Of course, I want to carry the burdens of others, and I imagine many of us in this line of work feel the same. People come to us with their needs, their disappointments, their fears, and we do what we can to alleviate the pain of those burdens – whether through prayer, actions, or just being there.

But Paul didn't just encourage a Galatian to carry her sister's burden. No, he encouraged them all to carry each other's burdens. That means I carry yours, and you carry mine. He continues on in the next verse: “If anyone thinks they are something when they are not, they deceive themselves.” (v.3) I see that as an admonishment to those of us who see ourselves as strong, not needing the help of others. But Paul is very clear, carrying each other's burdens is a two-way street.

But how can others bear our pain if we aren't willing to be vulnerable and share it? A few years ago we were at a conference in a neighboring country. A week before, a car bomb had exploded near our house, and we barely made our plane out of the country because of gun battles in the street on the way to the airport. I was at the opening session of the conference, and I don't even remember what the speaker was talking about – something about community – and I raised my hand to ask a question. All I could get out was “what if you are all alone?” before breaking down into tears in front of 150 of my colleagues, most of them relative strangers to me. I was so embarrassed. I felt like I looked like an absolute fool.

But.

That moment of vulnerability – as ridiculous and dramatic as it felt to me – opened the door for dozens of my colleagues to check in with me over the course of the conference. I wasn't okay, and would later go on to get help for my PTSD, but for those few days, at least, I wasn't carrying the load alone, and that was a lifeline I didn't even know I needed.