The weight of glory

These light afflictions—momentary, fleeting—are not what they seem.

They press, yes. They burn.

They make your knees buckle in the quiet places where no one sees.

But, they are not without purpose.

They are forging something beyond compare—

an eternal weight of glory.

Weight.

Not the burden that crushes,

but the sacred heaviness that anchors.

The kind of weight that proves you’re not hollow.

The kind of weight that gives your words authority,

your prayers thunder,

your steps gravity.

This weight is holy.

It is not for the faint of heart.

It is carried by those who’ve wept in the wilderness

and still lifted their hands in worship.

It rests upon those who chose the narrow way,

who bled silently in unseen battles

and came out with a lion’s heart.

The more weight you carry,

the deeper your footprints press into the earth—

leaving a path for others to follow.

Your suffering becomes seed.

Your endurance becomes oil.

Your obedience under fire becomes a crown forged in flame.

This is no ordinary glory.

It is not applause. It is not acclaim.

It is substance.

It is eternity’s hush resting upon your shoulders.

It is the weight of heaven that makes you immovable—

not crushed by the world,

but planted in it like an oak of righteousness.

And oh, the worship that rises under weight.

When the crushing comes,

so does the fragrance.

When the load gets heavy,

so does the glory.

Because the greater the weight,

the greater the surrender.

The greater the surrender,

the deeper the worship.

You, dear one, are being trusted with this weight.

Not because you are strong,

but because He is.

And He walks with you through the fire,

bearing up your frame with His everlasting arms.

Every scar He sees.

Every tear He bottles.

Every step, even when your legs shake,

He strengthens with grace.

So do not despise the weight.

Do not curse the pressing.

For these light afflictions—though they feel anything but—

are working for you

a far more exceeding

and eternal

weight of glory.

And when the day breaks and the veil lifts,

you’ll see it was never just pain.

It was always worship.

It was always becoming.

It was always glory

being poured

into your very soul.