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We live in a world that constantly drills into us that we must deliver. Be strong, function, maintain control, and above all, show no weakness. And then life comes around the corner with a force that completely pulls the rug out from under us: a heavy loss, an illness, the feeling of standing before a massive pile of shards. Suddenly, it is pitch black, and all trained strength vanishes in a second.
At this exact point, something happens that can hardly be grasped with pure logic. When we are at our wit’s end, when the facade crumbles and we have absolutely nothing left to show—that is exactly where a space begins in which God becomes tangible. Not as a loud drumroll from above that makes all problems disappear with the snap of a finger. But as a quiet yet unwavering power that is made perfect in weakness.
This is the true consolation: we do not have to be invulnerable at all. When our own strength is exhausted, we may open our hands and stop fighting. Faith does not mean that the sun is always shining or that pain magically disappears. Rather, faith means experiencing that in the midst of the deepest darkness, a light glimmers that the darkness cannot extinguish. Sometimes this light is tiny—an unexpected gesture, a breath of stillness, a moment of inner peace that actually makes no sense because everything around us is shaking.
It is the knowledge of a supporting foundation that reaches deeper than any abyss into which we can fall. Even when everything we have relied on until now breaks away: we do not fall into a bottomless pit, but into hands that hold us.
Weakness is not failure. It is the moment when we stop trying to save ourselves and realize that someone has long been there carrying us through—step by step, through the night and into the light.
God’s power,
mighty in weakness,
light in the darkness,
the sustaining foundation of our lives.
