Going Through Something?
Strength, Weakness, and Everything In Between
Somebody said to me, "I'm really going through something." And I said, "Me too. Most people are." That's why we must understand one thing: what we're walking through doesn't get the final word—Who we're walking with does.
You're not alone in the "something."
We are always in a season. Sometimes we can name it. Sometimes we just feel it. There are seasons when we feel strong—capable, productive, clear-headed, hopeful. And there are seasons when we feel weak—stretched thin, uncertain, grieving, or simply tired in places sleep doesn't fix. We tend to label one "good" and the other "bad." One "blessed" and the other "broken." One strength. One weakness.
But what if both belong to Him?
In 2 Corinthians 12, Paul the Apostle talks about pleading with God to remove a thorn from his life. Three times he asks. Three times the answer is no. Instead, he hears: "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." That's not the answer most of us want.
We want the weakness removed. God often wants it redeemed.
Paul eventually comes to a conclusion that feels upside down: "When I am weak, then I am strong." Not because weakness feels good. Not because suffering is pleasant. But because weakness revealed whose strength was actually holding him up. Strength seasons and weakness seasons both tell the truth. Just different truths.
There are seasons when the wind is at your back. Health stabilizes. Finances improve. Relationships feel steady. Your mind feels clear. Opportunities open. You wake up and think, "I can breathe again."
We often assume strength seasons are proof that we're doing something right. And sometimes we are. But strength is not ownership—it's stewardship. Strength is not evidence that we're self-sufficient. It's evidence that we're supported. Those seasons aren't accidents. They are entrusted moments. They are not ours to cling to, but ours to use. Because even strength is His.
And then there are the other seasons:
The diagnosis.
The betrayal.
The financial hit.
The private grief.
The mental fog.
The prayers that feel unanswered.
Weaknesses expose us. They strip away illusion. They show us how fragile control really is. But here's the part we don't see while we're in it: weakness seasons are not interruptions to God's work. They are often the deeper layer of it.
In Luke's writings in Acts 27–28, Paul survives a shipwreck. The boat doesn't make it. It breaks apart in violent waves.
But the very pieces that shattered become flotation devices.
Scripture says they reached shore on "planks" and "broken pieces of the ship."
The wreck wasn't wasted. The broken pieces carried them.
Weakness doesn't mean God stepped away. It often means He's working in ways that don't require your strength to succeed.
We think strength makes us useful. God shows us that surrender does.
Here's the quiet truth that steadies everything:
No season is random.
No season is wasted.
No season is outside His hands.
Strength seasons teach gratitude and stewardship. Weakness seasons teach dependence and depth. Both shape us. Both humble us. Both are His.
We are uncomfortable with seasons because they change. But Scripture shows us a God who does not. The same God present in momentum is present in stillness. The same God present in clarity is present in confusion. The same God present in victory is present in vulnerability.
We don't get to choose our seasons. But we can trust the One who appoints them. Maybe you feel strong right now. That's His strength. Maybe you feel weak right now. That's still His season. And if it's His season, then it has purpose.
Strength is not proof that you're secure. Weakness is not proof that you're failing.
Both are invitations: strength to steward, weakness to surrender.
The point is—whether you feel like you're sailing or surviving, whether you feel capable or cracked, you are not outside His timing.
And any season belonging to Him is never wasted.