Jan 15, 2026
It was during a sparring match that I could understand what the Apostle Paul meant when he wrote, ‘For when I am weak, then I am strong’ (2 Corinthians 12:10). I was nursing an injured back. The pain was just enough to compromise my performance. My opponent was quicker and had a distinct advantage. Everything in me wanted to pull back, to protect what was vulnerable. But something deeper stirred.
In that moment, I chose not to fight harder, but smarter. I relied on controlling the pace of the fight by disrupting his set point. That match ended not with a win, but without a loss either. It also gave me a moment of clarity. My weakness forced me to lean on my training in a new way. And that moment of humility taught me something far greater than any flawless victory ever could.
The Illusion of Strength
We live in a culture that worships self-sufficiency. In the martial arts world, that often shows up in the pressure to be the strongest, fastest, most technically skilled. But Christians are called to a different standard.
The apostle Paul was a driven man. He sought to serve with his entire being. He begged God three times to remove his ‘thorn.’ God’s reply? ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness’ (2 Corinthians 12:9). The Lord wasn’t interested in showcasing Paul’s strength—He wanted to display His own. In this way, God shows through example that he is there for the weak and oppressed.
Likewise, our injuries—whether physical, emotional, or spiritual—can become vessels for God’s glory. If we let them.
God’s Strength, Our Submission
In the dojo, we tap out when we know we’re at our limit. On the mat of life, too many of us try to power through with pride. But Scripture calls us to a higher humility—one that acknowledges our need for Christ in salvation and also to live our lives now in the fullness God has for us.
When we surrender, we don’t lose. We invite God into the space we’ve been trying to fill ourselves. And in doing so, we gain a strength not rooted in muscle or mindset, but in mercy.
Training Through the Pain
I’ve trained while bruised, bandaged, and emotionally drained. Some of my best breakthroughs came when I had nothing left to prove. In those times, I wasn’t performing—I was learning. Listening. Trusting.
God often does His best work when we’re done trying to impress Him with our strength and abilities. The same is true spiritually. When life wounds us—through loss, failure, or fear—it’s tempting to quit. But it’s in these moments that our faith is forged. We don’t train to appear invincible, but to endure, adapt, and rise. Just like Christ carried His cross in agony, we too carry our weaknesses—not as shame, but as testimony.
Because when we are wounded but willing, God’s power shines brightest.