Movement 2 — The Carry (Under Cumulative Weight)
Morning comes, but nothing’s really changed. Not in any clear way. Whatever it was, it’s still there – just quieter. Less sharp than it felt in the dark. Easier to move around. But not gone. The weight remains.
You get on with the day with one more thing to carry.
Unless you’re a retired guy like me and can live by the motto: “I don’t want to. I don’t have to. You can’t make me,” you have things to do. Some things you’re good at and like doing. You find a measure of joy in them but other things you just have to do. Conversations to have. Numbers to look at. Small decisions that keep things moving forward.
Under Cumulative Weight
This is where the weight becomes cumulative. It’s not just one thing – the illness, the debt, the scarcity of funds or the political shift – it’s the layering of those things over time. We carry them into our conversations and our chores, acting as if we’re managing while our internal “Meaning-Machine” wants to make sense of things.
It’s not a stretch to be emotional and exhausted under this kind of pressure. Yet, we think we’re OK, until a “Cue” hits.
For a while, the tension you’re holding stays in the background; humming along like your kitchen fridge, but It doesn’t take much. Not a major headline. Not even something that would stand out to most people. Just a phrase. A pattern. The way something is said – and then said again.
For some, it’s the noise that presses in.
- The volume of it.
- The speed.
- The outrage.
- The repetition.
- The constant churn.
For me, it’s often quieter than that. Not so much the volume or pace.
It’s when something clicks, not the moment itself. Just the way it fits. Our brains like patterns so the way a tension lines up with something I’ve already noticed. It’s something my mind circles around…and around…and ‘round. 🙂
Even before I’ve had time to think about it, something in me has already moved. It’s hard to explain. It’s subtle. Not a response or a full out reaction. By the time I start finding words, it’s as if I’m already leaning toward a certain direction that I didn’t consciously choose.
Some folks experience this tension at speed and they feel overwhelmed. For others, it’s more like a slow roll that gradually builds. Piece by piece each new moment fits into something I already suspected. I can be a rather suspicious person. 😁 Each small confirmation adds a bit more weight. There’s a kind of recognition in it.
- “I’ve seen this before.”
- “This makes sense.”
- “Seems like this is probably where this is going.”
Not a conclusion… more like an alignment. And with that alignment comes something else. Not really fear or even anxiety. I just get discouraged that I can’t seem to be able to fix this friction.
The weight is real. The friction is honest.
In this movement of “The Carry,” attempting to stay steadfast under the cumulative weight, isn’t a breakdown of faith. It’s holding the tension between having a Job-like integrity of faith while straining under the pressure trying to navigate the grocery store to feed your family or pressing in on the job site knowing there’s too much month at the end of the money.
The adversary was determined to show that Job’s faithfulness was dependent on the hedge God had around him. As long as life was good, Job remained righteous and faithful to God. However, the prosecutor failed in his attempt.
Today, the role of the adversary attempts the same – to distract and cast a shadow of doubt. You’re not trying to be a hero. You simply want to maintain the integrity of your faith in God while also carrying the mundane, high-pressure, or tiresome tasks of daily life.
My desire for this series is to help us discover what it means to be “righteous” without having the answers – not being perfect or morally superior. Sure, we’d like to pull a lever to drop the weight but instead, we carry the unresolved. We know life rarely gives fix-it-fast solutions. Rather, we try to live with the tension of uncertainty until the Midnight Static starts to make sense.
But before that, the pressure often rises.