In My Weakness
7 So to keep me from becoming conceited because of the surpassing greatness of the revelations, a thorn was given me in the flesh, a messenger of Satan to harass me, to keep me from becoming conceited.8 Three times I pleaded with the Lord about this, that it should leave me.9 But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me.10 For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong. 2 Corinthians 12:7-10
In my weakness, His strength is made clear. Made obvious. A light to anyone who knew how unable to overcome you were.
I am weak in ways I find terrifying. Repulsive. Unforgivable. I look at my weaknesses and I think that I am right to fear them. That, given the smallest rein, they could destroy any good thing in my life. I picture the end results of them, the worst case scenarios, and they are not so unrealistic or impossible to me.
My brain is not my ally. My sense of reality can fade, leaving me questioning bedrock things I thought I knew. My sense of proportion is like rain showers in Houston; there one minute, gone the next. When that goes, I may latch onto the nearest molehill, screaming that it is the tallest mountain I've ever seen in my life. Of all the organs in my body that could fail, the one that's supposed to be driving this thing is ill.
It is embarrassing. I feel weak. I feel like my sanity isn't a constant, or even something I can take for granted. I'm afraid of what will happen in the future. I am afraid I am not strong enough to survive the monsters in my brain.
But I also see what God has done in my life so far. He has healed several of my fears. He is teaching me what good friendships look like. He's teaching me that I have my own sort of authority. Joy is a frequent guest of this house, and love is a constant. I have energy to cook and bake delicious foods. I exercise in a way that is a delight to my body, not a torment. I can write and create beautiful or funny crafts as I see fit. I can clean the house and deal with its entropy as it happens. It's like God had been rebuilding me one piece at a time.
At fourteen, I was so sad I wanted to die. At thirty-three, I'm full of life but terrified it will all slip away, or I'll somehow set fire to it without meaning to. But at fourteen, I couldn't imagine the sort of joy and peace I experience these days, even if it isn't constant. The healing has been so deep and broad that my fourteen year old self would not recognize me today.
His hand has been with me through all of it. His fingerprints are on every stage of my growth. He will not leave me now.
Into Your hands.
Father, I cannot free myself of the fears. I cannot hold onto reality all the time. I feel blown about by every wind that comes by. I cannot claw my way out of this because the map to freedom doesn't even exist in me. I choose to trust that You have not left and will not leave. Here I am weak and I cannot change it. Here, only Your strength will keep me from slipping. However you show Your strength, may You be known through it by those who know me and see that I could not have healed myself.