Tattooed Strength

I believe the word people use to describe arms like his is “cut.” His arms had a shape and size this preppy boy’s will never. Knowing his story, I know he never went to a gym, but built his strength through a lifetime of physical labor. It wasn’t until later in the meeting I noticed a faint tattoo on his right arm. It was of two hands clasped as if in prayer. Such a contrast ignited my imagination and awakened my soul.

The world in which we live encourages and demands strength. Throughout our youth, we are trained and made strong for the life ahead. In the classroom, we are challenged by new thoughts and the concept of class rank. On the field, we are asked to push our bodies and learn what it takes to win. On the playground and in the hallways, we are presented with social challenges that demand the greatest strength of all. In other words, we spend our youth growing stronger until we are “cut” and ready for life.

However, sometimes we notice something out of the corner of our eye, hear a whisper, as subtle as a faint tattoo. Like the tattoo, we see another way to go through life. What makes such a way so challenging is it stands in direct contrast to everything we’ve been taught . . . that success is found in surrender, and true strength is found in accepting our weaknesses.

How hard it must be for those who live lives of strength to always be strong! For one endowed with the strength to conquer the world, it must be hard to admit limitations. Limitations will appear, however. Then what?

I’m thinking of the neurosurgeon who’s daughter lies in the bed with terminal cancer, the banker who clings to his checkbook as his wife walks away, and the world-famous athlete whose broken neck causes him to live the rest or his life in a wheelchair.

These, and so many others, have come to know what the man across from me knows: There’s a limit to the strength of the world. Like him, they’ve learned there’s a strength beyond their own, strength available to us all, that stands in contrast to all that surrounds it, much like the tattoo engraved in mustle. This strength is found not in clinching a fist or flexing a muscle, but opening one’s hands, putting them together, and asking for help.