Embracing Jacob's Limp

When Peace Comes Through Wrestling with God

Well, it’s official. I earned my Master of Arts in Apologetics.

I keep meaning to make a post about it. But between Christmas, a week-long cold, and a dreadful fear of making some nauseating, cliche-ridden victory speech, I’m only just now facing the challenge of putting something sensible together.

The thing is, I imagine everyone expects I should feel gloriously triumphant - David with the severed head of Goliath. Swaggering in the limelight of some sort of theoretical new-found importance. Basking in the glow of accomplishment. I should feel confident, proud, and sure.

But I don’t. Instead, I feel like Jacob, after he wrestles with God. Jacob wrestles with God all night long and will not let go until God blesses him - even though God wounds Jacob’s hip in the wrestling, leaving him with a permanent limp. An exhausted survivor, with a limp, yet also, miraculously, blessed and beloved.

This semester has been one of my most grueling. And while the last couple of years of my life earning this degree have been the most enriching, they have also been some of the hardest. I have wrestled with God. Oh, how I have wrestled. Long nights agonizing over unanswered questions. Mental health battles for myself and for loved ones; painful personal growth; therapy and more therapy. Digging in and hunting for God in places of darkness. Questioning everything, again. Seeking to cling to Jesus in the wrestling, begging for a blessing.

The aching questions we carry inside feel like curses, when asking them feels like a gateway to apostasy. But even when I've dared to bring my most difficult questions into the light, Jesus has met me there. I've discovered new answers, new depths of wisdom, that resolved seemingly impossible paradoxes. I found not apostasy but security; when I turned to Christ with my questions, I saw in His face not angry offense but tender love.

Where mystery remains, where questions remain unanswered, I have also discovered divine freedom and grace to continue exploring the contours of the mystery, secure in the love of my Creator. I’m slowly unlearning the fear that a single theological misstep on some minor point will leave me disinherited and abandoned.

The key to this peace, I think, has been staying in the ring. Clinging to him in the wrestling. Not spitting in his face, or abandoning the Lover of my soul.

Sometimes, peace comes through wrestling with God. True peace is not always the mere absence of conflict. It comes through agonizing honesty, through a gritted-teeth determination to stay, to fight it out, no matter what it takes. Doing whatever it takes to receive the blessing. Peace comes through pain, through wounding, through a limp. As long as I receive the blessing of the Creator and Lover of my soul, I will gladly limp a thousand times over.

I've started to learn how to let Him love me, letting him drown out the old songs of self-loathing and fear with new, tender songs of belovedness. I'm learning to believe the song He sings over me. I'm working on unlearning the shame found at the borders of my limitations. I’m learning that when God says He loves all of his children, that even includes me, even though I STILL haven't ‘changed the world’ or ‘made a difference’ or ‘fulfilled my potential.’ He allows me to savor his grace and bask in his presence, too. Even doctors need medicine; even disciples, serving the masses, themselves need bread and fish; even pastors need Jesus. I'm not just on this earth to share the Gospel; I'm here to savor it, to feast upon it, to be healed by it.

And when one rediscovers the love of God, even for the likes of me, I am reminded of why I did the degree, to begin with. Christ lived. Christ died. Christ is risen. Christ will come again. A choir of voices - science, history, philosophy, the arts, Scripture, the Holy Spirit, believers across the ages - all raise their voices in exquisite harmony, affirming these great truths. And I’m honored to join my own humble voice to that choir.

I also feel the weight of the responsibility of stewarding this degree well - stewarding the talents entrusted to me for the benefit of others, and not hoarding the fountain I have drunk so deeply from, while also resisting the temptation to speak on my own authority or seek my own glory. Only God deserves glory; I walk with a limp.

I have multiple paths forward, but the exact map is still unclear, so I appreciate prayers for guidance and wisdom. I do know my path will include writing. If you enjoy mine, I will be sharing more frequent, structured reflections on Christian thought, life, and culture on Substack. If you find my writing enriching and that it adds value to your life, please do subscribe. I appreciate your support!

Above all, I am immensely thankful for everyone who has prayed for me, fought for me and beside me, encouraged me, loved on me and my family, challenged me to grow, and helped me finish this marathon. My community is my treasure. I thank God for every one of you.

Bless you, my friends. May the Lord richly bless you, and make His face shine upon you and yours in the new year. Peace.