Living on Both Sides of the Bar
Recently, my cousin preached a sermon and shared a story that stayed with me. He talked about being at the gym and noticing a man lying on his back on a flat bench, a heavy barbell positioned above his chest on the metal rack. His hands gripped the bar tightly, arms slightly bent, as if he had just tried to lift it but hadn’t been able to push it all the way up. To anyone passing by, it might have looked like he was just taking a pause—but the bar wasn’t moving, and he was stuck under the weight.
The first time my cousin passed by, he assumed the man was simply taking a breath before lifting.
That happens. Sometimes we pause. Sometimes we gather ourselves.
But when my cousin passed by again, the man was in the exact same position.
That second look changed everything.
My cousin asked if the man was okay. The man seemed annoyed and said no. A little while later, my cousin asked again. Still no. Time passed, and the weight still hadn’t moved.
Finally, my cousin decided to step in. He took hold of the bar and said, “On the count of three—one, two, three.” Together, they lifted the weight back onto the rack. The man was able to sit up safely. My cousin said gently, “I’m not judging you. I’m just trying to help. Don’t forget your spotter.”
He went on to explain that whenever he lifts weights—especially new or heavier ones—he always makes sure he has a spotter before he begins.
A spotter offers presence, safety, and the courage to lift what feels too heavy.
A spotter is someone who stands close while another person lifts a heavy weight. Their role isn’t to do the lifting for you, but to step in when the weight becomes too much—so you’re not harmed, stuck, or crushed. A spotter offers safety, presence, and support.
That image feels like a word for this season.
So many of us are carrying weight—grief, responsibility, caregiving, leadership, uncertainty. Often, from the outside, it looks like we’re just “taking a breath.” But sometimes, we’re stuck. And sometimes, we need someone willing to take a second look.
We often say, “I’ve got it,” even when the bar hasn’t moved. We can grow irritated when help is offered. Pride, fatigue, or habit tells us to lift alone.
But we were never meant to carry everything by ourselves.
I love how my cousin connected this to faith: God—through Jesus—is the ultimate Spotter.
God—through Jesus—is the ultimate Spotter.
Close enough to notice.
Attentive enough to take a second look.
Strong enough to help.
Compassionate enough to step in without judgment.
Jesus does not shame us for struggling. Instead, he offers presence and says, “Do you want to be made well?” (John 5:6). Like the man at the pool, sometimes all it takes is for someone to notice our struggle, ask if we need help, and step in to lift what feels too heavy.
My cousin is also a living testimony of this truth. Since losing a loved one this year, he shared how community has been his spotter—friends, family, and neighbors showing up to carry grief alongside him. Their presence, prayers, and tangible support have helped him move through a season that could have crushed him alone. Community, like Jesus, helps lift the weight.
As I look back over this year, I’m grateful for moments when I’ve been a spotter for others—offering prayer, showing up in spaces centered on care, practicing the quiet ministry of presence. And if I’m honest, more often than not, I’ve been the one on the bench, holding the bar, unsure if I could lift what was placed on me.
I know what it’s like to live on both sides of the bar.
I know the vulnerability of needing help.
I know the relief of someone stopping, noticing, and refusing to walk past my struggle.
I know the grace of saying and hearing, “I’m not judging—just helping.”
As we step into a new year, may we carry this wisdom with us:
Don’t rush past the pause.
Take a second look.
Don’t lift the weight alone.