From Strength to Grace — A Personal Sharing

 From Strength to Grace — A Personal Sharing

I want to share something that’s been stirring in me lately—something that speaks not just to where we are in life, but who we are becoming. It’s this idea of moving from strength to grace.

You see, I remember what it felt like to be strong. I remember the days when I could carry my children in one arm and groceries in the other. I remember making decisions at work, running around without needing to sit down every few minutes, being the one others leaned on.

Strength used to feel like certainty. Like control. Like something I could depend on. But these days… things have changed.

Now, the stairs feel a bit steeper. My memory, well—it sometimes takes the scenic route before arriving at the right name. I forget what I walked into a room for. I find myself needing help more often. And you know what? That’s not weakness. That’s the beginning of grace.

I used to think grace was only for the times I messed up. But I’ve come to see it’s also for the times I slow down. Grace shows up when I stop trying to prove I’m still the same. It meets me in the letting go. And maybe that’s the point—we spend the first part of life building, doing, holding everything together. Then we reach a point where God says, Now let Me hold you.

It’s not easy. I’ll be honest—I don’t always like being on the receiving end. I’ve always been the giver, the planner, the caregiver. And now, someone’s helping me up the stairs, driving me to the clinic, reminding me of dates and appointments. And I have to bite back the instinct to say, No, no, I’ve got this.

But grace whispers, It’s okay. You’ve carried others long enough. Let yourself be carried.

There’s a verse in Isaiah that comforts me: “Even to your old age and grey hairs I am He, I am He who will sustain you.”

It reminds me that I’m not forgotten. Not left behind. And neither are you. We’re not just the people we used to be—we are the people we are still becoming. Grace doesn’t stop working when our hands stop building. It begins to deepen in our hearts. In our stories. In our presence.

And maybe that’s one of the gifts of growing older—we have time to look back. To reflect. To say, God was good then. And He’s still good now. We have stories that carry the fingerprints of His faithfulness. And now, we get to pass that on.

Not through sermons or lectures, but through the way we live. Through how we forgive. How we smile. How we sit beside someone who’s grieving and simply stay. That, too, is ministry. That is grace in motion.

And when I think of what’s ahead—of heaven, of going home—I don’t feel fear like I used to. There’s a peace now. A quiet trust. The kind that only comes when you’ve seen God come through again and again and again.

So yes, the muscles may soften. The pace may slow. But the soul—it ripens. And the spirit—it shines.

We are not in decline. We are in transformation.

We are moving from strength to grace.

And grace, my dear friends, is where God does His best work.

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