Strong Like Water

Isaiah 43:2 “ When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you.”

Lately God has been inviting me and challenging me to rethink what it really means to be strong. Not the kind of strength that comes from pushing through or holding everything together, but a deeper, quieter strength, one that’s rooted in grace and presence. It’s been a humbling journey, and today, I’d love to share a part of that with you.

There are seasons in life when we feel like we’re barely staying afloat. Maybe it’s the weight of loss, chronic exhaustion, a relationship that’s broken, or the emotional toll of carrying burdens no one else can see. These are the “deep water” moments of life, where strength is needed, but where the kind of strength we’ve always leaned on doesn’t seem to hold up anymore.

In these moments, many of us have internalized a particular version of strength: the kind that pushes through, stays stoic, and never shows weakness. It’s the strength that tells us to be tough, stay busy, and keep smiling. But what happens when that kind of strength runs out?

That question is at the heart of a book I recently read called Strong Like Water by Aundi Kolber, a Christian therapist and trauma-informed writer. She offers a radically different view of strength, one that isn’t about becoming harder or more resistant, but instead about becoming more connected, more compassionate, more attuned to ourselves, others, and to God.

She writes that true strength isn’t brittle. It doesn’t ignore pain or push it aside. Instead, it flows, like water. It adapts. It moves with grace. It yields when needed, but it never loses its power. This idea of being “strong like water” spoke deeply to me because it named something I had already been learning, sometimes painfully, on the front lines of service.

As most of you know I recently started working off ship at a hospital in Freetown, mentoring nurses and walking alongside them through all kinds of clinical and emotional challenges. Some days are full of joy and progress; others feel heavy and heart-wrenching. There are moments when I’ve watched patients die because basic resources aren’t available, or when I’ve seen dedicated nurses pushed beyond their limits. The pressure to perform, support others, and be a source of strength can feel unrelenting.

At first, I did what I’d always done: I pushed through. I told myself I had to be strong. I believed the lie that if I let myself slow down or feel too much, I would fail the people around me. So I worked long hours, put my own needs last, and kept showing up, even when I was emotionally empty.

Eventually, my body and heart began to protest. I could feel myself going numb. Disconnected. Worn thin. The waters were rising, and I knew I couldn’t keep swimming in the same way. That’s when God began to gently invite me into a different kind of strength.

Learning to be “strong like water” meant learning to stay present in hard places, not by fixing everything, but by being with people in their pain. It meant listening more and talking less. It meant grieving when I needed to grieve, resting when I needed to rest, and allowing God to meet me in my limits instead of trying to pretend I didn’t have any.

I began to see strength not as pushing harder, but as allowing grace to carry me. I saw it in the quiet resilience of a nurse who kept showing up even after a night of loss. I saw it in the tear-streaked face of a mother who stayed beside her child’s bed, praying without words. I saw it in myself, in moments when I chose to soften instead of shut down, to keep my heart open, even when it hurt.

Jesus, too, embodied this kind of strength. He wept with the grieving. He stopped to rest. He touched the unclean. He didn’t rush through suffering or avoid discomfort, He entered into it with fierce compassion and a steady peace. His power was never disconnected from love. He was strong like water.

And the promise of Isaiah 43:2 reminds us: we are not alone in the deep waters. God doesn’t say *“if” you pass through the rivers—*He says “when.” The hardship is expected. But so is His presence.

So if you’re walking through something hard right now, or if you’re holding space for others who are, I want to invite you to consider this:

• Could it be that strength isn’t what you thought it was?

• Could it be that God is more interested in your surrender than your performance?

• Could it be that He is offering you the courage to soften rather than harden?

You don’t have to force your way through. You don’t have to prove your worth. God is already with you in the water. And He is not asking you to be invincible, only present, only willing, only surrendered to His grace.