Most of us have scars. Some are visible—a thin white line on a knee from a childhood fall, a puckered mark from a kitchen accident. Each one tells a story.
But our deepest scars are the ones no one sees. They are the invisible marks left on our souls by failure, grief, betrayal, or shame. And if we’re honest, we spend most of our lives trying to hide them. We cover them up, we project an image of strength, hoping no one will see the places where we are broken.
We want the victory, but we fear the limp. We want the blessing of an encounter with God, but we resist the permanent mark it might leave on our ego.
But what if the limp isn't a curse? What if it's the trophy? What if the very thing we try to hide is the thing God wants to use to display His glory?
The Mark of a True Encounter
In the ancient story from Genesis 32, a man named Jacob spends a dark night wrestling with God. As the sun rises, he walks away a changed man, bearing two things: a new name, "Israel" (one who strives with God), and a new walk—a permanent limp.
He got the new status—a prince who had engaged with the Almighty. But he also got a new state—a man utterly dependent on the God he strove with.
We all want the new name, but God knows we can't handle it without the limp. The limp keeps the name from destroying us with pride. It was not a punishment; it was the proof of the encounter. It was the seal of authenticity, the undeniable evidence that he had been touched by the living God.
More than that, the limp was a necessary preparation. Jacob was about to face a terrifying reunion with his estranged brother, Esau. The old, scheming Jacob would have run or fought. But the new, limping Jacob could do neither. God had disabled Jacob's greatest strength—his self-reliance—to enable his greatest need: his ability to trust. His weakness forced him into a posture of humility and dependence.
The Apostle's Thorn
This isn't just an ancient story. The Apostle Paul, a giant of the faith, had his own limp. He called it a "thorn in the flesh." We don't know what it was—a physical ailment, a relentless temptation, a deep emotional wound—but we know it tormented him.
Three times he begged God to take it away. He wanted to be strong. But God’s answer reveals one of the most profound truths in all of Scripture:
"My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." (2 Corinthians 12:9)
This is the divine paradox. God’s power isn’t a supplement we add to our strength. It’s a force that is perfected and most clearly displayed in the very places where we are empty and broken.
Think of Kintsugi, the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with golden lacquer. The artists don't hide the cracks; they illuminate them, making the lines of brokenness the most beautiful part of the object. The piece becomes more valuable because it was broken. This is what God does with our limps. He fills our cracks with the gold of His grace.
How to Walk with a Holy Limp
So, what are our "limps"? A past failure that whispers shame. A chronic illness. A lifelong battle with anxiety. A painful family history.
God's call isn't to hide the limp, but to let Him sanctify it. How?
- Stop Pretending. We must take off the mask of self-sufficiency. Authenticity is the soil where grace grows. As long as we project strength, we cannot receive the power that is perfected in weakness. James 5:16 tells us to "confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed." Bringing our brokenness into the light of a safe community is the first, terrifying, and liberating step.
- Start Leaning. We must re-train our spiritual reflexes. See your weakness not as a liability, but as a divine alarm that signals your need to depend on God. Let the pang of anxiety or the ache of an old wound become an immediate trigger to lean into Him. Jacob leaned on his own understanding his whole life, and it left him alone and terrified. The limp forced him to lean on God.
- Start Boasting—Wisely. This is the most radical step. When Paul says, "I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses," he isn't complaining. He’s giving testimony. It means pointing to the crack in the pottery so everyone can see the gold of God's grace shining through. Our polished perfection can make people feel distant from God, but our weakness, sustained by His grace, builds a bridge. Your story becomes, "I struggle with this, but God's grace is holding me."
The Scars of the Savior
The ultimate display of strength in weakness is the cross. In His moment of ultimate human weakness—beaten, bleeding, abandoned—Jesus won the greatest victory in history.
When He was resurrected, He didn't return as a flawless spirit. He returned with a body, and in that body, He kept the scars. He presented His wounds to His disciples as the proof of His identity and victory.
Our God is not ashamed of His scars. They are the trophies of His love for you. They are the receipts that prove your debt has been paid in full.
The invitation of the Gospel is this: to bring your lingering limp to the scarred Savior. He doesn't just tolerate your weakness; He understands it, and He redeems it. His scars don't just prove His victory; they promise healing for your wounds. It is by His stripes, by His wounds, that we are healed.
Stop hiding your limp. Stop covering your scars. They are the very places where His grace is sufficient, and His power is made perfect. They are the places where the gold of His glory is waiting to shine.