God's Grace (In?)Sufficient

“To Be Nothing”

I am afraid.

To be as the quiet of a dead conversation;

Empty as the blank page,

Waiting for the world to critique

On my sense of being.

I know what it means

To be nothing.

Lacking…

Inferior…

Worthless…

Before the second of my first breath,

A stroke past the eleventh hour

Presupposed my purpose deficient.

Hurt.  Weak.  Broken.

Nerves, tendons and muscular tissue

Frozen

In a useless position. 

The shame witnessed

In the juxtaposition of my hands.

Stupid handicap.

Try and convince me people won’t see…

They will...and they will also agree          

To it as the curse I have believed.

I dread being left

To be nothing.

Since the world has asked for the definition

Of my existence, I sought to prove a resolution

For a considered “failure” in humanity.

Run faster.  Throw harder.  Become stronger.

Grace is sufficient, but for me?

Do you remember what history has done

To individuals like me?  They ridicule and tease;

Spit and accuse; condemn and execute!

And yet, You dare tell me Your strength is perfect

In my weakness?!  I do not want to have to admit

I need You!  Nevertheless, in truth, I do.

O God!  There lies the confession.

I will dissuade the eyes

To persuade the mind

I am something much more

Than I fear I am not.   

“Only as strong as the weakest link”; not me!

Pride so hidden, it has been believed to be self-esteem.

Out of my own capabilities, I become something

To forget the disability.  I battle for my own

Glory.

It is safer to fight against false labels

Painted upon your skin than to be washed clean into a blank space

On this canvas I call, “Me.” Will there be repentance?

The Creator’s intention has been shrouded from manifestation;

Scars from Lucifer’s lies have marred my being.

Dear mind: remember Him who specifically picked out the silk,

Having woven meticulously and wondrously in my mother’s womb.

Sovereign Lord, out of nothing, created

A masterpiece who’s boasting is in the signature it bears. 

 

 

“And He said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in your weakness.’  Therefore most gladly I will rather boast in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me…For when I am made weak, then I am strong.”              -2 Corinthians 12:9, 10b

        I do not like to be weak.  Actually, who does?  But I especially don’t like being considered weak, and will avoid being noticed as such at all costs.  I suffered a stroke before I was born, and this then resulted in living with cerebral palsy on my right side.  Through different forms of therapy, I have been able to do many different things.  I can speak, articulate thoughts, play sports, and instruments, to name a few.  Honestly, (I apologize for the cliché) anything I put my mind to, I can do.  It might take me longer or a greater effort, but give me enough time, and I can do it just as well as you.

       The paradox in all of this?  If you met me in person, I bet you didn’t even notice my right hand.  Yes, my hand.  Its size is that of a small child; the wrist stiffened and bent outward; enclosed, it looks like that of a limp fist.  And it is by this hand that I believe that you will judge my capabilities as an individual.  Perhaps you didn’t notice it, and you would think me absurd to be so fearful of your thoughts toward me.  You would be right.  How absurd.  Yet, could you blame me when society prides itself on the strength of an individual?  Today, we exercise encouragement towards people who live with (any form of) disabilities, but it’s not always the case.  There is judgement, and that judgement is labeled, “Invalid.”

       There’s two ways of pronouncing this word.  “In-vuh-lid” or “in-valid”.  Worthless.  Because to be weak means to be nothing.  And to be nothing beckons the question of existence.  I realize how absurd this line of thinking, but for my whole life, I worried that if I showed any weakness, then I wouldn’t be accepted.  By classmates, teachers, family, friends.  I absolutely hate it when people see my physical being and judge my amount of accomplishments based on perceived capabilities.  So, ever since I was a little girl, I pushed myself harder.  Granted, I have always pushed myself in activities I genuinely enjoy.  (I didn’t go out for softball, just so I could prove that I could play.  But…you better believe that I would throw as far as I could just so someone couldn’t question my validity as an equal player with my team.) 

       This sense of fear birthed a sense of pride.  I love being able to do things, and I like to be strong.  Physically, I love how strong my left side is, and I lift weights to build up my gun (yes, I did just refer to my biceps as a gun.  Let’s just move along).  Growing up, my strengths weren’t just in sports.  I followed suit of my father’s side of the family, and picked up music.  I love writing and photography.  While in school, I was known for my intellect, and I would help my classmates with their homework, or would lead in group projects.  It’s pretty cool being wanted.  Being needed.  It’s wonderful when people can look at you with a smile.  It’s good to know that your existence is desired for a purpose.  And, if you saw the good in me, then perhaps I could distract you long enough to forget the apparent brokenness of my being. 

       No one directly told me I was broken.  Or worthless.  No one told me that I was a mistake, or that God screwed up when He was making me.  My parents did show me how much of a joy I was as a child, and they didn’t ever make me any less of a human just because I lived with cerebral palsy (later, a seizure disorder).  Perhaps my sense of being as weak and nothing came from classmates’ teasing.  I couldn’t tell you exactly.  However, I learned (or thought) very young that my living with a lack of physical wholeness amounted to being inferior, as well as burdensome. 

       The irony in all of this, is that the strength (in whatever capabilities) I attempted to demonstrate transpired to other areas of life.  I “knew” that to be weak not only meant to be nothing, but it also meant to be in need.  Ever since I could remember, I have hated being in need.  This manifests into the prideful coming through to help people (which, isn’t necessarily bad, but it can be overdone to a certain extent.  And before we continue on in the quarter-century processing of my thoughts, might I clarify that I never saw someone else as inferior just because they were in need.  I, introvertedly, criticized myself.  If it makes it more understandable, it’s similar to how girls will see other ladies as beautiful (no matter the size), but never can see themselves as beautiful.  Sorry guys, don’t have a better analogy to offer at the moment.), as well as refusal to receive assistance.  Even when in need of it.  I don’t like people worrying about me.  So, I will carry so much, physically, mentally, spiritually, etc.…so that the concern of a situation does not have to be borne by others.  My dad has to remind me that by not asking for help, I then rob someone else their ability to bless.  Good wisdom, but sometimes it’s hard to put into practice when innately, I believe that weakness is a definition of your worth.

       Nevertheless, in living life it’s easy to forget things and go about things as usual.  You go to school or work, go to social events, and Bible studies.  You pray and become active in community events.  You counsel and teach/parent.  The list can go on.  One can only carry so much.  But you wouldn’t hear that from me.  Because I know that my physical capabilities are more than what it appears, and because I know that I have strengths that are useful and needed in a community, I will then refuse to recognize (either consciously or unconsciously) the need for assistance.  Even if that includes God.  Thus comes to the point of the poem you just read.  What spurred it on?  I know that God is my strength, and I also know the 2 Corinthians verse I quoted.  However, it’s easy to let it blur in your memory…that is, until you are on your couch reading, and the verse is there in black and white.

       “For My strength is perfect in your weakness.”

       My response?  “But I don’t want to be weak.” 
       Actually, it was more bitter sounding:  "Ah heck no!" 
       It was a hard pill to swallow.  How do you tell a woman who has lived her life avoiding being the feeble that it’s okay to be weak, because that’s when God’s strength is made perfect? Yikes!  Now, to be completely honest, I knew that the resistance was due to pride.  A pride that I have been well-aware of for years.  But I still couldn’t imagine that I would have to become nothing.  (After all, I had also defined, for years, that to be weak is the equivalent to being nothing.)  I have wanted to be strong for so long, that I have learned to rebel against anything which would reveal me or humble me as weak.

        I want God’s grace to be sufficient, but have I been agreeing with His sufficiency, if I still depend upon my ability to bring about things?

       I don’t think I was.  I have learned to trust God with my soul and my life, but there was one thing I have held back.  Out of fear that the lack in me would then define me as nothing, I fought to prove that I was somebody.  I struggled with my identity as Laura Emily Hall.  Why else would I innately run away from Paul’s statement of being nothing (2 Corinthians 12:11)?  I couldn’t hide it there anymore.  The mixing of God’s strength in place of my weakness was written clear as day.  And if I disagreed with God’s Word, then that means I am in the wrong, and I needed to be re-aligned.

     What was needed was a re-defining of the term, “nothing”.  Repentance is needed; a giving of this deep-rooted lie back to my Father so He can do away with it.  I know that I am nothing without God.  But in this circumference of identity, I also wanted to know that I am loved, worth something.  I want to know there is purpose to me, and it started becoming clear that this person I call “me” wasn’t about me.  It’s not about me.  I’m not the focus.  I finally had to admit that there were lies I believed, and ironically, I needed to become nothing; wipe away those lies from my being, to allow God to repaint me into the woman I am meant to be.  Moreover, the purpose of this is not to glory in myself, but in the signature of the author who made me. 

       Now, the question that remained was, “Will I surrender myself to God, and let Him be the fulfillment of my identity (and grace)?”  I can’t tell you if I disbelieved that God could make me a masterpiece; all I know is that I wanted to prove to people that I was a masterpiece.  That is the clincher to this whole messy web.  I know that God is truth, but was it good enough to sustain how I looked at myself in the mirror despite what people may say (or not say)?  I guess, in actuality, the answer was no.  I was declaring God’s grace insufficient, because I had determined the value of who I am by others.  Yet, I knew after reading 2 Corinthians 12:9,10b that I needed to let go of my so-fought-for self-esteem.  I had to forget this nothingness that I feared in becoming.

       Ha!  God is so good.  When you search Him out, He will answer.

       After a couple of days, I saw a video of people with disabilities quoting Psalms 139:1-18.  If you are not familiar with it, it describes how God created each and every one of us perfectly.  I decided to take a deeper glance in the Bible.  Verse 13 says, “You formed my inward parts; You covered me in my mother’s womb.”  Now, I doubt that God decided to give me a stroke, but what this (whole chapter) was revealing was God’s authority (and signature) on who I am is greater than any “review” or critic in this world.  I have been perfectly made!  And whatever physical attribute or talent I have is only because the threads picked were sewn together by the Creator Himself.  Even in my ‘something’, the praise goes back to God!

       The last stanza may be a bit confusing after hearing such a freedom gained in this process.  I guess I decided to make the poem focus on the struggle of accepting the truth of needing my God’s strength.  Nevertheless, I know that I can’t stay the same way, and that is what I tried to elude with my last words.  At this moment, there is a need for a renewing of my mind (Ephesians 4:23).  I need things redefined and reorganized, so that I may confidently stand in this amazing truth that I am a daughter who is made in the image of God.  GOD.  That is my Daddy.  I carry His DNA in my blood.  Yet, I see from a distance the pressures to not allow others to see my faults, my failings, my weaknesses.  The temptation: if I open up, then I would once again become worthless and unlovable.  Truth is, I am holding onto this revelation about God’s grace and my identity, but there is still more to be done.  More of my heart to surrender and be healed.  More of walking away from the chains I have been loosed from (Psalms 116:16).