I am weak.
I used to think I could change the world
with machine-like
force.
Turns out I’m weak. Really weak.
Anxiety-weak.
Overwhelmed-by-tasks-to-the-point-of-
inaction
weak.
The-house-is-a-mess-and-I’m-not-even-
employed
weak.
Weak.
What I am is
dependent.
Dependents are not strong.
They are helpless.
Incapable of
self-care.
And isn’t that the truth —
isn’t that me?
A child,
or a slightly senile senior?
Often embracing reality
as something that it’s not
Expecting my self to be better than
I am,
Untethered to reality.
But all the while, safe and
cared for.
Because I depend on my Father.
He lets me sink into His chest,
a comfort in utter exhaustion
from the burdens I compel my
self to carry.
He is good,
drenching all of His dependents in
love
and affection
and adventure
In a letter from the Apostle Paul to the early church in Corinth:
“Therefore, in order to keep me from becoming conceited, I was given a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me.8 Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. 9 But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. 10 That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.” (2 Corinthians 12)
Originally published at http://tiffanyciccone.com on March 9, 2019.
