It’s When I Am Weak That I Am Strong

If any of you are fighting a battle or going through something painful, you are not alone. And yes, there are resources to help navigate the thorny path. I am thankful for the book "Life Is Messy" by Matthew Kelly. Reading it liberated me from the fallacy that painful moments should be swept under the rug. It opened my eyes to a full understanding that life truly is messy—and get this—for everyone on this planet.

I have to say, it was a powerful realization! So powerful that, although I’ve always known—like we all do—that life isn’t perfect, that no one’s life is perfect, it’s only today that I’ve fully grasped it. Imagine that!

You see, many people feel they have to suffer in silence, believing their struggles make them weak or less favored by God. After all, we tend to think that blessings come only to those who find favor with Him. But this is a mentality that needs to be corrected, as there are many saints whose lives were filled with suffering, yet they were still pleasing to God

However, though, the truth, as the author explained, we all experience messiness—pain, heartbreak, uncertainty. The beauty is in realizing we’re not alone and that healing comes when we face the mess, not hide from it.

Matthew Kelly’s "Life is Messy" has resonated with me and with many others in the world because it offers that raw, honest perspective. I'm still in the first few pages of the book, yet I feel an urge—a compelling courage—waiting to be unleashed, pushing me to talk about how I dealt with my pain in the past. It is that powerful!

So has there been a particular moment in the book that really hit home, even in the first few pages?

ABSOLUTELY! And honestly, this is the very first time I am sharing it...

Pain is a universal experience. No one escapes it. It surely is part of life. Sometimes, we bring it upon ourselves—learning the hard way through youthful mistakes, gullibility, ignorance, or naivety. Don’t we refer to those as “learning experiences?”

Pain, at other times, it’s inflicted by others. And then, there are moments when suffering simply arrives, uninvited, because that’s just life. The inevitable ones, truths about life that we aren't ready for because we always wanted to believe that it won’t happen anytime soon. That kind of pain, along with others that can be equally daunting, is capable of draining every ounce of energy or tearing at the fraying fabric of our lives.

In nearly six decades on this planet, I’ve had my share—maybe even more than what others were getting. Pain, that to me was far severe than what the others were fighting. After all, pain as we know it, is subjective.

There were seasons when just as I was catching my breath from one blow, another blow hit, fiercer than the last. It felt relentless. And each time, it tested my character, my faith, and my will to keep going. It was easy to feel like those little chicks in the rain without their mother hen. Their distressed chirping competes for the whirling of the winds and downpour. Lost in the chaos all around. And for me, was a frightening thought at what’s to come because it felt like having fallen into a deep hole, and there was nothing to hold onto to climb my way out of it.

The hardest blows felt like a never-ending nightmare, suffocating and inescapable. I searched for the light at the end of the tunnel, only to wake up and realize the darkness still surrounded me. Many nights, my pillow was soaked with tears, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on me. That uncertainty is not knowing I can get back up and my head help up. Questions filled my head, "Would I ever recover from it?" This unknown slowly drained my joy, stealing the good that was still waiting to be lived.

Whenever I saw this ad on TV—a woman holding up a paddle with a smiley face drawn on one side and a depressed face on the other—I felt a connection. The message behind the ad depicted what I was going through. 

I withdrew. I avoided people, dreading even a simple "hello" that might lead to a conversation I wasn’t ready for. I walked with my eyes forward, dodging familiar faces, fearing I’d have to pretend I was okay when I wasn’t. On more than one occasion, I knew someone was trying to catch up with me in a store, calling my name—but I kept walking away, pretending not to hear, because the thought of faking a smile or fabricating small talk was unbearable. Just too exhausting. I wasn’t ready. I needed space.

Day after day, I simply endured, surviving each moment rather than living it. The exhaustion was profound. The battle raged on, and for a long time, it felt like it was winning.

But deep inside, I held onto hope. I knew, somehow, that there would come a day when I could finally say, "I made it." I just didn’t know when. So, I prayed—desperate, raw, pleading prayers. And then, one day, the day I had longed for finally arrived.

"Free at last!"

Looking back, I see how the enemy of my soul had whispered lies into my wounds—self-defeating thoughts that convinced me I was to blame, that I was a failure. And for too long, I believed them.

But the truth is, I was never defeated. I was being refined. My survival was not just about enduring pain but about reclaiming the truth: By His stripes, I've been healed. I am victorious!

There was a church we frequented during those times of deep emotional turmoil that played a key role in strengthening my faith. A large banner hung outside its facade, so visible that it can be seen from the parking lot depicting Jesus walking on water with His hand reaching out to Peter. I’m telling you, it moved me deeply as we approached the entrance, each and every time we attended the Sunday Mass. In that moment, I felt like Peter, being saved from an otherwise drowning situation.

That banner remained there for months.

Here is the part where I knew God was reaching out to me—though there are many churches in our area, it was interesting that we were drawn to this one parish which is even in another city. At first, I thought attending the Masses there was just part of my coping mechanism—to avoid people that I know—but as our turned out in the end, there was more to it. God wanted me to see that banner, and to see it for months, until the time came when I can be sure-footed again. God, with all His amazing love, has ways to reach out to each one of us.

Just like in the banner, Jesus lifted me, and He’s always ready to reach out when we feel ourselves drifting—when all our energy has been spent battling life’s storms. It’s in those moments that He offers His strength to help us move past it.

This is why in the scriptures it says, “When I am weak, then I am strong.” (2 Corinthians 12:10)

Now is your turn to share your stories ingrained with a heavenly touch. Shoot me a message, I’d love to hear your thoughts. 

Many Blessings!