I Expect to be Strong
Every day, I expect strength. I expect that I will be disciplined, that my body will have energy, that my mind will be clear. I expect that I will be happy and loving, that I will want to pray. I expect I won’t be fatigued or faint, that I won’t have a headache, that my intestines won’t be angry, that my face won’t itch incessantly, that I won’t have random nerves firing or a squeezing sensation in my chest or allergies or asthma or any other excuse I have found to save my responsibilities for later, for when I am strong. Because… I am supposed to be strong.
What if God never wanted me strong? What if God gave me weakness in order to display his grace?
I have been given eight extra weeks to finish my classes. Eight weeks full of grace. What have I done with them? Waited around for strength and got nothing done. I’ve been to the doctor, got six vials of blood drawn, scheduled for an MRI and health management counseling, and waited and waited for some kind diagnosis. My eight weeks are almost up, and I have neither a diagnosis, nor completed coursework to show.
Instead of waiting around for a good day, or a bottle of pills, maybe I ought to be trusting, instead, in the divine mercy, expecting to be weak. What would it mean to glory in my weakness? I don’t know. I think I will only understand once I do.
This post is not elegant; but it’s the best I can offer right now. And it happened. More things need to happen before July 2. I am so very weak.
