You Are Not A Burden

It is heavy tonight, the way simple things feel like mountains. You want just a hand to hold the cup, but shame whispers that you are a burden, that even this small need is too much.

And you turn away, gripping the weight alone. But in the garden of Gethsemane, the light itself fell on its face and asked for help when the cup was too heavy.

The one who holds all things was overwhelmed, and the Father did not scold. You are not a burden.

You are known in the detail of your trembling. The Father is greater than the condemning voice that says you must carry this alone.

Let the cup rest. Let the darkness see that you are still here, and let the light inside you, which is greater than any fear, hold it for you tonight.