How to Lift a Burden without Overburdening Yourself

Author Ashleigh Brilliant said, “I try to take it one day at a time, but sometimes several days attack me at once.”

Isn’t that how it is with burdens? We all have them. The world adds to them. Daily news … our friends’ hardships … family matters … Pile that on top of our own burdens long enough, and our hearts burst under the weight. Our compassion fatigue mingles with the guilt of wanting to help but feeling like we can’t possibly take on one_more_thing. So I’d like to replace that guilt with the freedom and encouragement we find in Galatians 6, verses 2 and 5.

Two verses, two commands, two words

At first glance, they sound contradictory. Verse 2 says “bear one another’s burdens.” Verse 5 says “carry your own load.”

How do we reconcile and respond to those two commands?

The answer lies in two key words Paul used.

Galatians 6 verse 5 commands us to carry our own “load.” That Greek word is phortion (for-TEE-ohn). It describes a small, personal load. The connotation is a soldier’s backpack, something that should NOT be transferred to someone else. Phortion is your responsibility.

In contrast, Galations 6 verse 2 says bear each other’s burdens. For that, Paul uses the word baros. It describes a backbreaking heaviness, a no-way-you-can-lift-this-by-yourself situation. Those burdens ARE meant to be shared—because they’re too big to bear alone. Baros is any material, relational, emotional, or spiritual burden that’s so weighty it could crush a person if they tried to go solo carrying it.

Baros is more than overly weighty. It carries both personal and eternal significance. Hold that thought.

Misconceptions about burdens

Here’s where we get all twisted about burdens. First, we think we should carry burdens we have no business carrying—because they’re someone else’s backpack. Second, we often don’t discern between a backpack and a baros. Third, when God shows us where we can help with a baros, we can get tunnel vision about it. We lean into our personal effort while ignoring its eternal aspect. That misplaced focus makes for tedious or exhausting work instead of Spirit-led serving. Afterwards, confusion and guilt can nag us. (Should I have done more?)

Here’s the thing: This doesn’t need to be complicated. And we don’t need a theology degree to figure it out.

Let me explain with an example.

In 1995, my father was losing a two-year battle with an incurable form of cancer. In addition to grappling with my dad’s terminal illness, I had to teach my mother how to keep a checkbook, create a budget, drive on the highway, and master other things she’d never done for herself. I also had to explain to my then-9-year-old son why his grandpa wouldn’t get better.

I had started freelancing so I could shoulder all of that with minimal family disruption. I thought I was juggling life pretty well, but then I got a call from my son’s school principal. He said, “I think your son may need some help coping with stress. Are any major changes happening right now in your family?”

BOOM.

Before I could sort what to do about that, the phone rang again. An intensive-care nurse on the other end of the line said, “You should come here right away. Your father may not live through the night.” I needed a sitter pronto, so I called a couple in my Sunday school class. We were casual friends, not close—but Terri and Jim were at my door in fifteen minutes.

Terri said, “OK. What can we do?” I just stared at her blankly. I needed a sitter for my son. Then she did something extraordinary. She said, “What little piece of your life can I help bring back in order? Whatever it is, just tell me, and I’ll try to help.”

Something in my gut burst through my lips before my brain could process it. I blurted, “My house is dirty.” [face plant] I hadn’t called Terri and Jim for on-demand maid service. But, over the last six months of stress with my dad, my increasingly dirty, messy house had come to embody everything that was out of control in my life. The disorder had cranked my chaos meter into tilt mode.

I smiled weakly and shrugged my apology.

Terri nodded. “Take all the time you need at the hospital.”

Let’s press pause for a moment. Why was Terri’s second question so extraordinary?

Because it connected with my soul. It uncovered a need I didn’t know I had. When you connect with the soul, it has eternal consequences.

Remember the definition of baros?

What Terri did and didn’t do

I was exhausted and numb when I dragged myself home shortly before dawn. A day later, God opened my eyes to my home’s transformation. Laundry and dishes done. Everything picked up, put away, cleaned, or vacuumed. Even the tops of the doorframes had been dusted. My phone call of profuse thanks fell far short of the gratitude I felt.

Terri couldn’t change my dad’s situation. She didn’t try to tackle everything that was crushing me. She simply made herself available to God to see how she could carry a bit of my baros for a short time.

That’s the key. Hear me now: When you are on the GIVING end of baros, all you need to do is lift one corner of the burden. That’s it. Leave the heavy lifting to God.

And if you’re feeling crushed from baros, I pray you’ll humble yourself to recognize you need help and open your heart to receive it, along with God’s gentle healing through it.

Remember: only one person in history had to carry their baros alone. That was Christ—when He carried our sins to the Cross.

Baros. Personal and eternal significance.

Conclusion

Whether you’re on the giving or receiving end of lifting a burden, remember it helps personally in the immediate—and, in God’s economy, somehow affects eternity. Wow! I hope that encourages you. And lifts a bit of your burden.

Father God, You are holy, mighty, and worthy of all praise. Thank You for the privilege of being your child. Give us Your eyes to see who is carrying their backpack versus breaking under their burdens. And give us the courage to reach out to lift one corner. To Your glory. Amen.

Has someone ever lifted a corner of your baros? If so, please share in the comments!