Where the Weight of this World Lies Heaviest
Sometimes the weight of this world lies heavy.
We feel its weight as stories are shared and life reminds us where we live.
This past weekend, I listened as many shared their stories—all shared in the span of less than 72 hours.
Her
son is bipolar.
She’s
overcoming an addiction.
Her friend
betrayed her.
He
left.
Her
daughter made a poor choice.
His
marriage is rocky.
Another
loved one died.
This is where we live.
As my weekend came to a close, words from an old hymn
were read from the pulpit, and every weight I’d heard about this weekend flashed
through my mind as this line stood out in bold colors:
“On His footstool I roam.”
This earth where we live is His footstool.
We feel the weight of the world.
In
our own broken stories.
Or
in the stories of those living beside us.
But its weight lies at His feet.
The feet of a God on His throne.
Mighty
to save.
Gentle
as a mother’s love.
The
coming Judge.
The
God of all comfort.
He sent His Son to this earth where we live. He mingled
among us and felt the weight of this world.
Then He died and rose again.
And on the cross, He crushed this world’s
weight into a footstool.
We wander on that footstool.
On it.
Not under it.
It’s a footstool made for a King.
Where the weight of this world lies heaviest.
This hurting earth where we live reminds us that
there’s something higher.
And it’s a throne.
Where a King sits.
And a King does what no one else does.
He reigns.
Heartaches are just the edges of a
footstool.
Where a King reigns.
And this earth's weight lies under His feet.
The weight of the world lies beneath the feet of a God who
took heartaches and pain and choices and sin, and crushed them into a
footstool.
He sits above that weight.
On a throne.
And reigns.
“In the world you will have tribulation;
but be of good cheer, I have overcome the
world.” (John 16:33)
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