March 9 / Cast Your Burdens Upon God

"Look from the top" (Song of Solomon 4:8).

Crushing weights give the Christian wings. It seems like a contradiction in terms, but it is a blessed truth. David out of some bitter experience cried: "Oh, that I had wings like a dove! Then would I fly away, and be at rest" (Ps. 55:6). But before he finished this meditation he seems to have realized that his wish for wings was a realizable one. For he says, "Cast thy burden upon Jehovah, and he will sustain thee."

The word "burden" is translated in the Bible margin, "what he Jehovah. hath given thee." The saints' burdens are God-given; they lead him to "wait upon Jehovah," and when that is done, in the magic of trust, the "burden" is metamorphosed into a pair of wings, and the weighted one "mounts up with wings as eagles. --Sunday School Times

One day when walking down the street, 
On business bent, while thinking hard 
About the "hundred cares" which seemed 
Like thunder clouds about to break 
In torrents, Self-pity said to me: 
"You poor, poor thing, you have too much 
To do. Your life is far too hard. 
This heavy load will crush you soon." 
A swift response of sympathy 
Welled up within. The burning sun 
Seemed more intense. The dust and noise 
Of puffing motors flying past 
With rasping blast of blowing horn 
Incensed still more the whining nerves, 
The fabled last back-breaking straw 
To weary, troubled, fretting mind.
"Ah, yes, 'twill break and crush my life; 
I cannot bear this constant strain 
Of endless, aggravating cares; 
They are too great for such as I." 
So thus my heart condoled itself, 
"Enjoying misery," when lo! 
A "still small voice" distinctly said, 
"Twas sent to lift you--not to crush." 
I saw at once my great mistake. 
My place was not beneath the load 
But on the top! God meant it not 
That I should carry it. He sent 
It here to carry me. Full well 
He knew my incapacity 
Before the plan was made. He saw 
A child of His in need of grace 
And power to serve; a puny twig 
Requiring sun and rain to grow; 
An undeveloped chrysalis; 
A weak soul lacking faith in God. 
He could not help but see all this 
And more. And then, with tender thought 
He placed it where it had to grow--
Or die. To lie and cringe beneath 
One's load means death, but life and power 
Await all those who dare to rise above. 
Our burdens are our wings; on them 
We soar to higher realms of grace;

Without them we must roam for aye 
On planes of undeveloped faith, 
For faith grows but by exercise in circumstance impossible..

Oh, paradox of Heaven. The load 
We think will crush was sent to lift us 
Up to God! Then, soul of mine, 
Climb up! for naught can e'er be crushed 
Save what is underneath the weight. 
How may we climb! By what ascent 
Shall we surmount the carping cares 
Of life! Within His word is found 
The key which opes His secret stairs; 
Alone with Christ, secluded there, 
We mount our loads, and rest in Him.
--Miss Mary Butterfield