True Healing Begins with Honesty
I saw it today—what felt like a living parable. A man with a pronounced limp slowly walked into a fast-food chicken place. He took no shortcuts. No complaints. No shame. Just a man, moving forward with visible pain. Right next door, someone seemingly without any visible issue stepped briskly into urgent care. No limp. No cast. But urgent nonetheless.
That moment stayed with me. The contrast between the limping man pressing on and the physically sound man seeking help revealed something deeper: we cannot judge a person’s need by what we see. The wounds we carry are not always on the surface. And those who limp into life may be the ones who’ve already learned how to survive what others still refuse to confront.
True healing begins with honesty. It doesn’t start in the absence of pain. It begins in the presence of truth.
Yeshua said, “It is not those who are healthy who need a physician, but those who are sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance” (Luke 5:31–32, NASB). But He spoke these words to those who didn’t believe they were sick. The religious elite, full of knowledge and empty of repentance, looked whole. But they were broken. Diseased in soul. Blind to their need.
Spiritual healing is not for those who hide—it’s for those who confess.
The Church too often reverses the Kingdom pattern. We praise those who seem put together, who never cry too loudly or falter in prayer. We misunderstand the bruised and the weary, asking them to perform rather than rest. Yet Scripture makes it plain: “Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart” (1 Samuel 16:7, NASB).
What does God see when He looks at us?
He sees the man who limps with dignity. He sees the one hiding their spiritual emergency behind a polished exterior. He sees the brokenness that doesn’t show up on x-rays. And He invites us into a greater honesty—not for shame’s sake, but for healing.
True healing begins with honesty. That’s not just a phrase—it’s the posture of those who truly encounter God. In the Gospels, it was the ones who shouted, stretched, or knelt who received healing. A blind man cried out. A woman with an issue of blood reached through the crowd. A leper ran to Him. They did not hide their condition. They brought it to Yeshua. They didn’t wait until they looked better. They came as they were.
By contrast, the Pharisees never asked for healing. They wore religious garments but were inwardly sick. They trusted their status but refused the cure. And so they missed the Savior standing in front of them.
There’s a lesson here for the Church today.
We’ve learned how to hide well. We dress for Sunday, smile at the right times, quote Scripture fluently—but do we bring our sickness to the altar? Or do we carry our limp into the week without ever laying it down before the Lord?
David prayed, “Behold, You desire truth in the innermost being, and in secret You will make wisdom known to me” (Psalm 51:6, AMP). There is wisdom in exposing what hurts. There is grace waiting on the other side of confession. God doesn’t heal what we won’t reveal.
I confess I’ve hidden before. I’ve walked into the sanctuary with a limp in my soul, pretending it wasn’t there. I’ve lifted my hands while dragging unseen chains. But pretending doesn’t heal. Only the truth sets free.
Paul wrote, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is perfected in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:9, NASB). Not in strength. Not in performance. In weakness. The place where we limp is the place where His grace floods in.
So let the Church be a place where limps are not covered but welcomed. Let it be a sanctuary where spiritual urgent care doesn’t happen next door—but in the house of God itself. Let us come not as those who have it all together, but as those who need the touch of the Savior.
And let us walk—honestly. Boldly. Limping if we must.
Because true healing begins with honesty.
Prayer
O Lord,
I come to You just as I am—broken, tired, and unable to pretend anymore. I’ve walked through life hiding my wounds, but today I bring them into Your light. You see me. You know me. Nothing is hidden from You.
Forgive me for the times I’ve tried to appear strong when I should have fallen to my knees. Forgive me for running to the wrong places for healing. I confess that I’ve carried pain I didn’t bring to You and guilt I never should have worn. You said, “Come to Me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28, NASB)—and Lord, I come.
Heal what I cannot fix. Cleanse what I cannot make clean. Strengthen what I cannot carry alone. I place my trust in Your Son, Jesus Christ—my Savior, my Healer, my Lord. Thank You for the cross. Thank You for the blood that washes sin away. Thank You for rising again to offer me new life.
Let me walk forward, even if I limp, with faith that You are enough. Use even my weakness to glorify Your Name. Fill me with the Holy Spirit, and teach me to live honestly before You and before others. Not in shame—but in grace.
I give You my life, my story, and my limp.
In Jesus’ Name,
Amen.
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