The Ministry of Showing Up Imperfectly

"But He said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness.' Most gladly, therefore, I will rather boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me." - 2 Corinthians 12:9 (NASB)

I almost didn't go to Sarah's funeral. Not because I didn't care, but because I cared too much and felt too broken to offer anything helpful. My own grief was still raw, my faith was in fragments, and I had no words of comfort that didn't sound like lies. What could someone falling apart offer to someone else falling apart?

But something—maybe grace, maybe desperation—got me in the car. I showed up with empty hands and a heavy heart, convinced I had nothing to give. And then, in the receiving line, Sarah's mom grabbed my hands and said, "Thank you for coming. I needed to see someone else who knows how hard this is."

That's when I learned about the ministry of showing up imperfectly. Not having answers but having presence. Not being strong but being real. Not pretending everything is fine but admitting it isn't and staying anyway.

We've been sold this idea that we need to be spiritually polished before we can be spiritually useful. That we need to have our act together before we can help someone else. That ministry requires perfection, or at least the appearance of it. But what if the opposite is true?

Paul discovered that his weaknesses weren't disqualifications—they were qualifications. His struggles weren't obstacles to ministry—they were the source of his ministry. His brokenness didn't diminish his effectiveness—it authenticated it.

I think about all the times I've been helped not by people who had it together but by people who didn't. The friend who sat with me in my depression because she knew its geography. The mentor who talked me through doubt because he'd lived in it. The stranger who offered hope because she'd needed it desperately herself.

Maybe your struggles aren't keeping you from being useful to others—maybe they're preparing you to be useful in ways polished people never could be. Maybe your pain isn't disqualifying you from ministry—maybe it's qualifying you for a kind of ministry that only wounded people can provide.

This doesn't mean we don't seek healing or growth. It means we don't wait for perfection to participate in love. It means we show up as we are, not as we think we should be. It means we trust that our weakness can be God's strength, that our brokenness can be someone else's blessing.

The world doesn't need more perfect people pretending to have easy answers. It needs real people willing to share hard questions. It needs wounded healers, broken vessels, struggling servants who understand that ministry happens not despite our imperfections but through them.

Show up imperfectly. It's the only way any of us can show up honestly. And honesty, it turns out, is exactly what the world needs most