What If Your Struggles Were Actually Strengths?

Weakness isn’t something we usually celebrate. In fact, most of us do everything we can to avoid it. We hide our insecurities, patch up our flaws, and aim to look strong—even when we’re crumbling inside. But what if weakness was a doorway to something deeper, something more powerful?

That’s exactly what Paul seemed to believe. And it’s not just a throwaway line. He built his entire worldview around it.

Paul, one of the most prolific voices in the New Testament, lived a life that should’ve broken him. He was beaten, imprisoned, stoned, and left for dead. His body was scarred and damaged. But rather than letting this defeat him, Paul did something wild—he embraced it.

Paul wrote of a “thorn in the flesh,” something that physically or emotionally plagued him. He pleaded with God to remove it. Three times. And each time, the answer came back: “My grace is enough for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” (2 Corinthians 12:9)

That response changed everything for Paul. Instead of seeing weakness as something to hide, he saw it as a stage for God’s strength.

It wasn’t just poetic, it was personal. Paul realized that all his accomplishments, credentials, and intellect didn’t move the needle on what really mattered. What mattered most was his total dependence on God—and that usually came out of his most broken places.

He wasn’t ashamed of his scars. In fact, he started to see them as credentials of a different kind. His scars weren’t signs of failure. They were signs that he had endured, that he had trusted, that he had kept going.

This idea wasn’t limited to Paul’s personal pain. He connected it directly to Jesus. Paul describes Jesus' crucifixion not just as an act of redemption but as a revolutionary event. Crucifixion in Roman times wasn’t just execution—it was terrorism. Public, humiliating, and drawn out, it was designed to send a message: “Don’t mess with power.”

But Paul flips the script. In Colossians 2:15, he writes that Jesus “disarmed the powers and authorities… making a public spectacle of them, triumphing over them by the cross.”
Wait—what? Jesus, humiliated and dying, triumphed?

That’s Paul’s point. Jesus didn’t defeat the empire with violence. He defeated it by exposing its bankruptcy. He used weakness—not might—as a weapon. And that changed everything.

This is the radical power of the cross. It says, “You don’t have to dominate to win. You don’t have to be strong in the eyes of the world to carry real power.” That’s not just countercultural—it’s revolutionary.

Even centuries earlier, the prophet Zechariah saw it coming. He wrote about a King entering Jerusalem—not on a warhorse, but on a donkey. “He will cut off the chariot from Ephraim… and speak peace to the nations.” (Zechariah 9:9-10)

This wasn’t just poetic. It was strategic. Peace, not power. Humility, not dominance. A completely different kind of kingdom.

Jesus entered Jerusalem like this. Not with military might, but with meekness. And Paul understood the implications: this is what real power looks like in the Kingdom of Heaven.

We don’t follow a Savior who overpowered His enemies. We follow One who chose to suffer for them.

That truth invites us to see the world through a new lens. If our King redefined victory through humility and sacrifice, what does that say about how we should live?

It means a lot—if we’re willing to listen. Because let’s be honest: our culture still worships strength. We promote the confident, the powerful, the influencers. We hide our flaws. We avoid vulnerability. But Jesus calls us to live differently.

When you feel too broken, too weak, too ordinary to make a difference—remember that weakness doesn’t disqualify you. In fact, it might be the very thing God wants to use.

Your relational brokenness. Your emotional scars. Your fears. Your physical pain. Your doubt. Your insecurities.

God doesn’t wait for you to “get over it” before He works through you. He meets you right in the middle of it. He says, “My power is made perfect in your weakness.”

This includes emotional exhaustion. Spiritual confusion. Chronic illness. Failed relationships. Anxiety you can’t shake. Temptations you can’t seem to beat. It all counts. Because it all shows how desperately we need something outside ourselves. That’s where God works best.

The world might call it fragility. Heaven calls it readiness.

Jesus once described the Kingdom of Heaven as yeast mixed into dough. You can’t see it, but it changes everything. (Matthew 13:33)

In the same way, your life—lived in faithfulness—can change more than you realize. You don’t need a platform. You don’t need perfection. You need presence. You need surrender. Because in your smallness, God does big things.

Sometimes the most powerful person in the room isn’t the one speaking loudly—it’s the one loving quietly.

It’s the parent who keeps showing up for their kids after a hard day. The employee who chooses integrity even when it goes unnoticed. The neighbor who prays for people no one else remembers. The student who chooses kindness over popularity. These are the ones shaping the world in ways we can’t fully measure.

Saint Francis of Assisi once said, “We’re supposed to be the minority.” Not in an exclusive way, but in a subversive way. The kind of minority that changes cultures from the inside out. The kind that lets God’s strength shine through human weakness.

We don’t need to win the world’s approval to carry the weight of glory. We don’t need to be seen to make an impact. We just need to be faithful with whatever is in front of us—however small it may feel.

So the next time you feel small or weak, remember the yeast. God works in and through our weakness. Through the ones who turn the other cheek. Through the peacemakers. Through the ordinary folks who carry extraordinary hope.