A tiny child grows in a mother’s womb. She carries him within her, keeping him warm
and protected wrapped in her skin, within arm’s reach of her heart. She runs her hands over the swelling curve
and dreams of the life he will have, the life she will help make for him. Her body grows slow and unwieldy as it
expands to accommodate the sweet child.
She considers him in every breath she takes, every food she eats, and
every drink she drinks. She holds him in
her mind until she can hold him in her arms.
This is life—we carry each other.
A big, brawny toddler wakes in the middle of the night. His forehead is warm against the cool of his
mother’s hand. She lifts him out of his
crib and carries his weight, heavy and sleeping, down the long hallway to her
bed. His legs hang down below her waist—in
the daylight he will refuse to be carried, enjoying instead his newfound
independence, but in the dark of the night he is her baby once again. Tonight he will sleep with his head against
her chest, and she will wake often to evaluate the ebb and flow of his fever.
This is life—we carry each other.
A bride, still in white, is whisked away from the wedding by
her groom. He carries her across the
threshold and into their future together.
His arms feel strong around her, and although hers are not as firm, they
circle around his neck in a reassuring embrace.
They look into each other’s eyes and silently repeat the promises
made: I will…I promise…I do. They do not know what challenges they will
face, but they have promised to face them together.
This is life—we carry each other.
A group of six friends gather around a coffin, and each one
takes hold. They carry their friend to
his resting place. The coffin is terribly
heavy, but the grief is heavier; it settles over the heart like a thick, grey fog.
Intermittently the fog lifts as the
funeral party retells familiar stories of the departed, laughing together over
their favorites. The women carry tissues
in one hand, ever-ready to wipe the tears that flow at increments like
clockwork when the bell tolls and one suddenly remembers: he’s really gone.
This is life—we carry each other.
A widow carries on with her life, with motions slowed like
someone moving through water. Her
daughters visit, her friends bring her food, and her village carries her to the
Lord in prayer. They carefully watch her
countenance and try to protect her heart as she wanders on a long walk with
sadness. They all carry the memories of
the departed, but she will always carry the most.
This is life—we carry each other.
Carry each other.
“Carry each other’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of
Christ.” Galations 6:2
