Somedays hope is easy. It’s a light and joyous thing that bubbles out of you like belches out of a ten-year-old boy. Those are the good days. Those are the clean, crisp days that make life worth living. Those are the days on which pop music thrives. But somedays, hope isn’t easy. Somedays, hope is a stinking chore. It’s something that you know you ought to believe but don’t care to. And if you did care, you wouldn’t have the strength for it anyway. Those are the days curse words and punching bags were made for, even if you know you shouldn’t be playing with either.

Monday was one of the former for me. There wasn’t some catastrophic event, but it was the culmination of a few stray thoughts and a lot of previously-ignored emotions – the perfect recipe for a total breakdown. It wasn’t pretty. And I’d rather forget it happened. But something in me can’t ignore it.

On Saturday, I went for a bike ride and was nearly hit by a corvette. I think the driver thought that stop signs were optional for muscle cars. I’m thrilled he had a last-minute change of heart.

Later, a friend heard about it and jokingly asked whether I’m just that accident prone or if my luck is just that awful. She’s good friend with a wonderful sense of humor, but that was the wrong question at the wrong time. It wasn’t that she meant anything by it, but I’ve been both blessed and cursed with a mind that never stops thinking. So that joke bounced my around my head like a pinball for days. In the last three years, my family’s lost my mom, my brother, and my cousin. At the end of August, I totaled a car I’d owned for three weeks. And at the moment, every plan I had post-graduation has gone spectacularly wrong. So, it’s hard not to wonder if I have an invisible albatross chained around my neck. For the record, those are the kinds of thoughts that will kill you. I’m sure of it.

Monday was rough for me, one of those odd days with loads of activity, but zero sense of accomplishment. For me, an unproductive day is worse than death. I don’t mind the days when I never see another person or never leave the house, but I’d rather break a bone than go to bed with feeling like I’ve accomplished nothing. It’s not that I did nothing on Monday, but I did lots of things that felt meaningless and trite, regardless of their necessity.

After admitting defeat for the day, I began working on another project that requires me to sort through my brother’s photographs and select my favorites. My brother was an extraordinary photographer. So picking a few favorites out of thousands of photographs is impossible. And the tears aren’t helping either.

Call me silly; call me foolish; but occasionally, I get so bogged down by my emotions that it’s hard to think and function normally. Monday was one of those occasions. I quit sorting through Robert’s pictures for the day and sat at my desk, staring at a blank computer screen. I ate dinner, though I couldn’t tell you what it was. And then I found myself wandering the house with a head so full of thoughts I couldn’t think at all. I was useless, and I was completely alone. Those moments are hard for me. I’m an introvert through and through, but I’m also a verbal processor. When I’m overwhelmed and have no one to talk to, I’m in trouble. Instead of sitting around until some temptation showed up, I did the only thing that made any sense – I walked out of the house and wandered around the neighborhood for half an hour. And about 10 minutes into my walkabout, I started praying. It wasn’t intentional. Word’s started spewing out of my mouth and the only person to whom I could direct them was God. This wasn’t some happy, sanitized, Christian prayer walk where you count your blessings and quietly sing kumbaya. It was a slow walk with weak, anxious, self-centered whining. It was every doubt I’ve had for months laid out before me. It was ugly. But it was also honest.

Somedays, hope is chore, a burden. But how often do I forget that we have a God who loves to carry our burdens? How often do I insist on fixing my own problems and being my own savior? How often do I fail miserably?

At that time Jesus declared, “I thank you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, that you have hidden these things from the wise and understanding and revealed them to little children; yes, Father, for such was your gracious will. All things have been handed over to me by my Father, and no one knows the Son except the Father, and no one knows the Father except the Son and anyone to whom the Son chooses to reveal him. Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.   – Matt. 11:25-30

Oh, how I love Jesus. He speaks of heavenly mysteries as if they were easy to comprehend. He introduces a paradox here. God is a mystery, a riddle that can only be solved by invitation. “No one knows Him unless they know Me, but no one knows Me unless they know Him.”

But does He stop there? Does He leave us in our ignorance, helpless to ever know God at all? No. He opens His arms wide and beckons us. He reintroduces Himself to humanity. You’d think that the God who orchestrated the flood,¹ the plagues, and, well, the Old Testament would introduce Himself with fire and stone tablets and a big stick, because I’d wager that most of us think of God primarily as the cold, distant disciplinarian of the cosmos. But Jesus, the spitting image of His Father, steps forward, not with a stick, but with all the tenderness of a thousand doting grandmothers, and says, “Come.”

Monday night, that’s the God I met. Wandering the streets, muttering my complaints and fears until I could no longer stand, I walked right into the arms of a God who never promised to make life easy, but did promise to be there for us when it’s hard.

Are you anxious? Are you worried? Are you weary or heavy laden?

Come again.

Come to a God who is not only able to care for you, but He also wants to. Come to a God bigger than your fears and your worries. Come to a God who promised to be near the broken-hearted. He’s the God of the weary, the Servant of the weak, the Friend of the scorned, and the Hope of the downcast. He champions the cause of the broken and abused; He heals the lame; He raises the dead.

This is our God. This is our King. He is compassion embodied and love personified. And when hope is a burden, I will go to Him and find rest for my soul.

¹ Not a Halo reference.