In all my years of watching people rise and fall — in families, friendships, and even my own life — I’ve come to understand that the real difference between ruin and redemption isn’t how big the mistake was, but how a person faces it afterward.
The old stories in Scripture tell that same truth better than any sermon. King Saul had every advantage a man could ask for: height, strength, blessing, and opportunity. Yet pride crept in quietly, like a vine curling around the soul, until it strangled the very spirit that once set him apart. Saul feared losing face more than losing faith. When the prophet Samuel confronted him, Saul defended himself — not to make things right, but to stay right in the eyes of others.
David wasn’t any less flawed. His sins were heavier, darker even. But when truth broke through, he didn’t resist it — he fell to his knees and confessed. He didn’t ask to keep his throne; he begged for a clean heart. And that’s where mercy met him.
I think about that sometimes — how often we stand at the same crossroads as those two kings. Pride on one side, humility on the other. The longer you live, the clearer it becomes that life isn’t about never falling; it’s about what you do once you’ve hit the ground.
God never asked us for perfection. He asked us for honesty, for the courage to admit we’ve gone astray, and the faith to let Him rebuild what we broke. That’s where the measure of a heart is truly taken — not in power or position, but in surrender.
