It is of concern to Him.
I find myself troubled this morning. Flooded with cares and concerns. It started last night. I take on burdens like a second skin. To put it bluntly, my prideful heart wants to be like God, and this comes out when those closest to me are hurting. I long to help, to fix, to carry it all for them. But I cannot. I become overwhelm, rightly, because my pride breeds ignorance of my own burdens that I'm not laying down. I buckle under the weight of it all, and get so upset because I don't understand anything. I don't understand anything. Sin leaves my heart breathless with pain. Not sin as in my shortcomings like this pridefulness. But Sin (capital S) as in the power that looms over us all, holding the whole creation captive in its grip.
Grace is relentless in its pursuit of us. Freedom can be found if we let grace take us captive.
Why do we run?
We are so afraid. I am so very afraid.
But even in simply admitting that, the chains of fear loosen. Because grace swoops in when we admit our neediness. When we realize that we cannot bear it any longer, the words of Jesus can finally be more clearly heard than ever before: "Come to me, all who are burdened and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, for it is light and not burdensome. Learn from me, for I am gentle and my heart is soft and deeply moved by your cares." And Peter's exhortation can be taken up: "Cast each of your cares upon the Him, because it is of concern to Him!"
It is of concern to Him.
Do we believe that? That He indeed has our best interests at heart? That He loves us so intimately and is so intricately involved in the details of our days? He is not far off. We are not forsaken. He is here. Deeply entrenched in the valleys. Emmanuel. With us.
Are my troubles gone? No. "In this world you will have trouble. But take heart, for I have overcome the world." But they do not control me. They do not lead me astray, because they no longer have power. They are under the feet of Jesus. I have cast each one of them there, and He has covered me with His peace and strength and love. I rest in the shelter of His wings. I refuse to pick them up this morning. I choose instead to take up my cross, boldly walk ahead with my eyes fixed on Jesus, the author and perfecter of my faith. He chose to cast himself on the joy that lay ahead, though He could not see it yet as He lived on this earth and headed to the cross. I choose to cast myself on that future joy and hope as well. Though I cannot see, I still believe.
"You who have made me see many
troubles and calamities
will revive me again;
from the depths of the earth
You will bring me up again."
Psalm 71.20
Grace is relentless in its pursuit of us. Freedom can be found if we let grace take us captive.
Why do we run?
We are so afraid. I am so very afraid.
But even in simply admitting that, the chains of fear loosen. Because grace swoops in when we admit our neediness. When we realize that we cannot bear it any longer, the words of Jesus can finally be more clearly heard than ever before: "Come to me, all who are burdened and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, for it is light and not burdensome. Learn from me, for I am gentle and my heart is soft and deeply moved by your cares." And Peter's exhortation can be taken up: "Cast each of your cares upon the Him, because it is of concern to Him!"
It is of concern to Him.
Do we believe that? That He indeed has our best interests at heart? That He loves us so intimately and is so intricately involved in the details of our days? He is not far off. We are not forsaken. He is here. Deeply entrenched in the valleys. Emmanuel. With us.
Are my troubles gone? No. "In this world you will have trouble. But take heart, for I have overcome the world." But they do not control me. They do not lead me astray, because they no longer have power. They are under the feet of Jesus. I have cast each one of them there, and He has covered me with His peace and strength and love. I rest in the shelter of His wings. I refuse to pick them up this morning. I choose instead to take up my cross, boldly walk ahead with my eyes fixed on Jesus, the author and perfecter of my faith. He chose to cast himself on the joy that lay ahead, though He could not see it yet as He lived on this earth and headed to the cross. I choose to cast myself on that future joy and hope as well. Though I cannot see, I still believe.
"You who have made me see many
troubles and calamities
will revive me again;
from the depths of the earth
You will bring me up again."
Psalm 71.20
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