Color me klutz. I no longer care.
As a kid, I’d cringe to be the last one chosen for teams for softball, dodgeball, basketball, or any kind of ball game. At bat, I had more fans than a Major League MVP, except that my fans weren’t the cheering kind. I had more strikes than a champion bowler, although my strikes never knocked down pins. They just sent me back to the bench.
“You’re a klutz!” the other kids would chant. And it nearly killed me.
But God was surely smiling. He must have been, because that’s how He made me.
Isn't it obvious that God deliberately chose men and women that the culture overlooks and exploits and abuses, chose these "nobodies" to expose the hollow pretensions of the "somebodies"?(1 Corinthians 1:27, The Message)
That was long before bullies became ban-worthy in schools.
Now, decades later, I sometimes stumble. I trip on smooth surfaces. I stub my toes more often than I can count. Occasionally, I find myself suddenly sitting on the ground, staring at sky and wondering how that happened.
But I have a doctor’s note for klutziness now.
And God is turning it into glory, one way or another. Maybe modern medicine will find a breakthrough. Perhaps the Great Physician will work an instant miracle and remanufacture my myelin. Or He may make it a ministry.
In the meantime, I am learning to look to Jehovah Rapha for strength, as mine so often fails me. He promises to help.
“My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.”(2 Corinthians 12:9b, NIV)
I guess I’d rather stumble around a bit, perhaps even allowing others to find my floundering funny, than to cause someone else to stumble.
Whatever happens, I am learning that klutziness can be kingdom work.
My God delights in using the most awkward, embarrassing, quirky, odd, fragile, and seemingly impossible things to share His love in our crooked and crazy world. More than once, I’ve seen firsthand how He can transform troubles into training, forge friendships through our fractured feelings, and weave wisdom from our weird wanderings.
One week ago, I rediscovered one of the brashest bullies from my junior high years.
This girl used to put the “me” in “mean.” Today, she is transformed. She’s raising a special needs child, her husband lost his job over a year ago, and she is midway through her second round of chemotherapy for breast cancer.
I was sad to learn of her struggles. At the same time, I was astounded to see a remarkable difference in her spirit. I cannot help but pray for her now.
God is not through with that girl, and He’s still working on this one too.
Maybe we’ll both be klutzes for the Kingdom one day. Perhaps that’s the point.
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