this?

Let's be clear: I don't mean actual weights. I mean weighty situations we face. Miscommunication. Relationships. Work. Fights. Choices. Turmoil. Angst. Dreams. Annoyances. Hopes. Hopes deferred.

I can say this for myself: part of learning what weights and burdens I should carry comes from the trial and error of learning what I cannot carry.

Like many of you, I possess a stubborn streak. So when someone -- speaking with wisdom, with experience, with grace -- suggests to me that a burden may not be meant for me to carry, I want to rebel. I wish to resist. No one tells me how not to handle something! I pick up and carry what I want!

And yet. Time eventually proves the sageness of this counsel lovingly offered to me. It was though God kept telling me, through the wisdom of others, "please let go of this -- it's gonna hurt you more if you don't" ... and I would not let go. Sunk-cost fallacy had me hypnotized.

"But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us." -2 Corinthians 4:7. It's wise to remember this descriptor of ourselves. We're clay. We're fashioned into jars. Clay jars can hold a lot. But jars are not invincible, nor indestructible.

When I've relinquished many heavy weight situations in life, it wasn't by choice. It was because I could not contort or warp myself to carry it any longer. It's not my design. 

Just because God allows a weight onto your heart doesn't automatically mean it's yours to carry, indefinitely. It's not your design. Every weightlifter puts the barbell back onto the floor. Weights, by design, should be picked up properly, and put back down ... properly.

Sometimes God lets such weights come our way so we can learn -- from experience -- what is not ours to carry. Sometimes we're given heavy weights so we can learn how to pick them up, just to give them to God and to let go of them. It's how we learn. And from there, we gain a sensibility of how to shoulder other weights. What are you carrying around in your clay jar heart and mind?