It was a Friday afternoon, not much different than the rest. After a long and busy week of work I was ready for the weekend, and some rest. I walked into my kids’ school excited to see them like I am every day. I spend my entire day, every day looking forward to seeing my family and usually moments after signing them out of school, they start to bicker. Sometimes the whining starts before I even get the chance to sign them out. That’s our life, and it’s precious to me.
The Friday afternoon I speak of was filled with the same Friday routine as every other week. I gathered pillows and blankets from our preschoolers classroom to be washed, fresh, and ready for Monday. I gathered soggy snow clothes, lunch pails, a weeks worth of art work (sometimes that includes a paper with one tiny scribble in a corner, but its art none-the-less and don’t let them catch you trying to sneak it into the trash). I balanced my overflowing arms carefully as I tried to sign out our older child, dropped a few things, bent over to picked up what I dropped, and of course dropped something else in the process. This is what Fridays look like for us. The stack of Friday was so heaping in my arms that I could hardly see in front of me, let alone get the door open to go outside and then my youngest reached out to me and said “mom, can you hold this?” Immediately the thought crossed my mind “I seriously need more hands!”
It was in that one little thought on an ordinary Friday afternoon that God hit me right in the soft spot in my heart. Right in that moment He hit me with something so profound that I’ll never forget it. He said to me “you’d still try to carry more than you should.” That moment was about so much more than my heap of Friday. It was more than dirty blankets, wet snow clothes, and a pile of crumpled art work, this was my life on a much larger scale. God could give me 10 more hands, both literally and figuratively, and I would still try to carry more than I should.
There are SO MANY TIMES I try to get through the “Fridays” of this life with hands so full I keep dropping stuff. I try to get through this life so many times in my own strength rather than His. Often it’s not until my hands, and heart are so overflowingly full and heavy, that I have to cry out and ask Him “will you please carry this for me? It’s much too heavy now. It’s in the way so much I can’t even see around it anymore. I have no idea where I’m headed because I can’t see around my heaps anymore God, please carry this for me.” Why do I always wait until my hands are full to hand it to Him? Why do I wait until my “Fridays” are heaping to hand it to Him?