Lucas Leibforth

It’s gray outside right now. Gloomy. And the monsoon that was, has settled enough to be the kind of rain that doesn’t crash against your windows or make for a dramatic backdrop, it just settles. Soft. Slow. Almost like it’s trying to say something if you’ll stay still long enough to listen.

And I’ll be honest, I don’t love rainy days. (I’d really struggle living in the PNW…) But every now and then, the mood fits the moment. Today felt like one of those days. A slow day with a lingering thought that hit harder than usual.

I heard someone recently say,

“Wisdom is submission to someone else’s scars.”

I had to stop and just sit with that.

Not just because it was new. But because it was true.
And I think we, I think that I, forget that sometimes.

We Want Wisdom, Not Submission

I’ll just say it plain: most of us want to be wise without having to listen. We want the fruit of maturity without the process of humility. We want answers, but we don’t want covering. We crave clarity, but we resist correction.

That’s not just a general observation…it’s personal.
This has been an Achilles’ heel for me in both ministry and life.

God has placed mentors around me, given me gifts to serve the Church, and opened doors I didn’t deserve. But I’ve often found myself wanting to be “further along” than where He had me. I’ve wrestled with wanting the influence before I had the integrity to carry it. I wanted the title, but not the character development. The stage, but not the season of refinement.

And in His kindness, God didn’t give me what I wanted.
He gave me what I needed.

I’ve had to face the tension between ambition and submission. I’ve had to learn that leadership is less about advancement and more about becoming someone worth following. I’ve mentioned this before, but it’s worth repeating:
You can’t let your position outgrow your character, or you’re setting yourself up for failure.

Wisdom is not a ladder you climb.
It’s a weight you carry.
And if you don’t let God strengthen you in the quiet places, you’ll collapse under the pressure when the spotlight hits.

The longer I’ve walked with Jesus, the more grateful I am for the slow work. (although, I struggle to be grateful while in the season….)

The seasons of waiting. The hard conversations. The people who loved me enough to call things out before they spiraled.

And honestly, that’s where wisdom grows.
Not in the rush to get ahead, but in the willingness to sit under someone who’s been through it and still walks humbly with God.

Scarred Leaders are the Best Kind

I’m convinced the best kind of leaders are the ones who carry scars…not from fights they picked, but from battles they endured. Scars from obedience that cost them comfort, control, or reputation.

The world says to hide your scars.
Social media prefers the highlight reel. It trains us to present the filtered version of ourselves, the polished image where nothing looks weak, nothing sounds uncertain, and everything appears to be winning.

But the kingdom of God is different.
It does not hide scars. It highlights them.
In fact, all throughout Scripture, we see God using wounded people for redemptive purposes.

Moses had a stutter and a past.
David had sin and sorrow that followed him for years.
Peter denied Jesus at His most vulnerable moment.
And Paul? Paul carried both physical and emotional scars from beatings, betrayal, and rejection and yet he said, “I will boast all the more gladly in my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me” (2 Corinthians 12:9).

That’s the upside-down logic of the kingdom:
Your scars don’t disqualify you. They commission you.
They tell the story of what God brought you through and point to His grace in places you could never fix on your own.

Scars mean you’ve walked through the valley of the shadow of death and you didn’t do it alone. Christ was beside you. Guiding. Carrying. Protecting. And sometimes just sitting with you in the dark until you could walk again.

Scars mean you’ve got something to say, not because you’re better, but because you’ve been broken and redeemed. And when someone like that speaks, we should lean in and listen.

As Jonathan Pokluda says,
“Wisdom is choosing to learn from the consequences of others instead of experiencing them all yourself.”

That’s the shortcut nobody talks about.
Because it doesn’t look flashy. It looks like humility.
It looks like sitting across the table from someone who’s been through fire and saying, “I need to learn from what you’ve seen.”

If you’ve got scars, don’t cover them.
Let them tell the story of a faithful God.
And if you don’t have those scars yet, find someone who does and walk closely with them.
That’s where wisdom lives.

Jesus Didn’t Hide His Scars Either

After Jesus rose from the dead, He could have come back flawless. Radiant. Completely restored in every physical way.
But He didn’t.

Instead, He walked into a locked room where the disciples were hiding, looked straight at Thomas, and said, “Put your finger here. See my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side. Stop doubting and believe” (John 20:27).

He didn’t lead with perfection. He led with proof.
Proof of what He endured.
Proof of what love cost Him.
Proof that He was still the same Jesus but risen.

The God of the universe left the scars on purpose.
Not because He had to, but because He wanted us to see that He understands pain, He’s walked through death, and He came out the other side still willing to embrace us.

The scars of Jesus are not a sign of weakness.
They are the receipts of redemption.
They are not just reminders of His suffering, they are reminders of our salvation.

I once heard a pastor say,
“The gospel is not a manual for self-improvement. It is the announcement that the wounds of Christ are enough.”

That’s it.

The wisdom of Jesus is not only found in what He taught, it’s revealed in what He endured.

Because you can read every book and sit through every sermon, but nothing will transform you like the love of a Savior who says,
“Here are the wounds. I took them for you. And I’m still here.”

That’s the kind of wisdom this world can’t manufacture.
And that’s the kind of love we never outgrow.

Scarred People Still Have Something to Say

I think about some of the people who have impacted me the most. None of them were the smartest in the room (though definitely smarter than me.) None of them had perfect resumés or spotless stories. But they carried this quiet, unshakable faith that had been forged in fire.

They didn’t just give advice.
They offered perspective.
They didn’t try to impress….they tried to serve.

I remember sitting across the table from a man who had lost a child when I was pastoring in New York. He wasn’t trying to teach me anything or make a point. But the weight of his words hit different. Every sentence was slow, measured, and full of conviction.

He said, “God didn’t owe me understanding. He gave me Himself.”

That’s the kind of wisdom you don’t get from books.
That’s the kind of depth that only comes from scars.

There’s a lot of noise out there. Everyone’s got a take. Everyone’s saying something. And if I’m honest, I’ve been asking myself lately, who am I actually learning from?

Not just who I follow.
Not just who I like or nod along with.
But who I’m really letting shape me.

Comer talks about this as formation, and ties this back to how we are being formed either to be more like Christ or more like the world.

Are they people who are real?
People who’ve walked through something hard and still believe in Christ?
People who don’t just know truth but live it with tenderness?

That’s who I want to be around. That’s who I want to become.

Because there’s a difference between someone who can teach a lesson and someone who’s lived one. And I don’t want to miss out on the kind of wisdom that only comes from scars.

If it’s true that wisdom is submission to someone else’s scars, then maybe my next step isn’t trying to prove anything. Maybe it’s just showing up with an open heart and asking, “Hey, can you help me see what you’ve seen?” I need to ask more questions and give less answers and maybe that’s what God is showing me in this season.

Maybe I need to sit down more often.
Maybe I need to stop trying to sound like I’ve got it all figured out.
Maybe I need to stop rushing the process and start trusting the people God has put around me.

Because not every scar needs to be earned firsthand.
Some of them were carried by others so I wouldn’t have to.

And today, with the sky still gray and the rain still coming down, maybe that truth can just sit with us for a bit.

Find those people.
Listen to their stories.
Let their scars speak.
And thank God for the wisdom they’ve been willing to share.

Not because they had to.
But because they love Jesus and they’ve walked through enough to know He’s worth it.