This past week we volleyed a bad cold. The youngest two got hit the worst, as usual, and many days were spent trying my best to keep them comfortable. Both babies would want held at the same time, and considering the third baby I am always holding, it could often get overwhelming. I was thankful for Carol’s oversized recliners, that I could seat each one on a chair arm and maybe convince them they were in my arms. Times we spent like that I would get to thinking about something a guest speaker at our old church said about me, when he heard I (then) had four children under four: “She doesn’t have enough hands.” He was trying to make a point about how hard parenthood was in his talk, but I’ve always taken it as condescending, like “that poor thing”. Statements like that, along with “You have your hands full!” are ones to feed on in times of self pity: “Yeah, Lord, I couldn’t possibly be up to this task- don’t expect too much of me!”
The longer I live, though, the more I realize that this is kinda the whole point of Christianity- doing things that I could never do in my own strength. Taking up this thing called faith and actually walking in it. The Bible is full of weaklings; it seems the weaker they were, the more they were honored, if they let God live through them. So, when I think back to what that man said, or any time someone’s words tempt me to feel sorry for myself, I want to remember the truth of the situation. My arms aren’t big enough, but they don’t need to be.
We can only know
The power that He holds
When we truly see how deep our weakness goes;
His strength in us begins
Where ours comes to an end.
He hears our humble cry and proves again . . .
His strength is perfect when our strength is gone;
He’ll carry us when we can’t carry on.
Raised in His power, the weak become strong;
His strength is perfect, His strength is perfect.
~Steven Curtis Chapman, His Strength Is Perfect