Embracing Your Weaknesses Leads to Wonder
I am not Fast
Hiking poles in hand, I traverse the rocky, rooted, but sometimes uneven and steep path. Depending on the trail gods and their dark sense of humor, I stumble, trek, stub my toe. I continue to hike despite every misstep and turn. My companions are way ahead of me now. I no longer hear their lighthearted banter. I wonder how easily it would be to get completely lost here. Just keep following the trail, my husband says, you can’t possibly get lost. Oh, I bet I could.
As I plod along, I start to dwell on an unalterable reality in my life. “I am not fast,” I think to myself. Raise your hand if you’ve seen Big Hero 6. Baymax, the big, squishy and inflatable robotic healthcare companion speaks obvious truths with a confident reassurance. Sometimes it’s hard to admit the obvious, like my obsession with my lack of speed. I think about this whenever I hike on any given trail for any length of time. I love the outdoors, you see. And my husband has created these fantastic hiking and camping experiences for my kids (both 19 now), his father and me. I like to think that I am all in when it comes to these trips. And I actually don’t mind sleeping in a tent. Here’s the thing, though. I am always the last one to arrive and I occasionally hike alone. I eventually join the group at each stop for water or rest but I can’t escape the lingering humiliation from elementary school of being the last one picked for kickball.
Along the trails, I sometimes think to myself, “What are you doing? What made you think you can do this? You’re just slowing everybody down.” On and on I beat myself up as I try to walk along the trail, tripping and avoiding potential disasters. I absolutely hate the feelings and shame that arise in me. Instead of enjoying our immersion in the woods, admiring God’s creation, I berate myself then feel embarrassment whenever they wait on me. No one really minds, though. At least that’s what they tell me.
My husband, Doug, will slow down sometimes and walk with me for a visit along our hike. Though, we would all get lost if he didn’t occasionally take the lead. I can’t blame him for being 6’1” nor can I blame myself for being 5’1”. I can’t control those factors. I can, though, control how I react when he offers me advice or tries to help me, even with a hand going down a steep rock formation. I can decide to graciously take his hand because let’s be honest, I need a hand every now and again.
Why is it so hard to welcome help or to accept our own weaknesses? Even at 49, I feel like I’m 8 or 12 or 23, stubbornly refusing to reveal a weakness, doing everything in my power to hide it. Yet, we can’t hide it forever or at all. I’ve never been fast. I was literally picked last in grade school for anything physical. It’s something about feeling that you didn’t belong, that you were intruding on a game that others found fun, but you couldn’t play at the same level. And as a perfectionist, if I couldn’t play it right and play it well, I hesitated to go all in. Which, frankly, happened a lot.
St. Paul and Weakness
When St. Paul prayed that God heal his weaknesses, whatever they were, God did not. Instead, God revealed that it was in his weakness that St. Paul could and would allow God to transform him on God’s terms. “But [Christ] said to me, ‘my grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.’ So, I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me” (2 Cor 12:9). No, he’s not alluding to my hiking speed or my lack of athletic skill. I offer, though, that in his acceptance that he is not God, not perfect, and struggles in ways we do not know for certain, St. Paul is saying that it’s not all about him. Rather, it is all about Christ and Christ at work in and through him. St. Paul needed to accept his weaknesses in order for his life to give glory to God.
These hikes are not all about me, either. They are about connecting as a family and connecting with God’s glorious creation. These excursions help us to put our lives in perspective to the greater world, God’s greater reality and the gift of God’s love. Plus, I imagine that there will be some surprises ahead unbeknownst to me. There is a freedom in accepting that I do not know all that awaits.
You will be all right. There. There. (Baymax)
Through these adventures, as I struggle to keep up with the group and accept my weaknesses, I’ve come to embrace the certainty that I belong with my family now and I’ve learned to love myself as I am fully known by those who love me. It’s taken years to accept and trust this love. So, maybe I can reframe my walk in the woods, pole in hand and pack on (albeit a very light one). Can this upcoming trip be more of a contemplative walk, a mindful meditation on the glorious creation surrounding me? Maybe, then, I can walk with a smile instead of a grimace with my gaze looking forward and my heart filled with gratitude for the people who wait for me, welcoming me time and time again.
Fr. Thomas Keating, late monk and priest of the order of Cistercians (d. 2018), teacher, speaker and author of contemplative prayer, was attributed as saying, “Humility is an attitude of honesty with God, oneself, and of all reality. It enables us to be at peace in the presence of our powerlessness and to rest in the forgetfulness of self.” Like St. Paul, Fr. Keating realized that the spiritual journey was not all about him. It was, rather, an immersion and surrender into God’s reality.
Fast forward 2 months. My husband, two kids, father-in-law, and I traveled to North Carolina for our annual hiking trip. It was a short trip, only three nights camping and we hiked between eight to ten miles a day. I was determined to just be present on the trail, to go at my pace, to enjoy the moment and the beautiful nature all around me. I shifted my thinking for this trip and began to realize that I could enjoy these excursions with my family even though I was always the last one to arrive. One day, I actually walked about an hour by myself as the others walked ahead to secure our site for camping. I enjoyed this walk at my own pace, reveling in the sights, sounds and smells of the natural world. When I finally rejoined the group, I was at peace and happy. Part of it for me was accepting the fact that it was okay to walk at my pace. I was able to embrace my story (my reality). I realized that I cannot grow longer legs nor build my stamina simply by wishing it.
Trust.
And then there is trust. I have learned to trust that my husband and children will have patience and wait for me. My husband has said that he’s thankful that I join them on these adventures and that I’m willing to sleep in the great outdoors.
I've decided to train a little better for our next hiking excursion. And, instead of getting annoyed at my husband who always encourages me to train and exercise, I'm accepting the fact that I want to be stronger to walk at a better pace with less chance of injury. I recognized that what really bothered me was how the experience would trigger feelings I had as a child and young adult. Fr. Richard Rohr, a Franciscan priest, author and speaker, shared in a talk that when we accept help, we must embrace the humiliating reality that we need help in the first place. Humiliation is needed sometimes in order for us to admit we don’t know it all and we can’t do everything on our own. I’ve not always known how to build physical strength and to look honestly at myself in the mirror, realizing that I still have things to learn. Yet, things that I wasn’t taught as a child can be learned even now.
“Humility is the key to wonder. As humility grows, wonder deepens. You will see yourself as a temporary expression of God’s infinite and timeless unfolding. Aware of your impermanence, you become brother and sister to all life. You realize the common fate of all beings and find in that realization a compassion that embraces all beings.” (Rami Shapiro in The Sacred Art of Lovingkindness)
So, I decided to humbly approach my physical abilities. I accepted that I could get stronger. I could exercise more and train better. And I discovered that I could do all these things for me and for my family.
What does it take to overcome paralyzing perfectionism in order to walk (hike) forward, one step at a time? For me, I’ve had to listen to those I love say to me: You are loved and you belong. Join us, at your own speed, and we will wait for you.
I doubt that the first words out of God’s mouth, when I die, will be: You were not fast. I am sure, though, that God just might say: You are fully known, fully loved, fully accepted and you belong.
“I cannot deactivate until you say that you are satisfied with your care.” (Baymax)
Lord, I am fully satisfied with the care, the unconditional love, that you have shown me through my family and, truly, through all of your creation. I will never be lost or left behind. And I am so grateful.
Call to Action: In the Comments below, share your insights or what has resonated with you in this blogpost. What have you learned about embracing weakness and opening yourself to wonder?
Song for contemplation: Lead, Kindly Light by Audrey Assad
There are so many versions to this song. The lyrics were attributed to theologian and poet, John Henry Newman whose boat became stranded in the Strait of Bonifacio in the Mediterranean Sea during a return voyage to his native England in 1833, where he is thought to have penned the lyrics. Its message is one of surrender to God, trust and humility even in the midst of darkness and the unknown.
Resource Shout Out: One of my favorite Catholic YouTubers is Fr. Casey Cole, a Franciscan, with Breaking in the Habit. Check him out with his latest video and you can subscribe to his YouTube channel:
