A bag full of bricks
A few weeks back I kept noticing Kaleeya’s backpack getting
pretty heavy. Every morning when I went to put her lunch in the front zipper, I
would say, “Kaleeya what the heck is in here? It feels like you are carrying
around a bunch of rocks—we HAVE to clean out your backpack when you get home.”
Then, like most moms of six kids—I hope, please tell me I am not the only one—I
would forget all about it until the next morning when we were heading out the
door.
I don’t want to admit this out loud—so please read it
quietly in your head—but this went on for a few weeks. Every morning the same
conversation, sending her out the door with a “bag full of rocks”.
Until one morning I figured out what all the “rocks” really
were. The kids had not come down yet and I was on top of my game. I went to put
lunches in their backpacks and grabbed Kaleeya’s off the hook, only to remember
our consistent conversation about cleaning it out. I unzipped the back zipper
and to my surprise there were seven big, thick, library books.
A lot gets past me. I don’t always take the time to read the
thousands of emails I get weekly from their teachers . . . but one fact I knew
to be true since day one of the school year: Kaleeya’s class was only allowed
to check out one book a week.
A thief? Awesome. I was ticked. My first reaction was to
march up the stairs and give her a piece of my mind—remind her how embarrassing
it was for us moms when our kids pull crap like this. I wanted to ground her
butt to the house for a week. I wanted to give her what she deserved.
Soon faces were popping up all over the house. Everyone was
awake and ready for breakfast. I stewed as I flipped pancakes and did
hair—until finally it was time. I pulled her into the laundry room as everyone
was putting on their shoes to leave. I said one last prayer in my mind, “Alright . . . I know what I want to do with
her, but if you have another idea . . . now would probably be a good time to
clue me in.”
I kneeled down so I could look her in the eye, “Kaleeya . .
. do you want to tell me about all those library books in your backpack?” And
that is when the dam burst. “I took them mom . . .” She began sobbing and
holding on to my arm. Finally after asking her why, she answered, “I wanted to read all of them . . . so I put them
in my bag, and I have carried them around because I didn’t want to get in
trouble. But I didn’t read any of them, because I didn’t want to get in
trouble. So now you know . . . and . . . and . . . and I can put them all back
one at a time . . . and . . . and no one will ever notice.”
No one will ever notice. Her words echoed in my mind for a
few seconds before I could answer. I said, “Kaleeya, I bet that has been so
hard keeping that inside. I am so sorry for that load you have had to carry
around on your back and in your mind. I wish it was as easy as just sneaking
them back in to your library, but that isn’t how we make it right.”
She held my hand tight as we walked into her school that
morning and she told her librarian what she had done. Later that day she stood
alone as the principal gave her a punishment, and again as she cleaned up the
school yard on her lunch.
But after school, that little girl didn’t just walk slowly
out to my car—she ran with a big grin on her face. She gave me a giant hug and
said, “Mom . . . it doesn’t feel heavy any more . . . I am free.”
How many times do we carry around a load—way too heavy for
us to bear alone—thinking if we could just hide it a little longer, no one will
notice as we drop one “book at a time” to lighten our burden. We justify that
as long as we don’t get in trouble . . . then it wasn’t really a crime. We hold
ourselves hostage, to a backpack full of secrets . . . with a false sense of
safety coming from concealing our pain.
Well I don’t have all the answers for the loads you all have
to carry. I don’t pretend to understand how they feel for you, but one thing I
know for sure . . . you don’t have to carry it all alone. You don’t have to
hide, you don’t have to run, you don’t have to pretend that it is all ok.
At Easter time we are promised that the resurrection is
real. WE are asked to remember that Christ conquered death and lives again. He
rose from that tomb, and with that miracle . . . He carries a whole lot of
backpacks—so full of bricks, and rocks . . . and books.
He died so we can . . . not only hide our pain, but so our
burdens can be made light. Yes, it might be hard showing up at that librarian’s
office, or scooping up other people garbage . . . but if we are willing to pay
a small price for our sins—He will make up the rest.
Close your eyes this Easter for just a minute. Picture in
your mind all the times He has helped your burdens become light—or all the
times He is waiting to do it now. That is grace.
I promise you it is not too late. He lives. He is the #princeofpeace. He wants
to share it with you.
1 comments:
Beautiful story about teaching about the atonement. You handled the situation beautifully.
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