I Am Weak

My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.

—2 Corinthians 12:9

You’re strong, Mom.”

My fourteen-year-old announced this over our breakfast cereal. Froot Loops. Definitely not Wheaties. It was a surprising comment for my son to make, considering my bed head, bleary eyes, and two-handed grip on the coffee mug.

I raised both eyebrows in protest. He continued, convinced.

“I mean it, Mom. The only person stronger than you is Jesus.” He paused, then added, “And Chuck Norris.”

There you have it. On the strength scale, even without Wheaties, I rank right after Jesus and Chuck Norris. I don’t mind being third place to those two. Seems only fair, considering one saved the world and the other can whup me on the Total Gym.

I love that my son thinks I’m strong. Love that he feels confident, safe, and secure with his “strong” mama.

But the woman gripping her coffee mug at six in the morning knows otherwise.

I am anything but strong. I try to be positive and put on a confident front. I swallow and smile even on the bad days so as not to burden anyone with my worries and fears. But inside, where I wrestle with all the questions and unknowns of life, I’m afraid and so very weak. Dare I say fragile?

Fear is the gap in my armor. Fear is what the enemy uses to maim and cripple me. Fear about my children and their choices. Fear about my health and life expectancy. Fear about my overwhelming to-do list and whether I’ll be able to manage it. Fear about my past and my future. Fear about . . .

You get the idea. My fear list is long. And the more I catalog my lackings, to-do’s, and worries, the more I feel fear gathering like a storm cloud.

What if . . .?

Depending on the day, different words fill in the blank. On the other side of the question mark sits me, weak and worried. Anything but strong.

Froot Loops, baby. Not Wheaties.

How about you? Do you rank up there with Jesus and Chuck Norris? Or are you like me, a struggler who more often feels weak than strong?

When I read the Bible, only a handful of characters stand out to me as the Chuck Norris type. Abraham. Moses, for the most part. And Paul.

As my son would say, Paul is a boss. He’s tough, bold, and fierce enough to endure a lengthy list of persecutions: “Three times I was beaten with rods, once I was pelted with stones, three times I was shipwrecked, I spent a night and a day in the open sea, I have been constantly on the move. I have been in danger from rivers, in danger from bandits, in danger from my fellow Jews, in danger from Gentiles; in danger in the city, in danger in the country, in danger at sea; and in danger from false believers. I have labored and toiled and have often gone without sleep; I have known hunger and thirst and have often gone without food; I have been cold and naked” (2 Cor. 11:25–27).

Like I said, a boss. Who else could endure so much and still be standing? Even with this show of physical and mental strength, however, he counts himself one of us, the weak: “Who is weak, and I do not feel weak? Who is led into sin, and I do not inwardly burn?” (2 Cor. 11:29).

Turns out, Paul wasn’t all that different from us. He put on a good front, tried to maintain a positive attitude. But the worries and fears and terrors of this life could overwhelm even a superhero like Paul.

Still, he pressed on. He continued, bold, courageous, and confident, because he understood a surprising truth: weakness is the best platform for God’s strength.

Self-sufficiency displays nothing of God’s power. Dependency, however, sets the stage for strength to shine. Like wind allows a boat to sail, weakness allows the glory of God to move. This is how Paul could endure in exhausting circumstances.

He believed the strength of God would not fail him.

When God looks at our weakness, our moments of fear and worry and failure, He doesn’t shake His head in disappointment and shame. He sees a man or woman dependent on His strength to come in and save the day. Like Paul, we can “delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties” (2 Cor. 12:10). How? By choosing to believe it, even when we don’t feel it.

After my son’s cereal pronouncement, I asked him why he saw me as strong.

“Because you don’t give up, Mom. No matter what gets you down, you keep going.”

Weak, but banking on God to show up. I’d almost forgotten.

Strength isn’t stamina. It’s refusing to quit when you have none.

In a word—it’s Jesus. The only reason to get back up and keep going is because we believe the one who goes with us will not fail us. We’re not self-sufficient. We’re Jesus dependent. Day after weary day.

No matter what is sapping your strength or causing you to curl up on the floor exhausted, turn your attention from what you lack toward what He can give.

For when you are weak, He is—you are—strong.

Even without your Wheaties.

You say—but God can never have called me to this, I am too unworthy, it can’t mean me. It does mean you, and the weaker and feebler you are, the better.

—OSWALD CHAMBERS, MY UTMOST FOR HIS HIGHEST