Leadership

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“That poor man,” I thought as I watched him struggle with his burden. Obviously he had great faith; otherwise he wouldn’t have come to such an event carrying that load. The instructions on the registration form were clear. “Childcare not provided.” In other words, don’t bring your kids. But here was this man, this father, who refused to leave his burden at home. His boy, who looked to be about eight or nine years old, suffered with cerebral palsy and had no control over any part of his little body. He could hardly even hold up his own head.

Throughout that three-day conference I repeatedly came upon the father-with-his-burden and the cart they used. I never officially met him. I don’t even recall reading his name from the tag he was surely wearing. The only words we exchanged were my quiet expressions of, “It’s okay,” each time he apologized or excused himself as he tried to manipulate his son’s cart through the crowd of people.

The men and women attending that conference were there for refreshing. Most of us were exhausted from the demands of ministry and needed refueling. But I also needed healing. Having just gone through a devastating experience by some misguided church members, I was a pastor with fresh bruises and open wounds. I was suffering from sheep bite. I attended that conference desperate for just one sentence that would make sense of those traumatic events. So, along with five leaders from my church and several hundred other hungry ministry leaders, I eagerly opened my spiritual mouth to receive morsels of spiritual food from my teachers.

By the third day I was somewhat revived, but sat nonetheless like a baby bird in its nest waiting impatiently for its next feeding. On that day as I quietly waited for the session to begin I became acutely aware of the noise in the room. The group laughing to my right was obviously having a great time. From behind me I overheard some light-hearted conversation between a few people. And, overall there was the typical pre-meeting hushed roar of a crowd talking. Left alone to my silent thoughts, the sounds in the room faded away to someplace far away as I became increasingly discouraged. The conference was coming to a close. Within a few short hours I would be heading back home – back to the place where I had been beat up, spit at, mocked and betrayed. And, I was still bleeding.

In that moment of self-pity, I caught sight of the father-with-his-burden. Having taken a seat directly across from me on the other side of the church, for some unknown reason, he worked to lift his son out of the cart. I saw him do the same thing the day before. He reminded me of the many times I struggled to work my children out of their car seats from our two-door sedan. Why didn’t he just leave his boy there? After all, he seemed relatively contented. Was he trying to make his son more comfortable? Perhaps he didn’t want his boy to feel stuck in his contraption. Or, maybe the answer to my question is that he simply wanted his son closer to him, in his lap. He obviously loved his boy.

The meeting started with a few short announcements followed by a time of great music. Before the song service was over the conference leader invited those in the immediate area to lay hands on and pray for the father-with-his-burden. The entire auditorium suddenly came to life as we cried out to our Healer. “Please, Lord, heal that boy. Heal him the same way you healed the paralytic.” Among those of us who pleaded with God were some bold prayer warriors who loudly called out, “Be healed in the name of Jesus!” We all stood in unity asking God to do the miraculous. Yet, the boy remained in his father’s arms unable to move normally.

“Lord, why didn’t You heal that boy? We stood in unity. We asked in Your name. We were obedient to pray for healing. But You didn’t heal him. Why?” The Holy Spirit’s answer came swiftly and clearly. “In the church there are many crippled saints. They need to be carried in the arms of someone strong. And, some of those crippled children will not be healed until they are with Me.”

The answer was so simple and yet profound. Just then I felt like that little boy. It may not have appeared so to the natural eye, but at that moment in time I was as incapable of holding my up own head as that boy.

Six years have passed since that conference. All my bite wounds have healed nicely. The trauma I sustained has become part of my past experiences and was, of course, used by my gracious God to teach me some lessons about life and about Him. I have grown tremendously in my relationship with my Father. In fact, I am now a stronger pastor and capable to carry some crippled saints when I need to.

I recently took some of our youth to a conference. Sitting on the upper level of the large conference facility, I had a clear view of most of the people in attendance. Just below me, on the main floor, was a familiar sight - a man holding a boy in his arms. “It couldn’t be,” I thought. Yes, it was he.

As I watched the father-with-his-burden, a small group of teenagers gathered around the boy and appeared to be praying for him. Would God finally answer the prayers of so many people? Would the boy be healed? Just then the conference started and the father-with-his-burden wheeled his son out of the auditorium.

Later that evening two members of our group told me what happened. Five or six teenagers followed the father out of the auditorium and asked permission to pray once again for his son. As they prayed, the boy said something to his father, who responded by asking, “Are you sure?” Yes, he was sure. Just then, the father-with-his-burden picked up his now fifteen year old son and placed him on his own two feet. With his thin, shaky arm he reached out and touched each of those teenagers one at a time, praying for God’s blessings to be poured out over them. It didn’t matter that his peers couldn’t fully understand what he was saying; the Holy Spirit gently ministered to each one, profoundly impacting their lives. That crippled boy who appeared so incapable, so weak, proved to be the strongest of the group.

Since that youth conference I have wondered how many places over the years has the father-with-his-burden carried his son. And, I wonder if he realizes the impact he’s making on his part of the world? Does he know that he is the perfect picture of Father God as He carries His crippled children?

When the burdens of life get to be too much for me – when my legs won’t hold me up, or my arms refuse to obey, or my voice is difficult to understand – God picks me up and carries me. He becomes my Father-with-His-burden. He will not leave me to fend for myself. He will not desert me to be cared for by anyone else. And, He will not abandon me to a cart. Instead He causes me to stand on my own two feet so that I may be a witness to Him.

Through the father-with-his-burden I learned the truth of what St. Paul wrote, “I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in needs, in persecutions, in distresses, for Christ’s sake. For when I am weak, then I am strong” (2 Cor. 12:10).

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