Finding Purpose in Weakness Through Faith
From a stroke, seizures, and setbacks to surrender and humility — how God used my struggles to shape my calling as a man, father, teacher, and follower of Christ.
I would argue that my true story begins just moments after my birth. Why? Because I suffered a mild stroke that left me with increased muscle tone on my right side and limited fine motor control. To this day, I cannot fully control the fingers, arm, foot, or toes on my right side the way I can on my left. If you look closely — as I often do — you can even see the difference in muscle size between my right and left bicep. Relaxing my muscles is difficult. Lifting equal weight on both sides is nearly impossible. I don’t know whether it’s the increased tone, the fine motor limitations, or a combination of both — but the imbalance remains.
Even now, as I write this, I am scheduled to retake an MRI because I couldn’t keep my leg still during the previous scan. That frustration is part of my reality. But life moves forward.
Growing Up Different
As a child, I thought I was normal. Sure, I recognized I couldn’t do certain things as easily from a fine motor standpoint, but I adapted. It wasn’t until other kids stared, whispered, or poked fun — verbally or through gestures — that I was reminded I was “different.” Am I upset with them today? No. I don’t know if they were trying to establish superiority, trying to fit in, or simply figuring out their own identity. Children can be harsh without understanding the impact of their actions.
Looking back, maybe I needed those moments. Maybe those experiences shaped my heart for students today — especially those who feel overlooked, different, or misunderstood. As a teacher and coach, I now see those kids differently. I see their quiet battles.
The Seizures That Changed Everything
Then came another setback. During my junior year of high school, while sleeping in a chair one night, I experienced a grand mal seizure out of nowhere. Doctors believed it was connected to the stroke I had at birth — resurfacing years later. Soon after, petit mal (focal) seizures followed. It knocked me down — but not out.
By God’s grace, I have not had a grand mal seizure since 2009. I still deal with focal seizures, and only God knows why. There are questions I may never have answered this side of heaven. Because of my growing love for research and information literacy, I plan to explore strokes and seizures in a future post — not from a physician’s standpoint, but from the perspective of someone who has lived it.
The Invisible Struggles
Through conversations with my neurologist, I’ve come to understand something important: the medical challenges I’ve endured may also contribute to the daily battles I face with comprehension, memory, processing speed, and critical thinking. The persistent fatigue I experience likely stems from seizure medication. It can be discouraging. One day I can read a book or study football plays and understand them clearly. The next day, I struggle to recall details or put concepts in order.
I’ve had to accept something humbling: I may need to put in double the effort just to accomplish what others complete with less strain. That realization could lead to bitterness. Instead, I choose to see it as a gift.
A Different Perspective on Weakness
These trials have taught me something powerful: We are all created uniquely. We do not always understand why God allows certain difficulties. Trials are painful. They are confusing. They are exhausting. But if we remain open, time often reveals purpose. What once felt like limitation can become calling. What once felt like weakness can become a witness.
As a teacher and coach, I set a simple goal: impact one student. If one student feels seen, encouraged, or strengthened because I chose perseverance over self-pity, then the struggle carries meaning. If one person reading this feels less alone, then the mission is accomplished.
The Gift of Extra Effort
I now believe that having to work twice as hard has shaped my discipline, empathy, and perspective. You never know how your effort — especially when it costs you something — might inspire someone else. You never know who is watching. You never know who needs to see perseverance lived out quietly. Take your struggle as a gift from God. It may be preparing you for impact you cannot yet see.
To conclude, I leave you with the second half of the Litany of Humility, a prayer that continually reminds me to focus my love on God before seeking influence in the world:
That others may be loved more than I,
Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it.
That others may be esteemed more than I,
Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it.
That, in the opinion of the world, others may increase and I may decrease,
Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it.
That others may be chosen and I set aside,
Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it.
That others may be praised and I unnoticed,
Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it.
That others may be preferred to me in everything,
Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it.
That others may become holier than I, provided that I may become as holy as I should,
Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it.
Amen.
God bless.