I wept as I was overwhelmed
By lists and piles of things.
I longed for simpler
Winsome days of sand and plastic swings.
Now life is running on the sand.
Each step sinking low –
Like trudging through molasses.
Frustration. Agonizing. Slow.
Must. Get. There.
Must finish, arrive.
But I often wonder what
For I am compelled to strive.
Sweat pours mingled with tears of loss.
I refuse His yoke and the weight of the cross.
If I would but stop and lower my knee.
Bend and take up that splintered tree.
If I would walk with Him, strive with Him, pull with Him.
He vowed to lessen the load.
“Easy,” He called it. “Light,” He said.
Why my pride, march on instead?