The Sandbag

       Wiped out from last week, smarting from a challenging weekend, and recovering from an aching hip, I crawled into bed Monday night and chided myself for not having my devotions. (In my irreverent moments I sometimes try to picture Moses “having his devotions” or the Apostle Paul or John picking up a Bible study guide for their “God time.” I would rather think of them talking with God about his Word throughout the day.)

Nevertheless, I grabbed my little book of comfort, Deeper than Tears, which has empathized and supported me many times through the years. Most of all it has brought me closer to God.  That happened again Monday night.

After flipping through the book, I landed on a photo spread of magnificent red leaves. Those pages had always stopped me because of the cherry-red foliage gracing a forest, but not for the verse quoted: Surely he hath borne our griefs and carried our sorrows (Isaiah 53:4). Yes, I knew that verse was about Christ’s atonement, and it was so familiar it was trite, and I was jaded.

But that night I stared at the words. What did it mean? What did it really mean, God, that Jesus carried my grief and sorrows? I’d been carrying around a lot of that for ten years. I knew God had helped me, yet still it was a load. God, could you show me, could you speak to me? What do you mean?

There I sat in bed, no longer looking at the bright leaves but focused instead on ten words that no longer seemed common. Bearing, carrying. What was it that God and the Savior did and do when they bear and carry?

All of a sudden, I was back in fourth grade.

The small elementary school I attended had an expansive playground, which included a hill that was marvelous for sledding in the winter. (Can you believe we brought our sleds to school on the bus and propped them against the building in readiness for recess?) At the base of the hill was a large field with a softball diamond. How we loved to play softball! We even had sandbag bases! Carrying the equipment out and back in was an honor. I’d never been able to grab a base and carry it back up the hill to the school and until one afternoon. Third base was calling my willing arms, and I ran to scoop it up.

It was the farthest base from the hill, so I had the most ground to cover. What I had never counted on was how heavy a bag of sand could be. Getting to the base of the hill wasn’t difficult, but I struggled with every upward step. Soon I was alone on the hillside, third base my only companion. Heightening my dilemma was my introvert hatred and fear of being late. By the time I finally reached to top of the hill I was panicky. The playground was deserted, and the school was a hundred miles away!

There was nothing to do but trudge on. Before third base and I had gone far, a friend rescued me, and I mean a friend, quite literally. Larry Friend ran across the playground, most likely sent by the teacher who saw my plight from the second-story windows overlooking the playground. A fifth grader much bigger and taller than me, he grabbed the bag and effortlessly carried that impossibly heavy third base back into the school. The teacher didn’t say a word about it to me. And I never volunteered to carry a base again!

As if it were yesterday, the memory played across my mind Monday night, although I hadn’t thought about it for a long time. Then I made the connection. Just as Larry Friend took that heavy third base, God and my Savior have and are more than willing to shoulder my griefs and sorrows. I can pick them up if I want, but I have a willing Friend who will do it for me.

Whenever I’ve been tempted to grieve or be sorrowful this week, I’ve remembered that schoolmate who gave me a picture of what God will do for me, if I’ll relinquish my sandbag!