Sometimes the weight of this world lies hard and heavy.
And we feel its weight as stories are shared and life reminds us where we live.
This past weekend, I listened as many such stories were shared—all shared in the span of less than 72 hours.
Her son is bipolar.
She’s overcoming an addiction.
Her friend betrayed her.
Her daughter made a poor choice.
His marriage is rocky.
Another loved one died.
This is where we live.
As my weekend came to a close, words from an old hymn were read from the pulpit, and every weight I’d heard about this weekend flashed through my mind as this line stood out in bold colors:
“On His footstool I roam.”
This earth where we live is His footstool.
We feel the weight of the world.
In our own broken stories.
Or in the stories of those living beside us.
But its weight lies at His feet.
The feet of a God on His throne.
Mighty to save.
Gentle as a mother’s love.
The coming Judge.
The God of all comfort.
He sent His Son to this earth where we live. He mingled among us and felt the weight of this world.
Then He died and rose again.
And on the cross, He crushed this world’s weight into a footstool.
We wander on that footstool.
Not under it.
It’s a footstool made for a King.
Where the weight of this world lies heaviest.
This hurting earth where we live reminds us that there’s something higher.
And it’s a throne.
Where a King sits.
And a King does what no one else does.
Heartaches are just the edges of a footstool.
Where a King reigns.
And its weight lies under His feet.
The weight of the world lies beneath the feet of a God who took heartaches and pain and choices and sin, and crushed them into a footstool.
He sits above that weight.
On a throne.
“In the world you will have tribulation;
but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33)