When I Am Weak

There are many things I can't do.

I can't whistle.

I can't sing a solo.

I can't play the violin.

As a kid in elementary school, it became quickly evident that I can't do anything athletic.  Well, I can't do it well.

I was always a good student, save for PE class.  It wasn't that I didn't try--I had tried and failed miserably in the past, and so I resigned myself to the fact that I was no good at sports.  I brought up the rear when running the mile.  If I was placed on the chin-up bar, I would dangle there sheepishly until the coach yelled at me and told me to get down.  It was especially embarrassing if we had to announce to the teacher in front of the whole grade how many push-ups we had done in a one-minute time span.

It would go something like this...

****
"Jones?"

"27!"

"Awesome.  McDonald?"

"30!"

"Fantastic!  Smith?"

Silence.

"[Clears throat.] Smith?"

"[Quietly] Um, 3."

****

Every year in PE class, we did a series of athletic activities--push-ups, chin-ups, sit-ups, sit-and-reach, races--and if our results were within certain ranges, we got a patch representing which level we had reached.  The blue was the best patch, red second best.  I always qualified for the ugly banana yellow patch (which, basically, I could have done zero of everything and gotten that).  I never bothered to pay money to have a stitched reminder that I was only good enough for last place.

I coveted the red and blue patches.  It wasn't that they were prettier or more expensive.  But it meant that the owner was capable.  Better.  Strong.

One of my last years in PE, I decided I wasn't going to let anything stop me from getting a red patch (let's face it: the blue was out of the question).  With every event, I put my heart and soul into it.  I reached farther; got stronger; ran faster.

I was on the cusp of a red patch when I came to my final event--the relay race.  I was placed on a team with three of my classmates.  We were spaced evenly around the track and instructed to run with a baton and hand it off once we got to the next runner.

As luck would have it, I was the last runner, and it was up to me to get across the finish line within a certain time.

My red patch depended on it.

Thankfully, my teammates were all fast runners.  I watched in awe as they rocketed lickety-split around the corners of the track.  Their legs were moving so fast that my eyes couldn't keep up.

And then it was time.  It was my turn.

As the stopwatch continued to count the seconds, the cold metal of the baton was placed deliberately in my nervous hand.  My feet left their starting spot as fast as they could, but my opponents began to pull ahead, despite my head start.

My teacher, who knew how desperately I wanted that red patch, yelled cheers of encouragement my way as I began to look winded.

The seconds ticked.  My feet were slowing down.

The red patch was slipping through my fingers.

Suddenly, I saw my teacher running toward me.  Soon, she was next to me, running with me.

"You've got to move faster," she shouted.  "You're so close.  You're so close!"

I shook my head and hung it in disappointment.  I just couldn't do it.  I just wasn't fast enough.

It was at that moment that my teacher grabbed my hand.  She ran ahead of me, and the force of her grip and speed caused my feet to accelerate.  The breeze picked up in my ponytail, and for the first time, my sluggish feet finally felt what it was like to run fast.  She pulled me the rest of the way, and I crossed the finish line at the last second.

Because of my teacher, I could do it.  Because of her, I got my first and only red patch.

It's hard to admit when I'm weak, when I can't do something on my own.  I don't enjoy asking people for help because I feel like I should be able to do it myself.  Being independent means I'm capable.  Dependence on others makes me feel like I'm incapable, lousy, and a failure.

But you know what?  The Bible doesn't just tell us to accept our weaknesses.  It tells us to boast in them!  That sounds strange, doesn't it?  Can you imagine some skinny, pale guy high-fiving his way through a gym as he shouts, "Guess what!  I'm a weakling!  Isn't that awesome?!"

It sounds ridiculous, but our weaknesses are important.  They're vital.

There's a beautiful thread throughout the Bible of God using the weak.  Think about it...

Moses was a horrible public speaker and even suffered from a speech problem...
   Yet God used his lips to tell Pharaoh to let his people go...

David was several feet shorter than Goliath and too small for a decent suit of armor...
   Yet God used David's hand and a single stone to fell a mighty warrior...

Sarah's womb was barren...
   Yet God used her and Abraham to parent a multitude of nations, even after the age of 100...

It doesn't matter what you can and can't do--don't tell God that He can't use you!

The most beautiful part of our weaknesses is that the holes in our abilities let His strength shine through.  When we aren't able to do it alone, the story stops being about us and becomes magnificently about Him.  It becomes about how He can conquer, how He can overcome, how He can effect change.

If you were strong and great at everything, you wouldn't look to Him.  If we were all perfect, it would eliminate the need for a Savior.

You can't, but He can.

If you will only be willing to be a part of His plan, of His great story, He can use you.

Your speech may not be the most eloquent...but He can speak through you.

Your strength may be dwindling...but He can direct the aim and the force of the stone.

Your feet may be slowing, and as the timer ticks, the finish line may seem a million miles away...but He can pull you through.

Quit shaking your head in discouragement.  He's got your hand.  He's got this.

Take His hand, and run like the wind.

"That is why, for Christ's sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties.  For when I am weak, then I am strong."  ~ 2 Corinthians 12:10