Fear Of The Burdens of Responsibility

Who does not have a fear of the burdens of responsibility? Oh, definitely not me. I know the burden of taking on a responsibility, especially when it is an official responsibility, wherein a task is given to you to be responsible for something.

I quiver at the thought of being accountable for something. Is it a sign of my selfishness rising to the surface? Oh, most likely, it is. But, let me share you my story.

The pandemic, like death stalking the globe, had, ironically, become our unlikely benefactor. Though God, in His infinite mercy, shielded us financially, the four walls of our 26-square-meter condo squeezed the life out of us like a tightening vise. My wife, a sweet person yearning for open skies and the caress of earth, dreamt of her mother's haven in the province – a sprawling fields of emerald green woven under a boundless of sometimes cloudless blue.

December 2020, with restrictions loosening like a weary fist, presented an escape hatch. Two weeks, we planned, a mere balm on a parched soul. Two weeks bled into four years, the city lights fading into a distant memory, and I was adjusting to this kind of life and I loved it.

This rural sanctuary harbored unexpected delights. Responsibilities, once daunting giants, became badges of honor. Caring for the rambunctious pack of dogs, a responsibility I once scoffed at, became a source of quiet pride. Yet, beneath the surface, a disquiet simmered. A persistent feeling, a melody just out of reach, hummed in my mind – God, with His grand design, had placed me here for a reason.

And then, like a bolt of lightning splitting a starless night, the purpose revealed itself. Just like Jonah, the reluctant prophet, I felt a surge of rebellion, a desperate urge to flee the calling. "These people, they're beyond saving." In my arrogance, I said that and I regret having this thought.

But with the dawning of Holy Week, a different truth washed over me. God wouldn't burden me with a task I couldn't shoulder. It was an act of surrender then, a heartfelt plea. "Guide me, Lord," I whispered, the Blessed Mother a silent beacon by my side. "Grant me strength, show me the path."

The path, however, wasn't paved with rose petals. Anger, a venomous serpent, coiled around my heart. Resentment, a festering wound, threatened to poison my spirit. Pride, a glittering shield, blinded me to the needs around me. This was the constant struggle, a war waged within – the call echoing in the chambers of my soul, battling the primal urges of my human self.

This is my story, a chronicle of urban confinement and a rural awakening. A modern-day Jonah wrestling with his reluctant faith, a testament to the enduring power of God's purpose, even when cloaked in the doubts and fears of a flawed human heart.

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