When I took the stage, I was one hundred percent confident in my message. My new boots pinched a bit as I climbed the steps to the piano, but I was certain of the words I would speak, sure that the melodies wrapped around the truth of God’s goodness to us in suffering were the right ones to speak, to sing, to hand out liberally to the women in the pews who had gathered on a chilly, rainy Saturday morning. I was one hundred percent confident in what they needed to hear. But I was also one hundred percent confident in my inability to convey the message rightly. In short, I felt like a walking disaster.
Your weakness is a gift.
Much of what I have learned about God’s kindness to us in trials comes from my own experience with physical pain. It’s not just a story I share because I can’t think of anything else to explain the truth of God’s ability to redeem the broken things in our lives for good. No, it has been one of the main catalysts for my understanding that what I need most in times of suffering is not relief from it but confidence in God’s nearness in the midst of it. When I lived with an undiagnosed disease that was robbing me of health and sanity, it was God’s presence that propelled me through the pain and uncovered my heart’s true longing for Him. It is what drove me to the Scriptures with single-minded desperation. It is what God used to train me to love His Word.
Being in remission for the better part of the last two years has meant that pain is a memory that is faded at the edges. I’ve basked in nearly two years of normalcy and sleep and health. And then, like an uninvited guest, my pain shows up unwelcome and unannounced, no longer a sepia toned reminiscence. Usually it means I’m not handling stress well, but regardless of its impetus, physical pain will hold me captive to my broken body for as long as I live. There is no cure for my disease(s); I will not die from them but with them. The effects of my disease pop up when I need them not to. Unfortunately, any kind of stress–even mere anticipation of something good–can trigger physical pain, anxiety, and insomnia. In other words, when I need to be at my best, my body tends to be at its worst.
So, a few weeks back when I was prepared and ready to take a stage for an hour and a half, I found myself the night before lying awake in bed with heart palpitations, nausea, and pain shooting up my spine. I wasn’t nervous about the event; I had looked forward to it all week. I tossed and turned, prayed and fretted. Eventually, I walked the floors of the basement suite that were graciously given to me by some members of the host church. I recited every Scripture I could call to memory, staying specifically in Psalm 23. “This is when I know that You are with me, down here in the valley of physical suffering, Lord.” Why does my body rebel when I need to rely on it the most?
It’s incredibly frustrating to think you’re a dependable, self-sufficient person but to feel trapped in a body that is only reliably unreliable. It’s also exactly how the Lord likes to use us.
After sleeping less than two hours, my alarm buzzed at 6 am, and I dragged myself out of bed to get some coffee. Once procured, I sat with my Bible intending to read Psalm 107, which is one of my favorite spots to land when I’m feeling frazzled. How could I face a room full of women when I felt so physically unable to perform? Who am I to even take a stage? What can I bring to the table that hasn’t been said a thousand times before? “I’m weak, Lord,” I told Him. But I realized in that moment that weak is how He wants me. Weak is a good place to be. Our weakness is where we get to see His strength. I read through Psalm 107, but I got distracted by the words of the next psalm, written by David.
“My heart is confident, God; I will sing; I will sing praises with the whole of my being. Wake up, harp and lyre! I will wake up the dawn. I will praise You, Lord, among the peoples; I will sing praises to You among the nations. For Your faithful love is higher than the heavens, and Your faithfulness reaches to the clouds…God has spoken in His sanctuary: ‘I will triumph!'” (Ps. 108:1-4, 7b).
It struck me that the confidence David had was not in himself but in his God, whose declaration of triumph connotes a sure, certain victory. David’s response to the Lord’s ability is praise, all praise.
Paul’s thorn.
My phone dinged with a text not long after that. My mom had known I was feeling rough and sent the words of the apostle Paul to encourage me to do the good work set before me, no matter how my body protested. Paul was no stranger to suffering; his life was marked by persecution for the sake of the gospel of Christ. Even so, it must have been tempting at times to boast in the wideness of his ministry, the soundness of his doctrinally-heavy elocution, the far-reaching grasp of his reputation as a messenger of the gospel. If you are in Christian ministry, you understand the temptation there. If we’re not working for wealth or possessions, we’re tempted by notoriety or by how well we use our gifts.
I don’t think Paul was immune here. He was given a “thorn in the flesh” to keep him from boasting in his own strength, and though we cannot know what it was that tormented him, we do know he prayed to be released from it at least three times. His words (and the ones my mother sent to me that rainy, frazzled morning) communicate what we all need to lean into when we can’t understand our weaknesses in light of the work God has set before us:
“But He said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is perfected in weakness'” (2 Cor.12:9a).
I prayed through the words, pleaded with the Lord to let my confidence find its home in Him alone. There was no other source of confidence that day. My body was rebelling and my brain was cluttered with the fog that accompanies my pain. I dressed, drove to the event, and found myself sharing my physical weaknesses with the event coordinators so they could pray for me. I didn’t want to admit it; I wanted to appear confident and sure of myself. I didn’t want them to regret asking me to take the stage. But, I knew that I needed their intercession more than I needed an appearance of self-sufficiency. The words prayed over me in that small room off the sanctuary were a balm to my quivering soul. The same words of Paul filled the air, and I knew that this was my reminder that God’s grace was sufficient for me. Not my ability. Not my gifts. Not my intelligence. Only His grace. If anything good came from the stage, it would only be because He was with me, perfecting His power in my very present weaknesses. And I when I took the stage and found my seat at the piano, when I opened my notes and dove into an explanation of God’s presence in our suffering as displayed through the life of Joseph, when I sang the words about God’s faithfulness in my own present physical pain–I knew I was experiencing God’s strength in my weakness firsthand.
After the event, my spine was on fire. I stood for more than an hour and spoke with women from all walks of life, and we shared with one another how God was faithful even in the ugliest stories. A older woman with a lovely Scottish lilt to her voice gripped my hands and prayed that God would be powerful in my weakness. Gripped by pain and mental exhaustion, I stood there with tears in my eyes. The irony wasn’t lost on me. It’s always after an event when God uses the hearers to bless the messenger. Perhaps they want to say thank you, but really they are saying what I need to hear, “You are weak, and He is strong.” Afterwards, I sat in my car in the parking lot before the long trip home and wept with the relief that comes from being spent on exactly the right thing in exactly the weakest way.
If there were reason to boast in myself, then I would get the praise, and what a short-sighted, vainglory it would be. But, the Lord has seen fit to remind me of my frailty, to keep me up at night with a dependency on His strength. And though I hate the pain, the foggy head, the sick stomach, the inability to simply go to sleep, I am deeply grateful that the Lord has made it abundantly clear that my weakness is where He delights to work. For in this, He gets the glory. He does. And on my best/worst days, that’s my desire.
“Therefore, I will most gladly boast all the more about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may reside in me. So I take pleasure in weaknesses, insults, catastrophes, persecutions, and in pressures, because of Christ. For when I am weak, then I am strong” (2 Cor. 12:9b-10).
He will be strong in your weakness.
Maybe your weakness isn’t a physical thorn. Maybe it’s mental. Or maybe it’s your backstory, your pre-conversion tale. Maybe it’s the sin that once held you in a suffocating vise. Maybe you speak of it as often as possible so it loses its power every time you back it up against the power of the gospel. Or maybe, like me, your thorn crops up when you need it the least and you wonder how in the world you will accomplish the good work God has set before you. This is the place, friend. This is where He delights in displaying His power–right in the middle of your weakest weakness. He will not share His glory with another, but He will gladly display it in you.
This is where He delights in displaying His power--right in the middle of your weakest weakness. He will not share His glory with another, but He will gladly display it in you. Share on XBeing a messenger with a limp is not a curse; it’s a gift. Broken vessels don’t usually display the strength of their makers, but in the upside-down realm of the kingdom of God, they absolutely can. When tasked with the work of spreading the gospel message, and I’d argue that we all are, you can be confident in His certain triumph. You can be certain that He will be strong in your weakness. You may flop, you may lose your train of thought, you might stutter over your words, you might forget a point, you may not see a return for your work, but You can be sure that His words will not return void. Your thorn may pierce you deeply, but it is only a thorn and it is only momentary. The certain triumph of the Lord our God means that He will accomplish His work. One of the resulting graces of His work is your eternal thorn-free life in His presence forever. And perhaps the kingdom of heaven will be a bit more populous than you expected because the Lord was pleased to be strong in your weakness.
Press on, Christian. He will be strong in your weakness.
Photo by Kristina Flour on Unsplash
Glenna Marshall is married to her pastor, William, and lives in rural Southeast Missouri where she tries and fails to keep up with her two energetic sons. She is the author of The Promise is His Presence (P&R) and Everyday Faithfulness (Crossway), and Memorizing Scripture (Moody). Connect with her on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter.
Katie says
I could have written this myself except I would never play the piano in public. But the sickness I battle is also accompanied by the emotional struggle of the damage done from a lifetime of hurt, betrayal and abuse from those I love even now at 50 years of age. I have stopped speaking because I don’t trust my ability to drive anymore. I have given up on my dreams and battle depression as a part of the numerous illnesses I battle daily including those you mentioned you battle. It is so bad that I have decided that if this is going to be with me till I die, then I pray that day comes quickly.
Glenna Marshall says
Katie,
I am so sorry for the suffering you have endured and are presently enduring. It’s hard to make sense of betrayal on top of physical trials. After reading your comment a few times and sensing how deeply you are hurting, I feel that it would be such a comfort for you to be able to talk to someone in person about your struggles. I would recommend meeting with a local pastor or counselor in your area so you could share your burden and receive some in-person counsel and encouragement.
I hope you’ll read Kathy’s comment and prayer for you in the comment below. I echo her prayer that you will be surrounded by others who can come alongside you and help bear your burden with and for you. Sometimes our hurts and wounds lose their power a little when we can speak them aloud to people who will pray for us.
Thank you for sharing your words here so that I can pray for you.
Kathy McBroom says
Glenna, I love your words so much and you even more:) As a lady over 50 who has also dealt with pain for an extended period of my life, my heart breaks for “Katie”, who commented before me. So I am typing a prayer for her here-I knew that you wouldn’t mind. Katie, Glenna and I are very close sisters in Christ, and I am glad that you are following her blog. She speaks so well to what you are going through. It is not an accident that God has put her in your path.
“God, I want to bring Katie before you. Lord, I cannot begin to know someone else’s journey, but I do know you. God, I ask on behalf of Katie that you heal her emotionally from the years of pain that she has endured. I know that this may be a lifetime of a healing that comes through professionals that you have put in her path or will put in her path. I pray wisdom for those professionals and possibly her pastor, who will continue to point her to the One Who can heal anyone emotionally and physically anytime. God, we know that sometimes this side of heaven our emotional and physical pain may not subside, but just as Glenna writes, we trust that you will draw Katie close to you, wrapping your arms around her, showing her how deep your love for her is. You have a plan and a purpose that we cannot even comprehend, but I pray that Katie will be relieved of this physical and emotional pain in Jesus name. I pray that you will give her strength and courage as she clings to you. Surround her with Christians who will walk this journey with her. I pray that by your divine intervention she will see this post, realizing that she is not alone, and that your Word says that You will never leave us or forsake us. I thank you Father for Who you are and beg you to do exceedingly more that we can think or imagine, In the powerful matchless name of Jesus Christ our King, Amen.”
Love you Glenna! This blog was awesome!