I am worried about some things. About buying a new home, about what school my son will be accepted into, about my kids getting hurt…the list goes on.
Psalms 55:22 says, “Cast all your cares upon the LORD because he cares for you.”
I’ve always loved the imagery of this verse. Of casting off your worries.
To some this might sound carefree, like running through a field throwing your arms in the air, with no worries. Lovely.
But I view it a little differently:
When we were first married and living in New Mexico, my husband took on a side-business of snow-plowing the driveways of clients. Where we were living the streets and driveways were both buried in the forest and incredibly steep. I’ve never lived anywhere that had so many snow delays, but it truly was treacherous to drive there.
Our plow was attached to the oldest, rustiest, beat-up old truck you could possibly imagine. It was barely rigged up, basically being held together by duct tape and chicken wire. It was cold, uncomfortable and LOUD.
On average he was contracted to plow 300 homes each time it snowed. It was very good money, but as you can imagine, it took HOURS upon hours to plow them all.
One blizzard filled weekend, my love recruited me to be his lieutenant, which meant I was to locate each house on the map and direct us, then I was supposed to write out a bill for each house, as well as be a second pair of eyes on the road while we attempted to maneuver these steep, tight, and often twisting driveways.
I was STRESSED!
We managed to T bone a Cadillac that had slid through a stop sign. We SLAMMED into an SUV that had been abandoned on the side of the road. (By the way, both of these accidents happened in our completely uninsured truck, talk about WORRY) The breaks of said truck were going out, so there were a few times that I had to leap from the passenger seat to the floor boards on the drivers side and press on the brake just to avoid running over my amazing husband.
It. was. madness.
PLUS, every house we drove past would wave us down to ask for help, either to plow their path too, or to pull them out of a ditch, or to push their car up the road. We were in and out of the truck so much we never took our gloves and coats off. We spent the entire day in our snow pants and hats and were STILL freezing.
To make matters worse, the ONLY break we took in the entire day was to attend the funeral of one of Adam’s adopted grandfathers.
We both spoke at this funeral and then trudged back, puffy-eyed and totally deflated, to that rusty old plow and got right back to work.
It was a ROUGH day, and it
300 homes is a lot, but the snow never quit falling so most of the homes had to be plowed twice.
The noise inside that truck was intense, we were tired, on edge. We were heartbroken after attending that funeral. We were worried about the state of our patched up truck. We were spent.
I was fading fast, by about 9 p.m. Adam decided that I’d had enough. He called a friend of his to take over my spot as navigator–and my very kind and understanding husband dropped me off at his parents house so he could continue plowing without me–which he did, long into the morning hours.
Over 36 hours of plowing actually, what a guy.
(He has a story about pausing at a stop-sign to figure out where the next house was, and falling asleep for over an hour–parked at that sign, (both he and his second-man) right in the middle of the road. My man is one hard-worker.)
I clearly remember dragging myself into my in-laws house, stopping just inside of their front door where they both locked eyes with me, and just dropping everything on the floor.
No, “Is it ok for me to crash here.”
Nothing but the sound of my piles of snow-stuff dropping on their tiled floor, and my long-sad exhale.
I remember the first words my WONDERFUL mother-in-law said were, “How about some wine?”
(She’s the best.)
I sat in their kitchen where we talked about the funeral, and I shared stories of all the trials of owning a snow-plow business. It was such a relief to finally be warm, and safe. No longer strapped into a dying truck, surrounded by treacherous roads, lost in the dark forest with no idea where the next job was, or how much longer it all was going to take us.
I was worry-free.
As soon as I walked into that warm home, greeted by the kind faces of my family, I cast off the stress of that plow.
And, whenever I am reminded of that verse, “Cast your cares upon the LORD”, I picture myself silently dropping all that nasty junk on the floor.
I just couldn’t hold it anymore.
We just can’t hold it. Not alone.
So cast it off.
Drop all that weight, and walk into the warmth and comfort of the waiting arms of our Savior.
He doesn’t need our hello. He doesn’t need us to ask first.
We can just drop it all right at the door and he will welcome us in.
Cast your cares on the LORD for he cares for you.