The beauty of being powerless

Powerless. It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. It conjures of images of the weak, the aged and the ailing.  Arthritic joints struggle to open the tightly sealed jar.  An elderly women strangles on a cry as the young hooligan snatches her purse and shoves her to the ground.  A baby, so new to this earth you can almost smell heaven on her head, wailes from her bassinette, totally dependant for every need.

No one longs to be powerless. In any given situation, the mind of man carefully calculates the best strategy for success, and at times survival.  Powerlessness means my needs must be met by another.  Powerlessness means I will surrender my agenda, my priorities.

This week I found myself utterly powerless. The first impulse is to fight back, swing wild and angry like a shadowboxer.  The mind begins to calculate the most sure path of success. It becomes clear that I will not win this fight. my opponent is bigger, stronger, holds much more power.  So I stop fighting. It only angers and exhausts me. I sit quietly and acknowledge that I am indeed powerless.  I will not fight.  As the noise of conflict rises above me, peace begins to invade my spirit. There is ONE who fights for me. And I will be still. I will welcome the conflict and the results. I will look directly into the face of discouragement. It cannot hurt me.

The beauty of powerlessness is found in a relationship with the Omnipotent.  I do not have to manipulate or plan. My mind can quietly wait and my spirit can listen to the whispers of the Spirit. And I find strength.  Words of the Ages become today’s relevance as I learn, when I am weak, only then am I made strong.

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