by Kayla M. Cook
I am exhausted. Teaching from home while being mama to a toddler, all the typical household responsibilities, concerns for friends and family, the constant stream of information and tragedy and arguments that we find on any given app or website, all the needs at home and abroad...it has worn me slap out. Please don't for a minute think I don't care. I absolutely care. That's part of why I'm so deeply tired. And I want to be the one to help fix it all. That's another part of why I'm so deeply tired.
One thing that has struck me so heavily is that, in the midst of pandemic and injustice and unrest, our personal stuff doesn't press pause. Those sick loved ones? They're still stick. Those grieving friends? They're still grieving. That junk you've been wrestling (or maybe even pushed down) in your own soul? It's still there. Those decisions you needed to make? You still have to choose. Those bills? They're still coming. Those people in your house? They're still going to want dinner tonight.
Everything feels heavy, and everything is heavy, and my mind runs a mile a minute, trying to figure out how to hold things up and hold things together. And I imagine Jesus, irritated with me because I can't figure it all out and I can't seem to do or be enough. I imagine Him frustrated with me because I'm so tired, thinking to Himself, "Why can't she just be stronger? Why is she so tired, she hasn't done that much anyway?"
But Jesus. Dear Jesus. The only Hope I've got. He says this:
"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." Matthew 11:28-30, ESV
"Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest."
It sounds so simple, and yet we miss it. We are carrying so much- heartbreak in our world, in our communities, in our families and friendships, and in our own souls. Jesus knows it, gracious, He sees it all, and not only does He see it, but He carried it all, all the way to the cross. He bears our burdens daily, and He says, "Come to Me; I have rest to give you and things to teach you."
We miss it because, in our humanity, it seems so backwards. How can we get rest when all we've done is come to Him? Our human brains would tell us that nothing is free; surely we must earn this rest in some way. But Jesus does not say, "Come to Me, so you can earn some rest." No, dear one, we do not earn this rest. This rest is a gift, given to us by Christ Himself. We come to Him, and He gives us 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."
Even with the promise of rest, there is work to be done; yokes were designed for work. We don't always like the idea of a yoke, do we? We don't like the idea of having anything put on us, but there is such grace here. Know this: whether we like the idea of it or not, we are all putting ourselves under some sort of yoke. You can take Jesus' yoke upon you, or you can find yourself under another yoke: of acceptance, of success, of addiction, of attention, of insert-your-burden-here. While we're under His yoke, we are told to cast our cares on Him. He wants to teach us, because the way Jesus loves is the best way to love, and He says that's what matters most: love of God and people.
We get to learn from Jesus, the ultimate Teacher. I have taught public school for eight years. I've taught hundreds of kids at this point, and I've worked with some amazing people. You know what I know about good teachers? They don't lose their patience when you're learning and make mistakes. A kid who is learning to go one step further, to put what they've learned into practice, but still making mistakes...am I mad at them? No. Do I correct them? Certainly. I correct where they're getting things wrong, because I care about them, and I don't want to let them go on messing up the same things in the same ways. But we correct and move on, because they're learning. And they're (mostly) trying. And if they keep messing up the same things or in the same ways? I re-teach, they re-learn, and we correct and move on again.
And if I can do that, as an imperfect math teacher to teenagers, then I can hardly wrap my mind around the goodness of the best Teacher.
Up until recently, I've missed something vitally important in these verses. Here's what I missed, a few precious words: "...for I am gentle..."
True story: I don't always see Jesus as gentle. It pains me to say that, but it's true. I have often seen Him as mad at me, or irritated with me, or frustrated with me. Why can't I just get things right? Why can't I do better and be better?
Jesus isn't irritated with me. I'm irritated with me. If Jesus says He is gentle, then He is, regardless of my ability to see it, and I have to untangle the lies I've bought that say otherwise. It really is His kindness that leads me to repentance.
Repentance? Yes. I have to repent of wanting to make everything right, of putting it on myself to hold everything up and hold everything together, including myself. That's His place. "And He is before all things, and in Him all things hold together." (Colossians 1:17) That's part of why I'm so tired; because I'm taking on things that are His alone to bear. Jesus is the only one strong enough to bear our burdens, and I have to trust Him to do it.
Jesus, our burdens are heavy. You know them all, and You care about them all: the ones others see and know about, and the ones we don't have the strength to say out loud. Help us come to You trusting and receive the rest You say You'll give. Make us teachable; we want to learn from You. Thank You for being gentle and humble. Teach us to be the same. Lord, may it be so.
