notesbynora

I thought strength would feel louder. I imagined it would arrive with confidence, certainty, and a sense of readiness—as if one day I would wake up and simply know I could handle whatever was in front of me. I thought strength would feel like clarity, like resolve, like having all the answers neatly lined up.

But most days, strength feels nothing like I expected it to feel.

Most days, strength feels like showing up tired. Like choosing kindness when it would be easier to withdraw.
Like trusting God without seeing the outcome—without knowing how things will unfold or when relief might come.

Strength, I’ve learned, is something much stronger than I know or understand.

Isaiah 40:29 tells us,
“He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak.”

It is one of my favorite verses. For reasons I can’t fully explain, the book of Isaiah holds so many of my favorite passages. I return to it again and again, as if my soul recognizes something familiar there. I find comfort in its honesty, its warnings, and its hope. I seem to find my strength in its words.

God is telling us something important here. He does not say He gives strength to the confident, the self-assured, or the ones who appear to have it all together. He gives strength to the weary. To the tired. To the worn-down. To the ones who keep going even when they aren’t sure how.

Most days, that is me. And maybe it is you, too.

There have been seasons in my life when it felt like I was being pressed from every side. Emotionally, spiritually, sometimes physically. I used to wonder why those seasons felt so relentless, why rest seemed so far away. Over time, I’ve come to understand something that has changed the way I see hardship.

When we are doing the work God has placed before us—when we are living faithfully, loving deeply, speaking truth, choosing light—opposition often follows. Satan has little interest in disrupting those who are not working for the Kingdom. But when lives are being changed, when hearts are being softened, when faith is being lived out authentically, resistance shows up.

And oddly enough, I take heart in that. Not because suffering is easy or desirable—but because it reminds me that God is present, active, and at work. It reminds me that what I am doing matters, even when it feels exhausting.

Sometimes strength looks like continuing when stopping would feel safer. Sometimes strength looks like staying when walking away would be easier. Sometimes strength looks like resting—finally letting God hold what we have been gripping too tightly for too long.

We often mistake strength for motion, for action, for visible progress. But some of the strongest moments in our lives happen, unseen by anyone but God.

If you don’t feel strong today, that does not mean you aren’t.It may simply mean that God is doing His best work in you—deep in places no one else can see. He is building endurance. He is growing trust. He is shaping a faith that will last longer than quick confidence ever could.

And that kind of strength endures storms. That kind of strength carries us when emotions fail. That kind of strength lasts.

Prayer:
God, thank You for meeting me in my weakness. When I feel tired, unsure, or worn down, remind me that You are near. Teach me to trust Your strength when I cannot find my own. Amen.