Introduction

Some of us came in today weary, worried, and a little worn. We know what it is to smile on the outside while something aches on the inside. You’ve got a thorn that throbs—maybe it’s a diagnosis, a disappointment, a deadline, or a relationship that feels like a riddle you can’t solve. You’ve prayed honest prayers. You’ve counted sleepless ceilings. And you’ve wondered, “Lord, is there grace for this? Is there strength for me today?”

Friend, I want to speak to your heart with a whisper of hope: God hasn’t forgotten you. He sees you in the seat you’re in, with the story you carry. He isn’t pacing heaven, wringing his hands. He is close. He is kind. And he is ready to meet you in the very place you feel least able. Paul called it a thorn. You might call it something else. But God calls it a place for his grace.

E. M. Bounds once wrote, “God shapes the world by prayer.” That’s not a slogan; that’s a summons. When we pray—especially from the middle of our weakness—hearts shift, strength arrives, courage grows, and Christ is magnified. Your whispered request this morning matters more than you know.

In the text we’re about to read, the apostle Paul lifts the curtain on his own pain. He doesn’t give us all the details, but he does give us what we need: a testimony of sustaining grace, a portrait of power that shows up when we are at the end of ourselves, and a different kind of boasting—the kind that celebrates the sufficiency of Jesus. What if the place you feel most limited becomes the place you feel most loved? What if the ground that feels shaky becomes the ground where you stand steady because his grace holds?

Let’s listen to Scripture with open hands and honest hearts.

2 Corinthians 12:7-10 (KJV) 7 And lest I should be exalted above measure through the abundance of the revelations, there was given to me a thorn in the flesh, the messenger of Satan to buffet me, lest I should be exalted above measure. 8 For this thing I besought the Lord thrice, that it might depart from me. 9 And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. 10 Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses for Christ's sake: for when I am weak, then am I strong.

Opening Prayer: Father, we come to you as we are—some strong in appearance but fragile underneath, some quiet yet carrying heavy cares. Speak to us through your Word. Let the voice that told Paul, “My grace is sufficient for thee,” speak to every anxious place within us. Teach us the miracle of your strength in our weakness. Lift our eyes to the sufficiency of Jesus. Settle our hearts, steady our steps, and let the power of Christ rest upon us. We are listening. We are willing. We are yours. In Jesus’ name, amen.

Grace that sustains in weakness

Paul tells us his limitation was “given.” That word matters. It points to care. It points to wisdom. He had received great light. He had seen things from God that few ever see. That kind of insight can swell the heart. It can make a person think too much of himself. So there was a guard. A thorn. A steady reminder that he was a man, and that he needed help. This was not random. This had aim. Grace does not stand off at a distance. Grace steps into the hard place. Grace puts a hand on our shoulder and keeps us steady. Grace keeps us from heights that would ruin us.

The text says the thorn came with a “messenger of Satan” to strike him. That is hard language. It tells us pain stings. It is not tame. Yet Paul also saw the fence around it. It could not lift him up in pride. It was forced to do the opposite. It kept him low. Low is not a bad word here. Low is a safe word. Low is where fresh mercy runs. Low is where the soul stays soft. God did not throw Paul into a pit and walk away. God put him on ground where grace flows. He marked off the boundary. He held the leash. He watched over the purpose.

You can see how this works in real life. Limits slow us down. Limits make room to listen. Limits clear out the noise. A body that aches makes prayer more honest. A door that stays shut makes the heart look for another door. A plan that falls apart makes new trust possible. The thorn was sharp. It was also useful. It cut away pride. It cut away hurry. It cut away the thought that Paul could carry the church in his own strength. Grace stood near and used the cut for healing.

This is why we can speak to our own limits with calm words. We can say, this hurts, and also, this helps. We can admit, I cannot do it all, and also, I see God near. Pride drains life. Humility holds it. Pride says, I have what I need in myself. Humility says, I receive. That posture is where grace does its best work. That is how God keeps a person with weight and gifts from being crushed by them.

Paul says he begged the Lord three times that it would leave. He was clear. He wanted relief. He asked straight. He did not hide behind big words. He did not pretend he was fine. He “besought the Lord.” That is good. That is faith. It is okay to ask for the thorn to go. It is honest to bring the same request again and again. Repeated prayer is not a lack of faith. It is how faith breathes when the load is heavy.

The answer he received was simple. “My grace is sufficient for thee.” That is a promise in the present tense. It is enough right now. It is enough for you. It does not say, your grit is enough. It does not say, your plan is enough. It says, grace is enough. Not only for the great saints. For you. For your name. For your today. God did not hand Paul a map out. He spoke a word that holds. He gave a supply that does not run dry.

Then the Lord added, “for my strength is made perfect in weakness.” Strength reaches its full mark in a weak place. Weakness does not block the power. Weakness makes room for it. Weakness is not a wall. Weakness is a door. It is where the power shows what it can do. When the cup is small, you can see how full it gets. When the branch is thin, you can see what the vine provides. That is how this works in the soul. God cares for us with enough grace for the next step. He does not hand us tomorrow’s supply today. He keeps us close by giving enough for now.

This changes how we pray. We still ask for relief. We also ask for enough. We ask for a clean word like Paul received. We ask for the strength that fits the moment in front of us. We ask for courage to take the next small step. We ask for the mind to remember that this is personal. “For thee,” he said. For you. For your thoughts at night. For your hands at work. For your pain that does not have a name yet. The Lord wastes no syllables. He aims his grace.

Paul then says something bold. “Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.” He does not hide his limits. He brings them out into the light. He boasts in them. He speaks of them with gladness. Why? Because of the effect. Because of what comes with them. “That the power of Christ may rest upon me.” Rest upon is a rich phrase. It pictures a covering. It pictures a tent pitched over a person. It is shade in heat. It is shelter in storm. It is presence that settles and stays.

Think about what that means. The Lord does not rush in and rush out. He sits down on a weak life. He builds a dwelling over that place. He makes it his address. People crave that kind of nearness. People pay any price for that kind of peace. Paul tells us how the power rests. It rests on the person who stops trying to look strong all the time. It rests on the person who gladly brings weakness to Jesus. It rests on the person who says, if this thorn must stay, then let your power stay too.

This is a freeing way to live. You do not have to keep up a show. You do not have to pose. You can tell the truth about your limits. You can say, this is heavy, and then look for the covering. You can sit under the shade of Christ’s power. You can expect help to arrive right where you feel thin. You can plan your day around the tent of his presence rather than the size of your own strength.

There is also a shift in what we value. If the power of Christ rests where weakness is plain, then weakness has value. It becomes a meeting place. It becomes a kind of altar. You carry it with care. You bring it to prayer. You invite friends to pray over it with you. Not to glorify the pain. To honor the Presence that meets you there. That is why Paul uses the word “glory.” He is proud to carry marks that attract the power of Christ.

Paul goes even further. “Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses for Christ’s sake.” He lists the kinds of weight he faced. Each word opens a window. Infirmities are the broad field of frailty. The things the body and mind cannot do or cannot hold. Reproaches are insults and cuts to the heart. Harsh words. Cold looks. Misunderstanding. Necessities are the tight budget of life. When resources shrink. When options close. Persecutions are when opposition hunts you down. When faith costs. Distresses are tight spaces. Corners. Squeezes. Nights when every wall feels close.

He says he “takes pleasure” in these. That is honest faith. He is not saying the pain feels good. He is saying there is a deep gladness under the pain, because of “Christ’s sake.” That phrase directs the whole list. These are not random hits. These are the places where love for Jesus is being worked out. These are the rooms where fellowship with Jesus gets rich. These are the fields where the seed of grace breaks open and grows.

Then comes the sentence many of us can quote, “for when I am weak, then am I strong.” That is not a slogan. It is a report. It is what Paul saw over and over. He looked back and saw the pattern. Weakness did not end his work. Weakness did not end his faith. Weakness marked the places where real strength showed up. Real strength has a name. Real strength is a Person. Real strength is Christ near, Christ with, Christ upon.

Each word in his list can be carried into our day. Infirmities. You can speak over your frailty, “Power of Christ, rest here.” Reproaches. You can answer an insult with prayer rather than a sharp tongue. Necessities. You can bring an empty hand to the Lord and say, “Give what you will, and give me a quiet heart.” Persecutions. You can stand firm with a clear conscience and ask for love that does not grow cold. Distresses. You can breathe slow and remember that tents are light, and the covering moves with you.

“For Christ’s sake” steadies the soul. It gives a reason to keep going when nothing else makes sense. You can attach your hard season to his name. You can say, this will be for him. This will be for his people. This will be for the spread of hope. You may not see all the fruit yet. You can still rest under the promise. He knows how to turn a very weak moment into a very strong witness.

This way of life changes how we talk to each other. We begin to ask different questions. Where do you feel thin? Where do you need shade? How can the power of Christ rest on you today? We listen. We pray. We wait for the enough that he gives. We tell stories of small steps taken with new strength. We bless what God is doing, even before we see change on the outside.

It also changes how we carry our callings. We show up with open hands. We do the task in front of us. We plan, but we plan under the tent. We work, but we work with borrowed strength. We expect God to use limits as levers that lift his name. We expect him to write with lines that shake a bit in our hands. We expect him to keep us from pride. We expect him to keep us near.

Saying “when I am weak, then am I strong” trains the mouth to agree with heaven. Say it in the morning. Say it when the day swerves. Say it at night when the mind wants to worry. Say it over a hospital room. Say it over a bank account. Say it over a broken plan. It is not a spell. It is a line of faith pulled tight in God’s wind. It lines the heart up with a promise. It makes space for help to land.

Notice too how personal this is. Paul uses “I,” “me,” and “for thee.” These are the words of someone who has been met. You can be met in the same way. The Lord you ask is the Lord who speaks. The grace you need is the grace he gives. The power you long for is the power that rests. Keep the request simple. Keep your heart honest. Keep your eyes on Jesus.

Weakness will visit again. When it does, call to mind what God said to Paul. Take the words like bread. Break them and eat. “My grace is sufficient for thee.” Say them slow. Let them fill the space inside you that fear wants to fill. Say them out loud if you need to. Say them until your breath matches the pace of the promise. God is not asking you to be a hero. He is giving you himself.

And as you walk this out, let Paul’s list shape your own prayers. Name the frailty. Name the insult. Name the need. Name the attack. Name the squeeze. Then add the phrase that fills those places with meaning. “For Christ’s sake.” It ties your Wednesday to heaven. It ties your inbox to the throne. It ties your home to his heart. It ties your weakness to his strength.

All of this fits the life of a believer in any place. In a city or a village. At a desk or a field. In a full house or an empty room. Grace is enough there. Power rests there. Strength shows up there. The Lord still speaks in the present tense. He still uses the word “thee.” He still turns a thorn into a testimony. He still keeps us from being lifted up beyond measure by keeping us close.

Power made complete in our limits

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