a different kind of strength training.

Last week, I went back to the gym for the first time in…I don’t even know how many months. But let’s just say it had been a while. I’ve started lifting weights, struggling my way through all kinds of squatting and lunging and dipping, ending every workout in a sweaty heap on the floor. It’s been hard and exhausting, but I’m pushing through it with the hopeful mindset that eventually I’ll get stronger. After all, you have to break down muscles to build more strength, right? 

Last night, I poured out my heart in prayer. I felt tired and worn out as I confessed on the pages of my journal, scribbling down all my inadequacies and failures as if the speed of my pen alone could exorcise my weaknesses.

“I can’t do everything. I can’t do it all. Rationally, I understand this, but some part of me, and I’m afraid it’s a big part of me, refuses to accept that truth. I just can’t do this on my own. Why does it feel so bad to admit that?” 

It’s a tender sort of thing to share these words from my prayer with you. And even though it makes me feel overexposed and more than a little raw, I share them because I know I’m not the only one offering this prayer. 

Somewhere along the way, we’ve confused our spiritual strength training with our time spent at the gym. Maybe we’ve mistakenly created a false image of God as an overbearing personal trainer, hovering over us with a whistle in hand, waiting to call us out on our poor form and obvious shortcomings. Maybe we even visualize Him adding impossible stacks of weight onto our barbells with a smirk: “Let’s see her try and lift this.”

Obviously, that’s a false image, but with the way things work in this world, it’s easy to think that God is piling on the pressure and tossing out trials to see if we can handle it. It’s easy to believe that He wants us to white-knuckle through this life, sweating and shaking as we try to lift more and more weight, believing we have something to prove. Believing that this kind of lifting will only make us stronger. 

Recently while meditating, I visualized Christ standing before me with His hands out expectantly. I knew what He wanted. He was waiting for me to hand over the burdens that were weighing on me. But I shook my head; I was afraid to let go. I was clinging to the idea that I had to carry it on my own, feeling guilty for adding to the weight He was already carrying. I wanted to show Him that I could be strong enough. I hated feeling weak. But after a reassuring smile at me, my Savior stretched out His hands a little further and gave me a nod that spoke volumes. 

Let it go. Give it to me. I can carry it.

You don’t have to do this on your own—and you were never supposed to.

So with an exhale, I let it go. In my mind, I transferred all the things in my life that were too heavy for me to hold on to anymore and left them in His more capable hands. I expected Him to shift under the weight of my burdens. I waited for Him to flinch or wince under the strain.

But He didn’t. In fact, He seemed to stand even taller and stronger than He had the moment before. 

Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light (Matthew 11:28-30). 

Isn’t this the ultimate paradox? By giving up our burdens and letting go of our heavy things, we become stronger in Christ. Our God is asking us to engage in a different kind of strength training. He’s asking us to surrender and discover His rest. Will we still experience the pains, discomforts, and stretching this life requires of us? Of course. But I don’t think it needs to be quite so heavy. 

We have someone to shoulder the weight. Someone better than any trainer or coach. A true friend. An encouraging counselor. A burden-carrying Redeemer. 

So drop your weight. Give it up. Lay it at His feet. 

Then do it again tomorrow. 

And watch your strength grow.