Limping Into the Promise

I don’t know about you, but I didn’t arrive here polished. I didn’t walk in tall, steady, or sure. I didn’t step into healing or hope with perfect peace wrapped around my shoulders like a warm shawl. If I’m honest, I limped my way here.

Some days I still do…

There are parts of my story I had to crawl through. Chapters where the pain didn’t just bruise me, it disfigured the way I saw myself and the world. There are prayers I only managed to whisper with my head bowed low and my fists clenched tight. And there were nights when faith looked like lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling, and just not walking away.

But here’s the thing no one talks about. You can limp into the promise. You can arrive weeping. You can cross the threshold into your next chapter holding pieces you’re not sure how to carry.

Because it’s not the strength in your step that gets you there, it’s the presence of the One who walks with you.

I think about Jacob in Genesis 32, who wrestled all night with God. He was changed in the struggle, given a new name, and walked away limping. But he walked away. He moved forward into the very promise God had spoken over his life. Not because he was unscathed, but because he stayed.

And some of us? We’re walking forward with a limp. With wounds that are still healing. With scars we never asked for. But forward is still forward. The promise is still the promise.

The promise might not look like a platform or a miracle that splits the sky. It might look like peace in your mind after years of torment. It might be the slow rebuilding of trust after betrayal cracked your heart in two. It might be laughter in a kitchen you once wept in, or forgiveness sitting quietly across from someone who once wrecked your world.

It could be a quiet moment where you realise you’re not angry anymore.

Or the morning you wake up and the grief doesn’t choke you.

Or the day you speak kindly to yourself without needing to fight for it.

That’s the promise too.

It’s the restoration. The healing. The breath you didn’t think would ever come easy again. It’s the slow, holy work of becoming.

You’re not disqualified because you’re not whole yet.

You’re not too broken to belong in the blessing.

You’re not behind because your joy comes with a side of grief.

Sometimes, survival was your obedience. Holding on was your yes. And that matters more than the pace or the posture.

You see, God doesn’t need us to run in strong. He just needs us to come. And if you’re arriving limping, with shaking hands and a heart still raw from the climb, don’t hang your head. You made it. You’re here.

Let the promise meet you as you are.

Let grace wash the dust from your feet.

Let peace find you, even with your limp.

Because the God who called you didn’t ask you to be flawless, He asked you to follow. And He walks with the limping ones too.

“The sun rose above him as he passed Peniel, and he was limping because of his hip.”Genesis 32:31

Love, Sarah xx.

Thank you for pausing here with me.

This space was never meant to be polished, only faithful. Just a small offering of heart words and honesty, a quiet corner where Jesus is always the hero of our story.

If this post met you in the middle of your own limping, I’d be so grateful if you shared it with someone else who might be dragging one foot behind the other too. And if you feel led, please consider upgrading to a paid subscription to help keep this little corner going.

It’s just me and the Lord here, showing up with what we’ve got, one post, one wrestle, one reminder of hope at a time.

You being here means more than you know.