Not long ago I wrote about hiking in the Apennine mountains of Italy—a beautiful 9km walk from the village of Sextantio Santo Stefano di Sessanio to Castello Rocca Calascio in the province of L’Aquila, Abruzzo. At nearly 4,800 feet it is not a tremendously high peak but one that many would recognize from movies like The Name of the Rose, and Ladyhawke. At the summit, you’ll see what you would expect: a ruined castle with fortress walls and a tall tower with a commanding view of the countryside for miles around.
It was a pleasant walk and we talked art and history with our guide, Luca, all the way to the top. While the weather was brooding and dark at times I felt great. It was good to stretch my legs on the trails, something I have not been able to do in the flatlands of Virginia’s coastal region. Later in the trip we hiked again, from Amalfi to Ravello—3 miles of winding limestone steps above. Just when I was feeling good about these little jaunts, I was served a dish of humility. While attempting to trim two tall bushes in my yard, I managed to fall off of a 4-foot step ladder. I did not break anything, but I twisted my knee and took a blow to my hip that left me hobbling for several weeks.
Let me tell you it was humbling to realize that something so minor could cause so much pain and discomfort. Worse yet, it made it hard for me to do many of the things I had planned to do and temporarily altered my life in ways I had not anticipated. Only now, 3 weeks later, am I finally able to walk normally, though I am still recovering from what I thought was a fairly minor fall. Even as I was busy feeling sorry for myself I got to thinking about men and women who are truly disabled, for whom pain, an inability to get around as others do, is not a minor or temporary inconvenience but a daily way of life. It quickly restored my sense of perspective.
I took a fresh look at those I know who are contending with such challenges. One friend is confined to a wheel chair following a stroke suffered after shoveling snow last winter. Another, working his way back from a heart attack that left him weak and physically wasted. These men are not complainers—they have shouldered their infirmities and are working hard to try to restore their strength. It occurred to me that while they may be working to get stronger they already are, even though both these men are in a sense, weak.
Let’s face it, it isn’t easy to come back from a blow to our physical or emotional selves. Suffering a heart attack or a broken heart are not as different as we might think, both are traumatic, debilitating experiences that can leave us permanently altered. Yet, in their weakness, both my friends have shown extraordinary determination to move on with their lives productively, creatively and affirmatively.
So, I should add that both are men of faith, and I think that has a lot to do with their strength in weakness. On some level, they understand intuitively that the higher being I refer to as God does not ask us to always be strong, in fact he prefers it when we are weak. In our weakness, we turn to him and ask for his help; we are depending on him to rescue us from whatever afflicts us. And, in that moment when we are at our weakest, he imparts strength enough to help us through the challenges ahead.
It’s the same way in relationships, those we have with others, and with him. We are at our best when we operate with humility, depending on those with whom we are in relationship to bring their hearts and minds to a common purpose with us. In love, work, sports and in our faith, it is not always those who appear strongest that prevail but those who put others ahead of themselves; that look to others to help them succeed. Maybe next time you need help, suffer a setback, or are fighting against daunting odds, you might try being weak. That’s what really strong people do.