… on my own behalf I will not boast, except of my weaknesses—though if I should wish to boast, I would not be a fool, for I would be speaking the truth; but I refrain from it, so that no one may think more of me than he sees in me or hears from me. So to keep me from becoming conceited because of the surpassing greatness of the revelations, a thorn was given me in the flesh, a messenger of Satan to harass me, to keep me from becoming conceited. Three times I pleaded with the Lord about this, that it should leave me. 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 Cor. 12:5–10)
God’s power is made perfect in our weakness—do we really believe this? I am curious about what exactly Paul’s thorn in the flesh was, but I think it’s a mercy that we are not told this directly, and so we cannot know for sure. Perhaps then, it may be easier to apply Paul’s wisdom to our specific experience of whatever weakness looks like in our lives.
No one likes to feel weak and dependent, and maybe this is especially true in the Nordics. Our material wealth, social stability, and peaceful societies create the sense that we’re doing pretty well on our own. As Christians, we may like the idea of surrendering to a sovereign God—until we encounter the weakness that makes it not just an option, but a desperate necessity.
Limited by design
It is important to realize that when talking about weakness, we are not necessarily talking about sin. Sin and weakness are somewhat distinct categories, even though they can overlap. So, while many sins can also be considered a form of weakness, not all weakness is necessarily sinful. I was relieved when I realized I do not need to feel guilty or ashamed of my built-in limitations as a human being—God made me that way by his good design, even before the Fall. This was probably, in part, to remind us that God is God, and we are not.
In our need for sleep, we find a reminder of just that: think of how much more “productive” we could have been if we didn’t spend so many hours unconscious every night! But in needing sleep, we are reminded who governs and upholds the world (Ps. 135:6; Heb. 1:3)—and it is not us.
So, what happens when sleep suddenly seems impossible?
When sleep just doesn’t show up
I have recently experienced a season of severe stress-related sleep problems. I can keep going for quite some time, doing demanding tasks with little sleep, and I have done so before during certain seasons of my life. But this time was different. I was completely exhausted and desperately wanted to sleep, but my mind and body just would not let me. It was horrible. I wouldn’t wish it upon my worst enemies (if I have any). The more I tried to follow the good advice I knew (exercise, reduce caffeine and sugar, do relaxing things, etc.), the worse it seemed to get—the more I tried to control my sleep, the more elusive it became. I knew this cognitively, but it’s so hard to stop fighting for control when you are desperate.
I spent hours laying in my bed at night, heart pounding and anxiety flooding through my body. Exacerbated by my lack of sleep, my worries multiplied and made me mentally quite fragile, as my mind spiraled into the potential ‘what-ifs.’ Would I be able to function tomorrow in my emotionally demanding job? Would my sleeplessness mean I couldn’t keep my job? Would the lack of sleep make me physically sick? Would it ever end? It is slightly ironic to consider that, as a psychologist I have some knowledge about how to treat sleep problems, and my primary area of interest and specialization is anxiety. Why couldn’t I just fix myself?!
I prayed, begging God to solve my sleep problem. In one of my most desperate moments, I sat at my piano in the darkness of my (again sleepless) night, weeping and singing to God, playing quietly to not wake my neighbors.
In order to bear more fruit
Through times of prayer, alone and with others, I slowly came to this realization: perhaps there was a greater reason God was not simply “fixing” my sleep problem. Perhaps he was pruning me, in order that I might “bear more fruit,” as described in John 15:2. And what if God was not the harsh sports coach assigning me extra push-ups while keeping himself at a distance (which, to some degree, was my incorrect view of how God met me in my trials years ago)? No, what if God was tending to me, caring for me, and yes, pruning me like the tender Lover of my soul who wants me to experience fullness of joy?
What if he is gracious then, kind even, to remove the hindrances of incomplete surrender and partial dependence on him, knowing that my fullness of joy is fullest enjoyment of him, my sovereign Lord in all things? Maybe my weakness and desperation were actually an answer to the prayer I had been singing along with Jonathan Ogden’s beautiful song “Garden:”
Uproot anything hidden in me
That doesn’t belong there
Cut these tethers and set this heart free
Oh Merciful Gardener
Beware of what you pray!
During one of the excruciating sleepless nights, I scribbled down some really raw and honest prayers begging God for deliverance. I think this was right and good, and we see such raw honesty displayed throughout the Bible, particularly in the Psalms. But I also discovered that the turning point, the moment where my sleep problems began to ease, ever so slowly, was when I accepted whatever the consequences would be. Not simply the intellectual acceptance of God’s will that I had voiced throughout the trial. Real, emotional acceptance, where I truly believed and felt that surrendering to God’s plan would really be the best, that he would really be good and faithful, that I would really be cared for, and that whatever his plan was, it was better than the plans I desperately clung to. Belief that no matter how painful his plan was, he was working it all for good (Romans 8:28). That even if he didn’t deliver me from my suffering, he was still worthy of my worship (Daniel 3:17–18).
I slowly came to this realization: perhaps there was a greater reason God was not simply “fixing” my sleep problem. Perhaps he was pruning me, in order that I might “bear more fruit,” as described in John 15:2.
Surrendering to the Sovereign Lord of all things
So even though God grants sleep as a good gift (Ps. 127:2), apparently what I needed more than sleep was more of him.
We humans are like withering grass (1 Pet. 1:24; Ps. 103:15–16)—God is eternal and sovereign (Isa. 40:28; Rev. 1:8; Ps. 115:3; Jer. 32:17). How insane to imagine that my life was better placed or more secure in my own hands than surrendered to him: the One who created the whole universe (Col. 1:16), but still numbers every hair on my head (Matt. 10:30–31); the One who governs every detail of the world (Prov. 16:33); the One who is not just loving, but who is Love himself (1 John 4:8); the One whose hands were wounded for me, whose body was pierced to carry my sin, whose love took him all the way to the cross and into death—in my place (Isa. 53:4–6). Why would I doubt his faithfulness when I have seen it time and time again in my life? And when his faithfulness is pouring out from every page of his written Word in the Bible and shown in the cross and the empty grave?
In his mercy, God uses our weakness to drive us from the illusion of our own strength and into his infinitely strong and loving arms. We realize the truth that without him, we can do nothing (John 15:5). We might have assented to it intellectually before, but when our weakness drives us to Christ, we realize in the depth of our being that we really are helpless without him. And that, my friends, is a gift. Because it’s a spiritual reality we can easily be blinded to, maybe especially in the Nordics, with our lives of ease, comfort, and the related illusion of independence.
His steadfast love is better than life
I have loved Psalm 63 for a long time, and for years verse 3 has hung on my wall: “Because your steadfast love is better than life, my lips will praise you.” This psalm has fascinated me in part because David’s strong expression of longing for and delight in God is situated “in a dry and weary land where there is no water” (v. 1b). David’s physical thirst makes him long not first and foremost for water, but for God.
In God’s amazing mercy, he increasingly made the words from Psalm 63 my experience amid my trial—his steadfast love really is better than life. I know there are depths of this statement that I am only beginning to grasp. But I can testify that the sweetness of his presence and his goodness in my life is overwhelming—even when the plan in some ways includes the outcome I dreaded. It turns out that God’s plan really is better, though it wasn’t the path I would have chosen for myself. I am gradually moving forward, looking back upon a difficult season, rather than remaining in its clutches. I am grateful for those around me, friends and skilled psychologists who have helped with my healing and processing. But while I was in the middle of the trial, back when it was at its most difficult point, I experienced God communicating to me that he is my peace—even when he doesn’t give me all the answers.
I can testify that the sweetness of his presence and his goodness in my life is overwhelming—even when the plan in some ways includes the outcome I dreaded. It turns out that God’s plan really is better.
True strength
And so, I am increasingly coming to see my weakness as a spiritual gift—helped especially by one of my dear pastors, Kristian Holm Tindbæk, whom God has given a special gift of preaching on this subject. He has helped me see that in the upside-down Kingdom of God, weakness really is strength (2 Cor 12:10). That is because weakness connects us to the infinite strength of God, who loves to show himself strong on behalf of those who trust him (2 Chron. 16:9; Isa. 40:29, 41:10). Yes, the gift often comes in painful wrapping paper. But Scripture testifies to the point that beautiful things often come through death and suffering (John 12:24; 1 Cor. 15:36, 42–43).
And so, Jesus is taking me deeper into this precious truth that I have heard many times before, but which I am only beginning to really understand: “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” And he is increasingly teaching me to respond with Paul: “Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me” (2 Cor. 12:9).