You think I’m strong because I hunt and harvest big game. But you—you who devote every ounce of energy to keeping your family fed by working inside or outside of your home—you are stronger.
You think I’m strong because I twice carried babies for nine months and felt the pangs of birth at home with no epidural. But you—you who carried babies to less than full term and endured the pangs of loss with no hope of healing in sight—you are stronger.
You think I’m strong because I can still function despite night after night of waking to tend needy children. But you—you who sleep soundly but awaken day after day to the loud silence of a childless home—you are stronger.
You think I’m strong because I don a tough outer shell to hide inward crumbling. But you—you who aren’t afraid to reveal vulnerabilities and bare your soul with abandon—you are stronger.
You think I’m strong because I manage to maintain the upper hand with my strong-willed child. But you—you who maintain patience and grace as you parent children with special needs—you are stronger.
You think I’m strong because I lift up the hurting in fervent prayer. But you—you who are drowning in a sea of desperation yet expend a precious breath to whisper “Jesus”—you are stronger.
You see, we can attain great strength by doing pull-ups, running marathons, or doing other bodily exercises; but we gain a greater strength when we pull ourselves up from rock bottom, simply put one foot in front of the other, and exercise as much or as little faith as we might have, drawing from the greatest Source of strength.
So to you who think I am strong: Yes, yes I am.