2018 - Gina Brenna Butz

Not Alone Because of Christmas

Post author:Gina B
Post published:December 20, 2018
Post category:Christmas faith loved

Never Alone Because of Christmas — Photo by Ben White on Unsplash

I’m not a fan of being alone, at least not for long. (That might surprise some of you who see my introvert side). The loneliness I avoid runs deeper than “who can I talk to at this party?” It’s the fear that ultimately, it’s all up to me to take care of myself.

I’ve talked about it before, this fear. It shows up in my efforts to rescue myself, and everyone around me. I reveal it when I try to pick up all the worries in my life and fix them without others’ help.

When I’m striving to look like I’m all put together, it’s usually because I’m afraid that if I don’t impress, you’ll leave. Rather than leaning into God for help, I charge ahead, alone.

Really, it’s a fear that I’m not enough. Loneliness sometimes feels like an indictment, doesn’t it? Like there must be a reason I’m alone. If I’d been more interesting, more worth the trouble, more something, I wouldn’t be by myself. It’s not.

And this is why I love Christmas.

Because now, God is with us. Immanuel. The one who is the same yesterday, today, and forever, is now our constant.

Christmas declares that we are not alone. We never have to be alone again.

Christmas proclaims to the world that everything that might keep us from others-our failure, our mistakes, our deficiencies, our “not enough” or our “too much”-does not keep us from the love of God.

In fact, before we even asked, before we even knew we needed it, God decided to remedy our loneliness. Jesus’s birth mended the brokenness in our relationship with Him, and subsequently, in us.

And if He went through all the trouble of coming for us in the first place, He’s not going to leave us now.

The fear that drives me to rescue myself and everyone around needs to simmer in the greatest rescue story ever told, when the Hero stole into enemy territory under cover of darkness to find me because He just had to be with me.

When I’m tempted to pick up all those worries and fix them myself, Immanuel reminds me that He didn’t just come to save us from our sin, but to save us from ourselves. He is with us in the midst of the anxieties, not with condemnation but with comfort and help.

Jesus’s willingness to be with me speaks to the part of me who believes I have to prove that I’m worth having around. He came before we ever did a thing.

And though I forget again and again to lean into Him, He patiently waits, available. He is with us in the middle of every trial, every tear, every heartache, closer than our own hearts.

The one who is with us is the giver of peace, the God of comfort, the Father who won’t fail us, our greatest counsel.

We are never alone, because He is with us.

I’ve had to remind myself this over and over again lately because it’s hard. The self-sufficiency that served me and others so well and for so long in my life is not why Jesus came. He didn’t come to affirm my self-reliance, but to take it away. He came to heal it.

So this Christmas, this is the thought I’m choosing to dwell on: I am not alone. Immanuel. He is with me. With us.

“The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and they will call him Immanuel” (which means “God with us”).

Grace Will Take Us Where Hustling Can’t

Post author:Gina B
Post published:December 6, 2018
Post category:grace

Grace Will Take You Places Hustling Can't — Photo by frank mckenna on Unsplash

If you’ve been to any kind of sporting event, you’ve likely heard (or said yourself), “C’mon, let’s hustle!” Move faster, stay ahead of the game, git ‘er done.

Hustling is a high value in our society. Those who do get ahead. They win.

But hustling pays a price. When we do it for too long, it becomes the way we feel we must live in order to survive. There’s no peace, no finish line.

We begin to believe we are what we do. We depend more and more on our own strength. The hustling defines us.

And then probably somewhere along the way those who hustle fall down exhausted, because no one is meant to live that way for the long haul.

But then there’s grace. Imagine yelling that at a sporting event, “It’s all grace, baby!” Think what that would do (aside from stink eye from other parents).

Hustling might take us faster, but where does it leave us?

Maybe grace could take us farther.

Where Grace Takes Us

Grace takes us to freedom. It lets us fail, and get back up again, and in the process, we learn more.

Grace says slow is an acceptable, maybe even preferable, pace. It might take longer to get there, but we have stamina for the long haul.

Grace opens the door for us to be ourselves in ways hustling never allows. It tells us that we are a gift just as we are, not as we think we ought to be.

And grace invites others to join us on that journey. As the African proverb says, “If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together.”

We were made for grace, for a way of life that says, “you’re okay. Stop trying so hard. It’s been done for you. Relax into it.” So when we live in grace, we live like we’re home.

It’s hard to undo patterns of hustling. Hard to shut out the voices around us that say, “Prove your worth.” Grace sometimes feels too good to be true, like we’re letting go and just treading water.

But instead of treading water, maybe it’s learning to grab hold of the liferaft that’s always been there. It’s letting go of striving and resting in what’s been done for us. We stop our desperate swimming and walk to shore.

So today I want to see where I’m hustling-working hard to earn my place and prove my worth. And then I want to remember that grace is the better option. Let go. Be yourself. We’ll go farther this way.

Related posts:

Let’s Be the Grace Givers

Learning to Walk (At an Unhurried Pace)

What I’m Thankful For Today

Post author:Gina B
Post published:November 22, 2018
Post category:gratitude

On this day of Thanksgiving, I thought I’d start out with a list of what I’m thankful for.

As I reflect, I’m overwhelmed by my gifts. Really, I’m #blessed beyond measure.

Why I’m Thankful

See, I woke up this morning in my own bed. There was a roof over my head without a single leak in it. Our AC works when it’s hot, and I have covers when it’s cool. Thank God.

I woke up with full possession of all my faculties. My eyes worked. There was breath in my lungs. All my senses were available to me. I awoke pain-free. Thank God.

There was running water in my house, even clean enough to drink. Our electricity is on too, which is awesome. We live in this house that is more space than we need. On top of that, we can afford the mortgage on it. Thank God.

I’ll admit, we had no milk, but we didn’t go without because the cupboards are stocked with plenty of food. Nothing in our house is currently broken, but if it was, we can probably afford to fix it. Thank God.

Since we don’t have to walk miles to get water or find food, I had time to sit and read. Y’all-I can read! Wow, I’m grateful for that. I can read and write, and I had leisure time to do it. Thank God.

Our son needed pants since apparently living two hours north is much colder than here (especially when he rides the electric skateboard he is blessed to have that gets him around the campus where he’s privileged to learn). So we got into a car that we can afford gas for, and that runs great, and drove to the store. Thank God.

And at the store, we used phones to stay in touch with each other, and a gift card to offset the cost, and we found what he needed and then some, and we didn’t have to think about what we might have to give up to be able to wear clothes. Thank God.

Friends, I could go on and on. And this is just the bare minimum. Because for the most part, every day I wake up all these things are true, and those alone should make me the most grateful person alive.

More to Be Thankful For

I didn’t even begin to express my gratitude for the people in my life-my husband, who is kind, trustworthy, and supportive. Or our kids, who are just my favorite people on the planet and make us proud every single day. Our church, community group, neighbors, and dear friends-these great people who do life with us. Did I mention I have a new nephew? I do. He’s the cutest. My family is such a blessing. Thank God.

I didn’t mention that I enjoy what I do for a living. What I do feels more like love than work. My mind still can’t wrap about the fact that this time next year I will be a published author. I’m also grateful that I can spend part of my time home raising my kids. Thank God.

And when I’m not working, I can afford to play. I have passions and gifts and interests, and the time to enjoy them. Thank God.

Above all, I have Jesus. Everything I’ve mentioned could disappear, but not Him. Not what He’s given me. Salvation alone is more than enough, more than I deserve.

And yet He gives still more. Every morning the breath in my lungs, all that I am able to see, the abilities I have, are all unexpected, unmerited gifts. Joy, peace, grace, mercy, and love are poured over me daily. Thank God.

Sometimes it’s hard to be thankful. Some seasons knock the wind out of us. It’s tough to be grateful in the middle of a storm.

But even in the storm, we have much. Let’s start there. Let’s be thankful.

It’s All in How You Look at It

Don’t Miss the Journey

Post author:Gina B
Post published:November 8, 2018
Post category:faith gratitude perspective

I’m the kind of girl who focuses on the end goal-not much for taking in the scenery. I was reminded of this last summer while on vacation near the Smokey Mountains.

One morning our group of 14 ventured out in several cars to go whitewater rafting. In our car was one person who insisted on stopping for “real” coffee (I don’t know what this means. I don’t understand coffee), so we lagged behind the others.

The arranger of our trip wanted us on a tight schedule, so we weren’t exactly starting the day off on the right foot. The optimists in the car were sure we could make up the time (I was not one of them).

But then our route took us through the mountains, and they just kept getting more beautiful. The higher we drove, the more breathtaking it became. It was criminal not to stop and take it in.

With each stop, I was conscious that the rest of our group was waiting for us. The timekeeper in me nagged a little, but was silenced by views like this:

And this:

With each stop, I realized that while what was waiting for us at the end of the trip was exciting, the journey was just as amazing as the destination. If we only focused on the end, we would have missed the beauty along the way.

What We Can Find on the Journey

How easy it is to live so much in anticipation of what lies ahead that we miss what is here. It’s not about the destination; it’s about what we experience on the way.

If we are people who only look ahead, we never really arrive. Or if we rush along the way, never stopping to take in the view, we rob ourselves of joy in the journey.

Because there’s good along the way. There are things we should stop and celebrate. We can stop and measure for a minute how far we’ve come, even if we have far to go. We can enjoy the greater and greater views.

In the journey of faith, slowing down helps us see what God is doing. Taking time to look around leads to worship and gratitude. Seeing that we are not where we were reminds us that God is faithful. It gives us courage and hope that He will keep working. God isn’t anxious for us to be “done.” He loves us every step of the way.

What are the stones of remembrance that mark my walk with God? How can I stop, celebrate, and give Him glory for what He’s doing in me? I might still have far to go, but the view keeps getting better. That’s worth rejoicing in.

What’s your view look like right now?

Choosing Slow

Post author:Gina B
Post published:October 25, 2018
Post category:grace peace rest

If you’ve read my blog for any length of time, you know I like efficiency. (It’s the hallmark trait of an Enneagram 3).

The faster I work, the more I get done. If I get more done, I’m more likely to be seen, recognized, successful, valuable. Or so the logic goes.

And so, I move quickly.

I drive, as I like to say, like I’m trying to lose someone. Not super fast, but fast enough.

Despite never taking a typing class, I type quickly (and with terrible form I imagine, but it gets the job done).

Each week, I speed through my housework like a Tasmanian Devil.

I dare you to keep up with me at the airport. Or anywhere, for that matter. I’m short, but I’m fast.

Grocery shopping. Packing my bags. You name it-I guarantee I am mentally calculating how to get it done as fast as possible.

It’s like I’m playing a game of “whoever does more wins.” Faster feels better. It feels like winning.

I don’t do slow.

Or at least, I historically haven’t. God started me on a journey in the spring of reclaiming space in my life. Turns out it’s more than just doing less. It’s doing less at a slower pace. Living an unhurried life.

I’m learning that having less in my schedule doesn’t necessarily mean my soul is taking life at a slow pace.

As Mark Buchanan says in The Rest of God, we are meant to sabbath, “not just a day, but as an orientation, a way of seeing and knowing.” Slow is not just about time, but it’s an attitude, a way of living.

So lately, I have to ask myself, “What’s wrong with slow, Gina?” What do I gain by all this hurry?

Maybe the better question is: What do I lose?

When I make it my aim to drive as quickly as possible, my body stays in a state of tension. Slow drivers irritate me, my patience wears thin. Other people become nothing more than obstacles. My focus is on my pace, more than anything else around me, including those with me.

When I type quickly, I feel myself ramping up. The, “more is better” lie whispers in my ear.

A day of housework at top speed leaves me exhausted, depleting me of reserves I could have spent elsewhere.

When I race through airports and stores and down the sidewalk, I miss life along the way. I miss the people around me.

And all for a few extra minutes, one more task completed, another email sent.

All this speed makes my soul feel left behind. There’s no space, no rest. Getting more done, getting there sooner, doesn’t guarantee more life, more love, more anything. I’m left impatient, exhausted, and irritated.

For the sake of my soul, I’m choosing slow.

So I’m choosing to drive slower than I could. When someone in front of me is taking their time, I often change my speed to match theirs. There’s a long stretch out to our neighborhood where the speed limit is 55. Recently I found myself barely driving 50 down it. (I used to hate people like me).

I’m slowing my typing too. It’s hard to do-fast habits are hard to break. But there’s a release of tension when I intentionally do slow (bonus: I mistype things less too).

Recently, I flew to Little Rock, Arkansas. When the people in front of me walked like they had all day to get to the gate, I was tempted to swerve around them. Instead, I took a breath and kept walking with them. It was good.

As I make these choices, something unwinds in my soul. Breathing comes easier. I remember I’m not as important as I think I am. I find peace I didn’t know was there.

Now I’m looking for other places where I could do slow. When I feel the temptation to speed, I ask myself what I hope to gain from it. And what I could gain from an unhurried pace instead: patience, gentleness, grace, rest.

Where do you need to be slow?

Related posts:

Learning to Walk (at an Unhurried Pace)

Warning: Don’t Forget to Breathe

To Be Truly Still

What Is Anger’s Real Name?

Post author:Gina B
Post published:October 11, 2018
Post category:emotions grief perspective

Sometimes on New Year’s Eve, when I’m feeling ambitious and intentional about our family relationships, we review the year together. One question we ask our kids is, “what’s one thing you learned this year?”

Our last year overseas, our then 10-year-old said, “I’ve learned that anger is a secondary emotion,” and I high fived myself.

Partly because it felt like I nailed something good in parenting, but mostly because I was glad our kids learned it so much sooner than I did.

It was something I learned that year too, mostly because I experienced a lot of it (we got a dog. It was hard. I got angry. Really angry).

Anger is a secondary emotion, meaning that it’s not all we’re feeling. When we’re angry, it’s usually because we’re feeling something else, something that feels vulnerable. So anger, which makes us feel big, covers the emotion that makes us feel small.

Anger was a theme that year for our whole family. It rose in me when we got our dog and everything in my life fell apart. Our daughter lived in it the summer before we moved back to the U.S.

For me, the anger covered shame, the shame of failure, of not living up to my image of a successful homeschooling, dog training missionary. Our daughter’s anger masked the fear she felt in being so completely out of control and sad in the process of leaving home.

What Anger Tells Us

Anger is a good barometer. We get angry when something we love feels threatened. Often it’s our image. Or it’s a way of life we’re trying to hold onto. Maybe our deepest desires feel threatened-our desire to be wanted, important, safe, right.

Anger doesn’t always show up as rage. In fact, often it doesn’t. It disguises itself as sarcasm, criticism, stubbornness, contempt. It slips out in clipped words and impatience.

Most of us don’t linger in anger for long. It feels wrong. We dismiss it, stifle it, or blow it off quickly, rather than allowing it to be a doorway into something deeper.

When we don’t linger, we never get to the bottom of what we’re really feeling. And we need to.

Because if we sit with our anger long enough, it will tell us its real name.

if we sit with our anger long enough, it will tell us its real name. Click To Tweet

The Names of Anger

It might tell us its name is grief. Maybe shame. Fear. Fear of losing control, fear of not being enough. Weakness. Confusion. Despair. Beneath our anger is our true emotions that need to see the light of day so we can deal with them.

One fall, I was, in my husband’s words, “kind of mean.” That’s fair. (He was being gracious-there are stronger words he could use).

He said maybe I didn’t have much emotional margin after sending our son off to school, the prayer rollercoaster God took us on that summer, and the business of gearing up for a conference that fall that I was leading.

Regardless, I’m glad he said something. It gave me an opportunity to sit with my anger and see what it was hiding. It told me I felt unimportant, lonely, unheard, in certain areas. As I sat with those more raw emotions, my anger began to dissipate.

Don’t ignore anger. Pretending it doesn’t exist, or dismissing it without question robs us of the path to deeper emotional health and wholeheartedness. Sit with it. Dialogue with it. Let it tell you what you’re really feeling.

What is your anger’s real name?

Related posts:

Looking Scary (When We’re Scared)

When Fear Is a Dictator

Come Be With Me

Post author:Gina B
Post published:September 27, 2018
Post category:faith rest

“Come be with me.”

I probably said that a dozen times during the week when our son was home from college.

It was good to have his presence here again. His words and laughter filled the empty spaces. More food was eaten. I did his laundry. Cut his hair.

We ate out as a family, but other than that, it was an average week. I felt we should do something epic, like a beach day (but our kids hate the beach, and my husband traveled).

But that’s ok. We didn’t need to do anything special together. I just wanted him to be with me.

I wanted to be in his presence, hear his stories, sift through his fears, learn what he’s learned.

So, like a creepy person, I followed him around the house.

When he watched TV, I sat with him. While he tinkered with his computer, I sat on his bed and read a book. Whenever I noticed him unoccupied, I called him over, “Come be with me.”

Each time I did, I couldn’t help but think that this is how God views us.

How He Sees Us

As I go about my day, often weighed down by tasks or worries, God patiently waits.

When I slow down enough to be with Him, the temptation is to make that time productive. Purposeful. I’m a soldier, reporting for duty, ready for my orders.

But He just wants to be with me.

I come with agendas. My prayer list, or the Bible study I’m doing.

But He just wants to be with me.

Or I convince myself it’s not that important to Him if I come or not. It should be epic, right? Meaningful time. Spiritual progress. Mountains moved. I should make it worth His while.

Yet God says, “Just come. Be with me.”

Yes, feel free to bring the needful tasks of your day. He will speak to them. But so much more He simply wants our presence. He wants to listen to our stories, sift through our fears, hear what we’re learning.

It’s unfathomable to me that God might miss us while we’re off trying to save the world, but He does. He watches us in our busy days and whispers, “Come be with me.”

Cease your doing. I just want to enjoy you. I love to spend time with you. I’m glad you’re here.

Whether we come in our filthy rags or we come in all our glory, minds quieted and at rest, or cluttered with the tasks of the day, He wants us to come.

I want to cultivate this awareness in my life-wherever I am, He is there. He is waiting. Waiting to sing over me, to listen, to laugh, to simply be alongside me.

“Your God is present among you,
a strong Warrior there to save you.
Happy to have you back, he’ll calm you with his love
and delight you with his songs.”

Zephaniah 3:17, The Message

Related posts:

Learning to Walk (at an Unhurried Pace)

Warning: Don’t Forget to Breathe

Get Quiet Enough to Listen

Why Pray?

Post author:Gina B
Post published:September 13, 2018
Post category:prayer trials

This was a summer of big prayers.

It was also a summer of “no” in answer to those prayers.

It left me a little raw.

I declared myself “the persistent widow” from the beginning (Luke 18:1-8). Our son faced some huge obstacles that needed mountain-moving prayer. I was ready to be audacious. I asked big. Give me the pony, God, I know you can do it.

But He didn’t.

The summer left him without the housing we desperately prayed for this fall. In fact, he’s worse off than he started; one of his closest friends, who was going to room with him in the dorms, got into that housing, leaving him with a random roommate. That was a hard, hard no.

A dear friend of ours suffered a brain aneurysm. For two weeks we joined her husband and sons in aching prayer for healing. They are prayer warriors. Although I know it’s not necessarily true, it feels like their prayers reach God’s ears more than the rest of us because of that.

But they didn’t. Her healing came in the form of going home. That “no” was heartbreaking.

My Big Prayer

I had a big prayer recently, one I was hesitant to share with others, because what if it was a “no,” too?

All kinds of crazy thoughts came to mind when I thought about this request.

Part of me thought, “God, I feel I’m about due for a ‘yes,’ what do you say?” Almost like He owes me. (I told you-crazy thoughts).

On the other hand, He seems to be in the habit of doling out the “no” responses lately. Why expect something else?

And yet, I prayed.

And prayer is hope, and hope is scary.

Prayer is handing our hearts and dreams and control all over to God, like a small child emptying her sticky pockets into His hands. The track record of this summer made me throw some side eye at God, wondering, “what will you do this time?”

I know He does good. I just don’t know how much the good might hurt.

It makes me ask again, “why even do I pray?”

Why Pray?

Do I pray because I want my way? You betcha. In my kingdom, comfort and happiness reign. The problem is, we’re meant to pray for His kingdom to come, not ours.

We become myopic about the ways we want God to answer prayer. Our definition of His goodness is narrow. We forget about His higher thoughts and ways.

But it’s so easy to do.

And that’s why every prayer is a wrestling, a choice to invite His wisdom, power, and sovereignty into our lives and declare our dependence, while at the same time, proclaiming, “yet not my will but yours be done.” We lay our desires before Him, and then vulnerably allow Him to answer as He pleases.

When Jesus saw people walking away from Him in disappointment, He asked His disciples, “Do you want to go too?”

If I don’t get the answers I seek, will I walk away? No, because actually what I want more than an answer is Him. I want what only He can do in me.

Prayer Changes Us

I want what prayer does to me. It takes me out of the position for which I am not qualified-that of decider of my fate, god of my world, ruler of my kingdom. It reminds me who I am and what I can and surely cannot do.

I want what prayer did for our family this summer. It forced us to look at life through the eyes of faith, not sight. Prayer teaches us to look beyond what makes sense and believe God will prove Himself faithful and good in ways we don’t expect. As our son said, “I realized I was praying for what I want and I wasn’t thinking about what God wants for me.” Isn’t that always the way we’re tempted to go?

[ictt-tweet-inline]In the end, prayer is less about moving the hand of God, and more about resting in it.[/ictt-tweet-inline]

As I drove the other day, lifting my big prayer to God, I thought, “Maybe this will be a no. If it is, God will use it. It will be ok.” Either way, I’m grateful for how it keeps me dependent, hopeful, surrendered.

“I pray because I can’t help myself. I pray because I’m helpless. I pray because the need flows out of me all the time, waking and sleeping. It doesn’t change God. It changes me.” -C. S. Lewis

Related posts:

Ask for the Pony

What God Doesn’t Need Us to Tell Him

It’s Going to Be Okay

Do You Know Your Real Name?

Post author:Gina B
Post published:August 30, 2018
Post category:identity loved

There is power in the names we’re given.

I’m told my parents originally planned to name me Cindy Joy. Then I showed up nearly a month late. They took one look at their overripe, bald baby girl, and thought, “Nope. Not a Cindy Joy. Let’s call her Gina Marie.” So here I am.

Names give definition, identity. They remind us who we are and whose we are. Yet there are moments in our stories, places author Dan Allender calls, “shalom shattered”- times when we lose our identities because of sin, lies, pain.

In those moments, we are renamed.

Sometimes, it’s other people who name us. Unwanted. Rejected. Outsider. Betrayed.

Sometimes, we name ourselves. Unknown. Powerless. Not enough. Lost.

We carry those names into every story in our lives.

They become the ways we define ourselves. When shalom shatters again, those names echo in our hearts, reinforcing the idea that those names really are us.

But the truth is, they aren’t. We have new names.

When we lived in Singapore, I was in a small group at church about listening prayer. One of the exercises we did in that group was to ask God how He sees us.

It was, to be honest, a weird exercise, but I am a good student who does her homework, so I asked Him, “How do you see me?”

The response I heard was, “Precious Lamb.”

Full disclosure? I was not thrilled initially, because what instantly came to mind was Precious Moments figurines, which are not my favorite thing that Christians have ever put out there. They rank up there with Testamints and Bibleman for me as far as the cheese factor goes. (the irony? I had one Precious Moments figurine growing up. It was a lamb. I can’t get away from this).

So given my reaction, I know this thought could not have originated from me. The more I sat with it, the more I realized this is how God sees me, and how I need to see myself.

To bring this truth home, soon after that time my brother sculpted this figure for me:

(The crazy part? I hadn’t shared this name with him. He just felt inspired to make it for me).

God knows our names.

In scripture, we see God literally shift the course of someone’s life by changing their names. Abram to Abraham. Jacob to Israel. Sarai to Sarah. Simon to Peter. Saul to Paul.

God calls us by name. He calls us Precious Lamb, Beloved Child, Chosen, Redeemed, Wanted, Known, Seen. He strips away those shattered places and heals them with the truth of who we really are.

For every broken place in our stories, where we claimed a label that says we are something less, God wants to rename us.

The names He gives us redeem, shift the course of our lives, alter how we see ourselves, and therefore how we relate to Him and others.

But to do that, we have to stake a claim to those new names again and again. Each day, we must choose to call ourselves by our new names, the names He gives us. We repeat them until they ring true.

When the old names echo and call us away from home, we tell ourselves who we really are. If others try to call us by those names, we shake our heads and turn back to our true selves. It is not easy, but it is possible.

Do you know your name? Of all the names we gather along the way, the only ones that matter are the ones He gives us. Call yourself by those names today.

5 Reason to Be a Burden

Post author:Gina B
Post published:August 23, 2018
Post category:relationships

Five Reasons to Be a Burden — Photo by OC Gonzalez on Unsplash

I’m sure you’ve heard this phrase before, “I just hate to be a burden” or, “she doesn’t want to be a burden.” A friend once even told me she admires people who don’t want to be a burden to others.

I don’t.

When we say we don’t want to be a burden, there’s usually lies fueling it, lies rooted in our worth.

Those lies tell us that speaking needs places our worth on the table for examination. Am I worth the time, attention, and energy of others? Will they still want me if I appear weak, needy, or foolish?

Some of us respond to the lies by diminishing ourselves. Others of us (ahem, looking in the mirror), respond by determining that we will never leave the worthiness question for others to answer.

And yet, we should let others carry us.

Here’s why:

5 Reason to Be a Burden

It dispels the lies about our worth.

When we choose to offer our needs to others, rather than stumbling on alone, we break the power of the voices that tell us it’s not ok. We declare ourselves human and worthy of space in the world. That’s a brave and beautiful thing.
We find healing.

Not only healing but rest, strength, grace, hope, and help. We need each other-that’s how God made us. I sometimes hear people express an idea that all they really need is God. But what God gives us, He often gives through others. The help we need comes from God, through others.
We give others an opportunity to use their gifts

when we ask them to carry our burdens. Withholding our needs from others robs them. Ministering to us might be the way God wants to use them today. Who are we to deny them that?
Our humility invites others.

Sometimes it seems we’re all wounded soldiers, triaging ourselves, insisting someone else needs more attention. But when one of us cries out for help, it frees the rest of us to cry as well. The enemy wants to keep us silently wounded. But we defy him and lead others to healing if we ask for it ourselves.
Bottom line? It’s Biblical.

Galatians 6:2, “Carry each others’ burdens, for in this way you fulfill the law of Christ.” What is the law of Christ? To love God and love others. When we offer and receive the weightiness of our burdens, we love.

“In their created limitations, Adam and Eve were held together in a bond of naked vulnerability . . . that is because in God’s design we do not manage our needs, we confess them. Intimacy demands hearing and telling the truth . . . [and it] recognizes that we will be inadequate to respond to the needs that are shared. We don’t mend each other’s brokenness, we just hold it tightly.” Craig Barnes, Yearnings

In God’s design we do not manage our needs, we confess them.

We don’t manage needs, we share them. And when we do, it’s not anyone’s responsibility to fix us; we simply ask them to hold us. It requires vulnerability and humility-both challenging, both necessary.

So be a burden, today, if you need to be. Confess your need. Let someone carry you. This is how God made us. Click To Tweet This is how we love and are loved.