Do You Walk with a Limp?
"I don't trust a man or woman of God who doesn't walk with a limp."
When Pastor Steve Holt made that statement, it immediately caught my attention.
He was referring to the biblical story of Jacob, who wrestled with God through the night. When the struggle was over, Jacob received a blessing—but he also walked away with a permanent limp. His limp became a reminder that he had encountered God and would never be the same.
That teaching made me stop and ask myself a difficult question:
Do I walk with a limp?
Do YOU walk with a limp?
Most of us think of a limp as something physical. In my case, that's true. After multiple leg surgeries, I literally walk with a limp. But there are other kinds of limps that aren't nearly as visible.
There are emotional limps from betrayal.
Spiritual limps from seasons of doubt.
Relational limps from broken marriages or estranged children.
Financial limps after devastating losses.
Mental limps from anxiety, grief, or depression.
Many of us carry wounds that others cannot see.
The interesting thing about Jacob's story is that his limp wasn't simply evidence of pain—it was evidence of perseverance. He wrestled. He struggled. He refused to let go until God blessed him.
That's what encourages me.
When we've wrestled, we've already won something.
Not because life suddenly becomes easy, but because wrestling changes us.
When we don't quit, our struggles often become the birthplace of wisdom. They produce compassion we didn't have before. They deepen our faith. They give us testimonies that can encourage someone else who is still fighting their own battle.
After trouble often comes triumph—not always in the way we expected, but in the form of new insights, stronger character, deeper dependence on God, and a greater appreciation for His faithfulness.
That same Sunday morning, I heard this song which captures this truth better than almost any other.
A Hallelujah in the Middle of the Storm
The worship song "Raise a Hallelujah" by Bethel Music wasn't written in a recording studio. It was born in a hospital room.
In 2017, two-year-old Jaxon Taylor, the son of Bethel Music CEO Joel Taylor, was critically ill with a severe E. coli infection. His organs were shutting down, and doctors feared he would not survive the night.
As family and friends prayed, worship leaders Jonathan David and Melissa Helser felt inspired to sing words of faith instead of fear. They quickly recorded the chorus on a phone and sent it to Joel, who played it over his son's hospital bed.
Listen to the powerful words:
I raise a hallelujah, in the presence of my enemies...
My weapon is a melody...
I'm gonna sing, in the middle of the storm...
Up from the ashes, hope will arise...
Death is defeated, the King is alive!
The song became more than music—it became a declaration of hope in the middle of impossible circumstances.
Against all expectations, Jaxon recovered.
What strikes me most is that they didn't wait until the miracle happened to praise God.
They praised Him during the storm.
How often do we wait until life gets better before we worship?
Jacob didn't receive his blessing without wrestling.
Jaxon didn't receive healing without a battle.
And neither do we.
What's Your Limp?
Maybe you've wrestled with God because you couldn't understand why He allowed something painful.
Maybe you've wrestled with your spouse, wondering if your marriage would survive.
Maybe you've wrestled with your children, praying they'll find their way back to faith.
Maybe you've wrestled with loneliness, addiction, disappointment, fear, or your own internal doubts.
Whatever your struggle has been, chances are you've come away with a limp.
Some limps remind us of painful memories.
Others remind us of God's incredible faithfulness.
Perhaps they're both.
The beautiful thing about a limp is that it reminds us we didn't escape life untouched—but we also didn't quit.
Our scars tell a story.
Our limps testify that we've survived.
And our testimonies become hope for someone else who is still in the middle of their storm.
So today I want to leave you with two questions:
What have you wrestled with?
And what is your limp?
I'd love to hear your story in the comments. Your experience—whether you're still in the wrestling match or looking back on God's faithfulness—may be exactly the encouragement someone else needs today.
Sometimes our greatest weakness becomes our greatest witness.
