Strongest Person in the Room

I was given an interesting journal prompt this morning:

What would you attempt if you knew God was with you?

At first, my answer seemed obvious.

I already know God is with me.

I’ve experienced too many whispers, too many divine interruptions, too many moments of His presence to question that.

The real question wasn’t whether God was with me.

The real question was whether I believed His presence changed anything.

That realization stopped me in my tracks.

Because if I am honest, I don’t struggle to believe God is near.

I struggle to believe He is carrying what I cannot.

I know Him as present.

I don’t always know Him as powerful.

Or perhaps more accurately, I don’t always know Him as powerful on my behalf.

The Strongest Person in the Room

As I sat with that realization, something unexpected surfaced.

I began thinking about two fictional characters I love: William Parrish from Meet Joe Black and Islington from The Unselected Journals of Emma M. Lion book series.

On the surface, they are very different men.

But they share something that draws me every time.

Neither of them are loud.

Neither demand attention.

Neither need to prove themselves.

Yet when they enter a room, everything changes.

They carry authority.

Strength.

Wisdom.

Calm.

When circumstances become uncertain, they do not panic.

When others are overwhelmed, they remain steady.

Their presence creates safety.

Not because they remove every problem.

But because everyone knows they are capable of handling what comes next.

You can almost feel yourself exhale when they appear.

And as I thought about that, a question emerged:

Why do I feel safer with fictional characters than I do with God?

The answer was uncomfortable.

Because somewhere along the way, I learned that love and power were not always found together.

People loved me.

But they couldn’t protect me.

People cared about me.

But they couldn’t carry my burdens.

People stayed as long as they could.

But they couldn’t prevent disappointment, loss, sickness, or hardship.

So my heart quietly concluded:

Love is real. Presence is real. But neither necessarily changes outcomes.

And if we’re not careful, we can begin to project that same conclusion onto God.

We know He loves us.

We know He stays.

We know He notices.

We know He comforts.

But do we believe He is the strongest person in the room?

The Question Beneath the Question

I realized that the question beneath many of my fears is surprisingly simple:

When do I get to stop being the strongest person in the room?

For years I have been the carrier.

The planner.

The protector.

The one who anticipated problems.

The one who prepared for disaster.

The one who managed outcomes.

The one who held everything together.

Some of us became strong because we had to.

But eventually strength becomes an identity.

We stop asking for help because carrying feels normal.

We stop receiving because providing feels safer.

We stop resting because vigilance feels responsible.

And before long we find ourselves exhausted, wondering why God feels distant when the truth is we have never learned how to let Him carry weight that we insist on carrying ourselves.

What If God Is Answering the Question With Himself?

Maybe this is why Scripture continually points us back to who God is rather than what He gives.

When Israel needed manna, He revealed Himself as Bread.

When the disciples feared the storm, He revealed Himself as “I Am.”

When Martha worried about serving, Jesus offered His presence.

When Peter stepped onto the water, Jesus didn’t hand him a strategy.

He simply said:

Come.

Again and again God answers human need with Himself.

Not because our needs don’t matter.

But because He knows that underneath every need is a deeper longing.

We don’t simply want provision.

We want a Provider.

We don’t simply want protection.

We want a Protector.

We don’t simply want strength.

We want Someone stronger than us.

Perhaps the invitation is not:

“Try harder.”

“Believe harder.”

“Carry more.”

But:

What if I let God be the strongest person in the room?

Questions That Shift Perspective

When fear rises, instead of asking:

“What if this goes wrong?”

Try asking:

If God is already here, what does His presence make possible?

Instead of asking:

“How am I going to carry this?”

Ask:

What part of this was never mine to carry?

Instead of asking:

“What if I fail?”

Ask:

Would God still be present if I did?

Instead of asking:

“Why isn’t God fixing this?”

Ask:

How is God holding me within this?

Instead of asking:

“What do I need to do?”

Ask:

What is God inviting me to receive?

These questions don’t deny reality.

They simply create room for a different interpretation of reality.

Learning How to Be Carried

For many years I thought maturity meant learning how to carry more.

More responsibility.

More pressure.

More ministry.

More people.

More problems.

But perhaps maturity looks less like carrying and more like surrendering.

Less like striving and more like abiding.

Less like managing outcomes and more like trusting Presence.

Learning to be carried may look like:

Pausing before solving.

Praying before planning.

Receiving before producing.

Resting before reacting.

Letting someone else help.

Saying “I don’t know.”

Allowing tears instead of immediate solutions.

Taking the walk.

Listening to the ocean.

Watching the clouds.

Sitting with Jesus without an agenda.

It feels small.

But perhaps these are not small acts at all.

Perhaps they are acts of trust.

Perhaps they are how we practice being held.

An Honest Prayer

I think one of the greatest gifts we can offer God is honesty.

Not polished prayers.

Not correct theology.

Honesty.

Because God cannot heal the version of us that is pretending.

So lately my prayer has sounded something like this:

“Father, I know You are here.

I know You are good.

But I do not know You as the One who carries what I cannot.

I know You as the One who watches me carry it.

If there is more of You than that, I want to know that God.

Show me what it looks like to stop being the strongest person in the room.

Teach me how to trust Your strength more than my own.

Teach me how to be carried.”

And perhaps that is where faith begins again.

Not in certainty.

Not in answers.

But in the willingness to admit that we are tired.

And in the hope that maybe—just maybe—the strongest person in the room has been carrying us all along.

In everything you do -eat, play, and love- may it always be seasoned with Joy!

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