The Pack (Part 3)

The next morning, we continued down the forest path. After a couple hours, we came to a clearing on the top of a hill. I set down my pack with a grunt. My shoulders were sore where the straps had been digging in. He gestured to my pack and said, “That’s a heavy load.” I stooped down to check the straps and buckles. “Has to be,” I replied. “Why?” He asked. I looked at Him for a moment, then started pulling things out to show Him. “I need all these things.” Tools and rope and food and clothes and flint and kindling and more I took everything out and laid it on the ground all around me. Finally, I looked up at Him again. He surveyed all my things, carefully picking up each object. Sometimes, He smiled, other times His eyes grew sad. I watched Him and held my breath. “I know—I know,” I said. “It’s too much. But I don’t know what I’ll need.” He looked at me with the tenderest compassion. “That’s a heavy load.” I could feel tears starting to roll down my cheeks. Where did I set my kerchief? He held out His own clean kerchief to me. Hesitantly, I took it and blew my nose. “Would you like something to eat?” He asked. My eyes darted to the last of my stale bread, and my stomach made a noise. He continued, “How about some soup?” I looked all around, but He didn’t seem to have anything with Him. He smiled, then reached inside the folds of His cloak and pulled out two steaming bowls. I took one uncertainly, but then I smelled it—leeks and carrots, my favorite. I muttered a thank you and took a sip. It was perfect. As we ate our soup, He leaned back and looked up at the sky, where clouds were skuttling across the great big blueness. I looked too. It was peaceful. I finished my soup and let out a contented sigh. He smiled at me again. I was starting to like His smile. “You know,” He said, “you don’t have to carry that heavy pack anymore.” I felt a pang of guilt, and something deeper—fear? But I looked at Him and said, “I don’t know how not to.” He reached for my hand and held it. His hand was strong and kind. He said, “You’re traveling with me, remember? Do you trust me?” I looked at my pack, then at our empty bowls. Finally, I said, “I—I don’t know. I want to trust you.” He nodded and said, “That’s enough.” I took a deep breath. “Okay,” I said, and realized I was smiling. • Hannah Howe • Sometimes, it feels like we are never enough. Never prepared enough, strong enough, smart enough But Jesus is always enough. How might God be inviting you to rely on Him today? “Come to me [Jesus], all you who are weary and burdened ” Matthew 11:28a (NIV)