So Serious Saturday #17

Fiction needs a basis in reality. Exercising non-fiction muscles once in a while benefits an active imagination, channeling creative energies as it focuses on a subject. So Serious Saturdays will be an active place for critical essays or writing about reality in the context of real events - even when it is not written on Saturdays.

Type: Journal/Inspirational

More Than My Strength

     I stood before a plastic crate. The nurse placed rounds of metal weights inside: twenty-five pounds, twenty-five more, another . the first had been easy to lift. The second became heavy, but I managed to transfer it to the counter.

     The nurse distributed the weight of seventy-five pounds, over half of my body weight, in the crate on the cart. I did not know how I was going to pass this test. Small strength and mobility exercises between me and full-time employment seemed child's play now.

     My core muscles tightened over the memory of the last round of weights. Surely God would not let me go all this way through a process an let me fail now.

     The nurse nodded. "Now," he said.

     I approached the crate. My fingers tapped the handles, determining the weight. I might as well have tried to stir a boulder. I gripped the handles, widened my stance, and pulled upward with all my might.

     My arm sockets balked. Nothing had shifted; the crate occupied the same space. I still kept my hands in the handles, studying the crate, hoping that I could life it.

    My earlier prayers reiterated. "Lord, help me," my heart drummed, "as you helped imperfect Samson when he asked. Give me the strength of Samson for the proper moment."

     I crouched a tad lower in my straight stance. I tugged the crate up, and the weight lifted of the cart.

     I felt every pound, but I could lift it. Now it was a matter to bringing the crate high enough so I could shuffle-step to the nearest counter and place it down.

     My feet stuck firm to the linoleum under the perfect balance of my load. Core muscles came alive and moved my muscle groups in two directions; my arms lowered, but my lower legs rose. At the last moment of slipping stability my hips lifted.

     My tight stomach muscles propped the crate. Liberated legs and feet shuffled sideways once, twice, three times, before standing at the counter. My knees bent and very slowly I lowered the crate into the center of the space.

     That done, I let go of all tenseness. Jubilation and rest made me feel about a hundred pounds lighter. God had given me strength to pass the tests.

     It occurred to me that the small exercises I trained on sometimes capriciously may have helped with the weight, especially the fifty pounds, but not all of the poundage. Determination to obtain full-time employment with the organization I wanted also improved my energies, but willpower is only so strong. I could have been able to lift the weight all along, but I had never been allowed to lift that much by myself before, even when I was in better shape.

    No amount of training or determination could have lifted that crate if it was not for the power given by God when it was asked of him. Because he gave power in the proper moment, I was able to lift a burden that was honestly more than my strength. 

    I have seen that "I can do all things through him who gives me strength" Philippians 4:13 (NIV). Now it is up to me to ask for that strength when I need it, and use it wisely.