Finding strength when we surrender to our own weaknesses.

The hardest part of experiencing God to be my strength in weakness is owning that I am weak.  I’ve set a standard for myself.  Or maybe it’s better to say I’ve developed an image of myself.  I’m the strong one. Anyone else resonating with Louisa Madrigal from Disney’s Encanto?  In the movie, each of the Madrigal family members have been given a unique gift. Louisa is the sister who has been given the gift (or maybe burden) of supernatural strength. She sings:

“Give it to your sister, your sister’s stronger

See if she can hang on a little longer

Who am I if I can’t carry it all?”

Louisa questions her value in the family if she slips up from being the strong one and acknowledges any area of weakness. While I have a firm sense of my own value as a daughter of God, I can still resonate with wearing the label of one who can carry it all.  

A confession

I’m not able to receive from God unless I’m okay with being the weak one. He promises that He will be my strength but that requires me surrendering to the truth of my own weakness.  I feel myself pushing away weakness in order to hold to a protective layer of how I view myself as well as believe others view me. How can I receive His strength if I’m already carrying my own self-made armor? I see so many friends around me in need and hurting right now.  And the thought that circles in my head is “this isn’t a good time to be weak. Others need you.” 

Here’s my confession.

I am weak.  I’m so very tired. I need Jesus. 

Oh how I need His presence.  His peace.  His strength.  The world feels chaotic in the ongoing pandemic.  Disagreeing perspectives.  Confusing information from so many organizations.  Christians pointing fingers at one another as to who is not doing enough.  It would be easier if we could see the gaping, bloody wounds on the outside of a person’s body instead of feeling the sting of their words.  Then, we might have more compassion for one another’s pain.  We might look on them with love and reach out to bandage the oozing sore or stitch up that deep cut.  We might offer relief from the pain instead of digging it open more.  

Barren branches

As I write, I look out the window at the barren trees in my backyard. I notice the strength of tall, aged trees.  How the trunks hold firm with the blowing of the wind.  As my eyes travel upward, I see the long, skinny branches coming off the trunk.  They vary in size but all sway side to side as the breeze hits them.  They are moving but don’t fall off.  I trace the farthest branch from the outer edge all the way back to the base and notice how it’s connected to the strength of the tree trunk.  

And I remember Jesus’ words about another union between branches.

“I am the Vine, you are the branches. When you’re joined with me and I with you, the relation intimate and organic, the harvest is sure to be abundant. Separated, you can’t produce a thing. Anyone who separates from me is deadwood, gathered up and thrown on the bonfire. But if you make yourselves at home with me and my words are at home in you, you can be sure that whatever you ask will be listened to and acted upon. This is how my Father shows who he is—when you produce grapes, when you mature as my disciples.”

John 15: 5-8

The branches on the trees in my backyard are barren of any color.  The ones that have fallen to the ground, separated from the tree trunk, will be collected and burned up in our firepit in the spring. But the ones that remain connected to the strength of the tree, will endure the winter, the snowstorms, the bitter wind. And come spring, they will flourish with green leaves again.

I am weak.  The pandemic feels like a long winter.  Where all the beauty of color has been stripped away.  The words of the world slapping you in the face like an icy, bitter wind on your cheeks. The sun is shining with hopeful warmth but you step outside into the reality that winter is still here.  

Attached to Jesus

In my weakness, I’ll cling to the strength of the One whom I’m bound to.  He stays the same while I find myself swaying back and forth through the long winter.  His promises run deep like the roots into the ground.  And He won’t let me go.  I’ll stay joined to Him.  I want to be so intertwined in my relationship with Him that you can’t see where the branch ends and the trunk begins.

Jesus goes on to say this: “Make your home in me just as I do you…………Make yourselves at home in my love.”

Being at home with Jesus, means that I feel safe and secure in Him, no matter how I view myself in the moment. His love is the place where my weakness is welcomed.  Whether I’m putting on my self-made image of being strong or surrendering to weakness,  His love for me is unchanging.

He’s inviting us to let love be the home that we live in.  Not our broken, conditional, temperamental love.  But the love that receives us just as we are, into His family, with the promise that we are bound, as a branch is, to an ageless tree.  Resting in that kind of love, we are free to stretch out our arms and comfort those who are hurting, offering them the strength that comes from being attached to Jesus.  It frees us to speak words of compassion and a balm of kindness to the walking wounded in our lives. We can let go of the expectation to be the strong one and embrace that He has made His home in us, just as we are.