Strength is an ugly business

If you go to Google and type in "beauty in strength", it'll spit over 5000 results back at you. Type in "strength is ugly" and you'll get two (well, at least until this entry hits the Google spider).

The idea that "being strong" is somehow attractive - physically or otherwise - makes me want to call "...uuuuh, bullcrap?". It was a Monday and there I was, sitting on my unmade bed in front of the vanity, pouring out my thoughts, questions, paranoia and tears to Grace over the phone. God was speaking to both of us in frighteningly similar ways and we were both finding it (practically) impossible to walk the road at which He kept pointing. I'd been crying for nearly three hours straight and when I caught a good look at myself "being strong" in the mirror I wanted to laugh (but I probably just cried some more). There was nothing "beautiful" about me at that moment, sucking snot as it dripped from my nose, mascara leaving black flakes in the purple rims underneath my eyes. It's a pretty hideous sight and I'll bet almost everyone can relate. I'm sure, at some point, you've also found yourself at the mercy of life, forced to crawl on your belly through raw sewage and decaying refuse not of your own making. And though you were wearing last year's jeans and hadn't shaved in weeks, those were the least of your problems because somewhere in the middle of it all you realized that the pungent smell of damp mildew and cat urine was coming off of you. But you were in the middle of the dump, neck-deep in literal and metaphorical crap, and you couldn't stop to make yourself presentable. All you could do was walk on.

"Strength is born in the deep silence of long-suffering hearts; not amid joy."

Years ago, I was failing following the "Body For Life" program, and one of the only things I haven't repressed I took away from it is the science behind strength training. Contrary to what your average yokel usually assumes, muscle tissue isn't formed during the workout proper. When you're curling or squatting or crunching, what you're really doing is tearing at the muscle that's already there. It isn't until those few days of extreme pain and regret after that your body begins to repair the "damage" you've masochistically inflicted. What makes this worthwhile is the fact that the repairs your body makes to itself are greater than what they were prior to the beating. It's like driving your Kia Rio into a telephone pole except, rather than just getting a face-full of windshield, you're also given a brand new Lexus SC coupe.

"The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places," says Hemingway. "Well, that sucks," says I. "That's PANTS." (to which Hemingway says nothing because he's been dead since 1961). Am I supposed to be happy when I'm broken simply because "strength" is my reward?

"...does God want us to suffer? What if the answer to that question is yes? See, I'm not sure that God wants us to be particularly happy... He wants us to grow up. I suggest to you that it is because God loves us that He gives us the gift of suffering... You see, we are like blocks of stone out of which The Sculptor carves the forms of man. The blows of His chisel which hurt us so much are what makes us perfect."

"Being strong" is one of the most frightening concepts because it requires one to go it alone. It's talked about often enough, the notion of bearing up each other's burdens, but I don't think it's possible nor should it even be attempted. We are given mountains to conquer that are very specific to our own lives and to lighten your own load onto someone else's shoulders is misguided. No one can ever truly know what God is working through you because He's working through YOU. Sure, in the beginning of each trial a crowd will gather to see you off and by the time you've started the ascent there'll still be a handful following to shout encouragement. The path will, inevitably, start to get steep though and what was once an enthusiastic congregation will have dwindled down to only one or two of the most resolute and loyal. At this point, you'll be getting short of breath and your baggage will be so unbearably heavy that you'll be tempted to ask one of your remaining companions to take it off your hands, and they might try. But you'll know that it's yours - and yours alone - to bear. After what feels like an eternity of stumbling and scraping uphill, the summit will break through the darkness of the trees and you'll find you're so close... but the final piece of your tour is a vertical hike and as you approach it, you'll find the path has room for only one. Even if your friends had come prepared to scale the wall (which they haven't), they'd still never have the chance to see the view from the peak. It isn't meant for them. It never was. They'll walk alongside you, cheer you on every step of the way, let you lean into them when your legs are weak... but in the end, the mountain is yours to conquer.

"Courage is doing what you're afraid to do. There can be no courage unless you're scared."

"Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgement that something else is more important than fear."

The heartiest, most stable people I know are the most timid. Those who see the danger this world presents every waking moment of their lives and still continue to set their alarm each night have more courage than I could ever dream. You'll never be strong if your life has no fear. If you're not afraid of the consequences of failure or where you'll wind up if you throw in the towel, you will have no reason to hold on. It is that distinct fear of falling before the finish line that will keep you going even when your heart, body and mind don't want to. Deeper than my desire for the blessings I believe are waiting at the end of this battle is my crippling dread of what could become of me if I lost. I want the prize, yes, but even more so I want the confidence that comes from knowing I'll have no regrets.

When the race is over it won't be the ones that crossed the line first that will be strongest. They'll stroll past, barely out of breath, hardly sweating an ounce and they'll believe it's their own determination that carried them. The race was easy, quick - almost enjoyable. When the "losers" come straggling in, hours later, they'll feel a twinge of pity. They'll think it's a shame that it wasn't quite so easy for the others. But if you're only competing in races you're certain you can win, you're nothing but a complete pussy. "The greater difficulty, the more glory in surmounting it. Skillful pilots gain their reputation from storms and tempests." It's the beat-up, bedraggled and exhausted who gasped for breath as they crawled over the finish long after the lauding crowd had gone home that have reason to smile proudly. It hurt and still they kept going. If it isn't bringing tears to your eyes from the pain and you can bid it farewell without flipping it the bird, you had it too easy - but you did not have it good.

To be able to say you've found strength is to admit that life, at one time, was anything but beautiful. It was a crawl through a garbage heap, a lonely journey through a night with no moon and no stars to guide you, a leaky dinghy in the middle of the sea with a hurricane looming. It smelled like shit, kicked your ass and then laughed. You clung to that last thread of hope, certain that it wasn't enough to hold you but praying that somehow it would. If you're strong now it's because you once weren't, "but through it all, clung to faith".

"God places the heaviest burden on those who can carry its weight." So if you feel weak now, be proud that He believes in you enough to weigh you down. Then pray that those who have it easy get the same blessing. No one finds strength by taking an easier road.

"I would have despaired unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the LORD in the land of the living. Wait for the LORD; be strong and let your heart take courage; Yes, wait for the LORD." (Psalms 27:13-14)