Carry Your Cross
By Kimberly Phinney
Some seasons feel so heavy that they become like burdens—or like 10-pound weights attached to the wings of a butterfly (I’ll get to the butterflies later). For my family, and many others more, life since 2020 has felt this way. From Covid-19 and quarantines to political strife and economic instability, in every way life has felt harder. And adding an additional health trauma to the list also showed us that my illness-turned-disability has a way of seeping into every aspect of our lives, leaving nothing untouched: work, family planning, schooling, friends, social outings, transportation, access, opportunities, and reputation.
Truly, suffering and illness alter life as we know it.
As my husband and I muscle all we can to carry these heavy burdens ourselves and protect our daughter from them, I am reminded of a short story I wrote and published years ago, named “Carry Your Cross.” It is loosely based on an old parable my pastor told when I was a child. Since then, it has always stayed with me—and for good reason. Maybe it’s because, whatever my season—no matter the burden—it keeps coming back to me to teach me one of the most important things about life.
“Carry Your Cross”
There once was a man who was feeling very, very overwhelmed with his life and his division of burdens. He was consumed by the thoughts that his burdens were too heavy, too large, and too difficult for him to carry, and he was very upset with God for giving him a cross that he just couldn’t possibly bear.
At night, he’d tell God, “God, I can’t possible carry this cross anymore! My burdens are too much, too heavy, too large. It’s just too difficult for me, God. And I’m tired.”
And then he would wait and wait, but God just didn’t answer.
So, the next day, the man was grumbling and waiting for his bus on the park bench when he overheard a woman explaining to her friend that there was a cross shop that specialized in burden replacement just around the corner. The man couldn’t believe his ears.
“Finally!” he thought. “If God doesn’t want to free me from my burdens, then I will.” So off to the cross shop he trekked, leaving the two chatting woman and the bus stop behind.
When he entered the shop, a friendly elderly man greeted him.
“Hello, Son. Can I help you?”
“Well, yes,” the burdened man replied. “This here cross I am carrying is too much for me to handle. It’s too heavy and too large. I hear you can help me with replacing it…”
“Well, of course I can. Just turn in your cross up here at the return counter, and then take a look around to find a new cross that you feel is just right for you. When you find it, bring it on up to the check out, and I’ll get you on your way.”
“That’s all?” the man thought to himself. So he left his cross with the elderly man and ventured through the aisles of the shop. Here and there, he would pause to closely examine a cross that caught his eye. One was flashy but much heavier than his last cross. Others felt lighter but were much too large, while others were both larger and heavier than the one he brought in to be rid of. On and on it went like this until he noticed a cross hanging on the front wall he hadn’t noticed before.
He approached the cross and took it down from the wall. Compared to the others, it seemed lighter and smaller, although he couldn’t be sure. He inspected it carefully, practiced carrying around the burden in the shop, and finally determined it would do.
At the counter, the old man watched and waited patiently. “Do you think you found the cross for you?”
“Yes, I think I have. Of all the crosses in your store, I think I can deal with this one best.”
“Are you sure?” the old man asked.
“Why, yes. It’s the only one that seems to fit with what I can handle.”
The old man gave a knowing nod and smiled. He leaned over the counter and looked his patron in the eyes. “Son,” he said, “the cross in your hands now is the very one you came in with.”
So, what's the moral of this story? The cross God gives you to bear is the very one He knows you can handle. It’s designed just for you, and you will be the one that becomes a better person because of it. Like coal under intense pressure, you will become diamonds. There isn’t another cross more perfect for you, and no one else’s cross can replace it.
When I am weak, I remember this story, and I know that I need to give it to God. He knows I can handle it, and if I get tired, He is the one that will help me continue on.
And in the end, it's not about the burden at all; what's important is how you bear your cross and what you learn from the journey.
As I read over my words from more than a decade ago, I can’t help but to think about what God was preparing in me then so I could survive, both physically and emotionally, what my family is enduring now.
We carry many unique burdens through our lives to strengthen us for future struggles (of which may be even greater) and to help us become better people—more virtuous, more kind, more centered, more focused, more faithful. We can allow our burdens—our crosses—to break us into pieces. Or we can allow our burdens to make us more like Jesus.
He is the PEACE for our pieces.
He showed us how to carry a cross—and how to navigate an unjust, broken world. Yes, he cried tears of blood. Yes, he flipped tables. Yes, he was tempted, too. But in all of this—a full array of human suffering—he did not sin. He did not break. He did not forget his mission.
And that mission?
It was US.
He carried on in the mess of living for our sake.
Without struggle, true beauty cannot be revealed. Without buffeting, a stone cannot be smoothed. Without pressure, a diamond cannot be born. And without an imperfection, a pearl cannot be made.
So, what about the butterflies, you may ask? Remember, I said there would be more on those later?
Well, you may or may not know this, but as the butterfly emerges from the chrysalis, it must undergo a mighty struggle—so much so, that any onlooker would be certain the intense pressure and struggle would trap or kill the butterfly from its exertion. One might even be tempted to end the butterfly’s struggle by pulling the chrysalis apart in order to free the butterfly. However, removing this struggle for freedom from the butterfly only harms it. Without emerging from the chrysalis on their own, the butterfly does not develop the strength and circulation it needs in its wings to take flight. Instead, it flails and crawls about and then dies an untimely death.
You see, the butterfly MUST carry this burden of emergence all on its own—so that it can grow strong, break free, and then one day fly away to the wild, blue open sky.
This pattern of struggle and burden can be seen in nature over and over again. So, perhaps God is trying to tell us something. Perhaps he is showing us what we can do in the face of our own suffering. Perhaps it is our duty to carry our cross—no matter what it is—so that way we can become stronger and then one day fly away—far, far from here to a place where there will be no more suffering at all.
And that far away place is Heaven.
And that reprieve is closer than we think.
Whether we loathe it or learn from it, each burden—each cross—we bear is ours alone. And it is up to us to bow down, hoist it upon our shoulders, wipe the sweat from our brows, and ask God, “What will you have for me to do?”
You belong here,
