Oh So Heavy & Light

Oct 30, 2018

For almost 48 hours I didn’t respond to a simple question from a friend.

In typical social media form, I had gone to Instagram, too lazy to scroll, settling for the stories to just queue up on my phone, to not think about whatever it was that I was thinking too much about.

If you think too much (like I do), this sort of escape can be a nice break.

I had commented on my friend Jamie’s instastory. He was interviewing Gustavo for his podcast.

I commented “Yes! Wow. So excited for his story to get amplified.”

am so excited for this. Gustavo’s story is so alive. The parts I know, the man he is, there’s just so much yes in that story. He’s my Pastor Gus. He’s an energetic testament to life and light and love.

So when Jamie replied, he let me know that they had such a good conversation. I can be excited about that. Amp that story.

It only took Jamie a little over an hour to reply to my comment.

But he followed up with an invitation to the deep end.

“How are you my friend?”

Such a simple ask. But you know how there are some people that ask this question and the answer only goes as deep as their interest.

Jamie is one of those guys that when he asks, you know he really wants to know. But I didn’t want to know, or I didn’t want to deal with what I knew.

So it sat there.

For almost forty eight hours.

And the only words that made any sense in that moment aren’t even words that I came up with. In fact, they are words that Jamie had given me years ago.

Heavy and light.

Heavy. It’s been a hard few years. This last year, especially.

Light. I can’t even tell you how many times I have felt like I’m floating.

My confusion has settled in?—?is this peace? or am I numb?

There is something about the valley, walking through the deep places.

There is something about the desert, stumbling through the dry places.

There is something about the silence, listening in the still places.

There is something about the darkness, searching in the confusing places.

I don’t remember who said it (which is weird for me, because my memory is usually one of my superpowers) but they were talking about the gospel, about the good news, about the incredible turn of events that took place in the life, execution, burial, resurrection and ascension of Jesus.

The good news is much less oriented around sin or heaven or hell or righteousness than its reputation might let on.

The good news is anchored in three words.

Come to me.

This is the invitation.

This is the preparation and the reservation.

There is a place.

There is a home.

And it is with your maker.

Home is sitting wherever you want, making yourself at home, because he has gone out of his way to prepare a place for you, made it ok for you to be there, paved the road to get there, and waits up, watching for you, just to sit with you there. Home.

There is space for me. I’m not too much.

There is rest for me. These burdens aren’t too much.

There is life for me. It doesn’t all end in death.

There is a future for me.

Dreamers don’t resign to the proposed boundaries.

We know that the horizon is imaginary.

There’s always a world beyond what we can see.

If I didn’t know heavy, I wouldn’t know light.

So give me the valley, the desert, the dark.

So give me the burden, the silence, the scars.

There is life on the other side.

There is light on the inside.

There is a tomorrow.

There is day after night.