A Strength that Belies

As I sat in the waiting room, I knew I should feel more. His cries echoed throughout the whole area, as the technician and my husband tried to keep him calm long enough to get several x-rays. He hates “pictures.” The cold, dark room. The huge equipment. The strange sounds. The awkward positions. Though we’ve visited countless such rooms, it never gets any easier. And the fear that particular day was compounded by the waves of pain he was enduring.

As I sat in that waiting room, hearing the voice of my patient and kind husband and the screams of my “I’m-completely-over-this” child, I wondered what the others sitting in that waiting room were thinking. Just a handful of people scattered about, but in no way oblivious to X-ray Room #5.

A lady turned my way and our eyes locked. Tears streamed down her face. In barely a whisper, she said, “He has the sweetest face. And to think he’s in there, so afraid and unable to fully understand.”

I was so moved by this lady. To see that much compassion from a complete stranger is quite a rare thing. I wanted to burst into tears on the spot.

But I couldn’t.

Perhaps fatigue kept the tears at bay. Perhaps the experience of sitting in untold waiting rooms stopped them that day. Perhaps all the sweat and tears shed over ten years of tests, exams, needles, x-rays, CT scans, MRIs, ultrasounds, pressure tests, EEGs, and hospital stays have made me numb. Or perhaps I know that once the tears start rolling, they don’t want to stop.

Those tears did eventually come. As we rolled Johnnie back to the van and I told Jeremy about that sweet lady in the waiting room, I got choked up. Grief. It sits just under the surface. Always. Ever. Just waiting to boil over.

If you look at us, Jeremy and I, and see strength, it is most definitely a strength that belies. I’ve been thinking about this a lot over the past couple of months. I haven’t even been able to articulate it well. After a particularly hard day recently, as we literally laid in the bed staring at the ceiling in silence, Jeremy said, “I thought God made you a strong woman because we would live overseas, separated from family, face unknown struggles. But now I think He gave you strength for this. To endure. And put one foot in front of the other.”

Others often comment on how strong we are, unsure they could do it. And that’s just the thing. We can’t do it. I can’t. Any strength you see in me is a facade. A sham. A lie. It doesn’t come from deep within me. In and of myself.

The only strength I have . . . is from the Lord. The strength to get out of bed another day. The strength to face the unknown. The strength to watch my child suffer. The strength to literally move his growing body from point A to point B. The strength to endure another meltdown. The strength to die to self a thousand times over.

It’s not me. It’s Him. When I don’t run to Him in the early morning hours, it gets ugly real fast. It’s not good.

He alone is my Strong Tower. My Refuge. My Rock.

Honestly, I’ve struggled so much recently with blogging and social media. Who am I to share my thoughts? My life? Man . . . I have such a love/hate relationship with social media in general. It can never paint on accurate picture. It’s just a glimpse or a snapshot. I love that it gives me ability to stay in touch with people in different places, that friends near and far can see our kids change and share in our lives in a tiny way, but I also struggle and grieve for things just beyond my grasp when I see posts of people just living life. It’s so hard for me, a personal weakness.

Yet I keep getting drawn back to writing because I do have a story to tell. And it’s His story. He may use the circumstances of my life as the background, but it’s ultimately about Him.

His character.

His ways.

His strength.

The truth is . . . I will sit in other waiting rooms. I will console my deeply afraid boy. I will watch him roll down the hall on another hospital bed. I will watch my children make choices that hurt them and others. There will always be hard things. Always.

But . . . He is constant.

Steady.

Unchanging.

Faithful.

I will say it again and again and again. He is the strength of my life.

“I love you, O LORD, my strength. The LORD is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer, my God, my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold . . . For who is God, but the Lord? And who is a rock, except our God?–the God who equipped me with strength and made my way blameless . . . You have given me the shield of your salvation, and your right hand supported me, and your gentleness made me great.” (Psalm 18:1, 31-32, 35, ESV)

If He is enough for me, He is enough for you. And that is my story. That is why I share.

Take heart today.

Friend, if you are sitting in your own waiting room, whatever that may be, lean into His strength. Let others look and see a strength that belies, because it’s coming from the Lord and has nothing to do with your own strength. Then tell them as much!

He uses the very weak and frail things of this world to make His might known. This is one of the most beautiful truths of Scripture.

“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 of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong.” (2 Corinthians 12:9-10, ESV)

Be strong in Him and Him alone.