Carrying their burden…

They say you cant know someone else’s pain. But you can sure hurt for them in a big way. 

You can see it in their eyes and ache to take away the hurt…only to have to sit there and listen without an ounce of ability to rescue. You can cry tears of sadness when you think of their stories. You can beat down the doors of people who might could help. People who can give. People who can go. People who have the power to make decisions that will right the wrong. But you can’t actually take the pain away. You can only carry it deep inside you like a wound that never heals. 

It is a with you in the middle of the night when you wake and think of her appeal for parole being denied, three years in a row. All the while her babies are waiting for her, praying she can come home soon. 

It is with you first thing in the morning when the rays of sunlight peek through the trees and you wish she could see the sunrise in freedom. You see her face, begging you to pray for her family to be reconciled when she hasn’t talked to them in ten years and they’ve disowned her since her imprisonment. 

The ache is with you when you pour your morning coffee and think about the young woman you met who grew up on the streets of Boston and broke into cars during the night just to keep from freezing to death.  You think about her smile and the warmth that now lives in her heart because of Jesus. 

It is with you when you drive to the grocery store…the friend coming out of prison who can’t get a job because of her record. You know she would be faithful. She will work for peanuts…just to have a chance at an honest life. But her record speaks louder than her current character. 

That feeling is with you again while you fold laundry and wash dishes…reminded of the gal who stood in that concrete room with tears streaming down her cheeks and proclaimed that she was a new creation before being baptized. That moment felt sacred. 

It is with you again when you remember the woman in her 30s who told her story to you… the first person she ever told in 20 years…the abuse and trauma she endured as a teenager and torment of being silent about it all those years. And you remember the way she seemed lighter after speaking the words out loud…how she wept and then smiled through her tears with gratefulness. How beautiful freedom looked on her face. 

This pain is with you again at every meal, your prayers turning towards speaking their names and asking for them to be helped while blessing your food. 

This weight doesn’t leave your chest ever. It’s heavy on you. Always on your mind. Their names in your night prayers. Their faces scroll through your memory during the day. Their voices pleading for help. For mercy. For wisdom. For belonging and family. For a new beginning. 

Some would say you can’t really walk a mile in someone else’s shoes. But you can carry their burdens in your heart. Your mind- always pregnant with the deep suffering they live…some by choice and others by someone’s else’s. 

You give Hope through Jesus whenever you can. Truth through the Word. Encouragement and prayers. A letter when you can. And it always seems so little. Like putting a bandaid on the wound of a lifetime. 

So you keep praying, keep sharing the agonizing stories and asking others to step in where they can. Raising awareness of prisoners needs. Encouraging others to take risk with someone they wouldn’t normally hire. Recruiting volunteers. All the while you’re heart burning for the ones you know behind bars. 

The call you have isn’t empty words. It isn’t easy. You can’t pay someone to have passion and calling. And though you’re passionate about this calling- it’s more than just passion. Yours is a mission that has faces and names and real life stories that move you to tears. When you talk about them, you choke up because your heart is hurting. Part of you is locked up with them. And they know: you can’t forget them if you tried. They’re a part of you. 

So no, you can’t feel their pain exactly, but you can carry it deep inside you like a wound that never heals. It’s not a vocation to you, it’s part of who you are. Woven into the fibers of your existence like blood vessels and bones and sinews. It’s what makes you excited to share Jesus and you can always find time to talk about them to others. 

Maybe this is why you feel like an odd ball sometimes. No one wants to talk about prison and sad stories and the lack of freedom for hours on end. Except…you do. And the heaviness in your chest…this explosive love for these hurting people…it doesn’t leave you. Ever. So even in the happiest of occasions, you carry their pain. And it hurts. Your heart hurts for them. 

This is what I’m thinking of tonight. My mind thinking of why I do this and how heavy this calling feels sometimes. 

Maybe this is what Jesus meant when He said to “Carry one another’s burdens; in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.” (‭‭Galatians‬ ‭6‬:‭2‬ ‭HCSB‬‬) This is for sure: carrying burdens is gonna be heavy. Weighty. Hard. Tricky. Cumbersome. Awkward. It might even make me awkward for some people to hang out with. Cause I have seen another world. And it’s changed me. There is a wound inside me that hurts daily for the women I know behind bars. It’s not just something I know. It’s something I feel to my core. 

Their pain has become mine.