Once we were able, and now we're not. You know what you used to be able to do. I remember somebody at the Sunday school picnic who had been quite an amateur baseball pitcher in the early days--little league champs, you know. He hadn't played for about ten years, but he knew how to pitch.

All the kids are playing, and along comes Father. He shows how he can still put them in low and away and still get in a few curve balls. Oh, he finishes in triumph. All the kids think he's great. "I showed the kids a few things. The old fella hasn't lost his touch."

Then he wakes up the next morning, about seven o'clock. He reaches up his arm. "Ahhhhh!"

His wife says, "What's the matter?"

"Don't touch me. Don't touch me. My back's gone. Uh, it's my spine. It's broken. Get the doctor, the police, the ambulance. Call 911. Bring everybody. I can't move."

"What's the matter?"

"I think I'm paralyzed. It's my back. It's my shoulders. It's my neck."

Then the wife says lovingly, "It's probably the baseball."

"Don't be silly. I've played baseball all my life."

"Well, you know, dear, you did go out pretty strong."

"I pitched six innings once without a break. O-o-h-h-h, don't touch me." Then eventually he crawls out of bed, and the wife's right. You see, there was a time when he was able, but the body is just telling him he's not able now.

The marvelous thing with God is that down through the centuries he was able, he is able, he will always be able. I may be disabled, but he is able. I may be incapable, but he is capable.