The Spotter at the Bench Press

ONE thing I like about going weight lifting is that I don’t go by myself. When I’m doing the bench press, begin to strain on number twelve or thirteen, and start making weird noises, it becomes obvious that I’m pressing more weight than what I can bear.

It becomes evident that if I keep pressing the limits, I could very well drop the weights and let them fall down on me, cracking my sternum or crashing against my Adam’s apple. But just in the nick of time, the gentleman who is standing over me and there to help me, reaches over me and says, “You keep pushing, but I’ve got you.

Keep going but I’m here too. You don’t have to push up these last few on your own.” Then when I’ve gone up for the last one, he does a mercy thing for me.

He lifts the weights totally out of my hands and puts them on the rack. That’s grace. That’s what God does. When the weight of your trial is too heavy and you can’t keep it up, when your arms are trembling and you’re making all kinds of noises, when you’re going through difficulty, God’s grace steps in, carries the weight, picks it up, and puts it on the rack.