The Ancestors Did Not Approve This Message

I have used people.

I have talked about people behind their backs.

I have smiled in people’s faces while privately having something completely different to say about them. I have kept people around because they were useful to me. I have justified selfish behavior because somewhere along the way, I decided my suffering had earned me the right to be selfish.

There.

Now that the blood is on the carpet, we can talk about integrity.

Because I could write a beautiful little article, blog, honestly … I don’t even know what this is but I digress… about integrity this morning. I could talk about honesty, character, keeping your word, doing the right thing when nobody is watching, sprinkle a scripture on top, say amen, and send everybody on their merry Christian way.

Except God had the audacity to make me examine my own integrity first.

Apparently we are choosing violence before sunrise.

Proverbs 10:9 says:

“Whoever walks in integrity walks securely, but whoever takes crooked paths will be found out.”

What caught me wasn’t even the crooked path.

It was the word walks.

Because a walk isn’t one decision. It’s a pattern. It’s a direction. It’s one step followed by another until eventually those steps tell the truth about where I’m actually headed.

That means integrity cannot only be measured by the big moments when I proudly chose what was right. It also has to be measured by all those tiny decisions I made when I was hungry, angry, jealous, exhausted, overlooked, offended, broke, ambitious, lonely, or simply convinced that after everything I had been through, I deserved something.

And there have absolutely been seasons of my life when my personal philosophy was basically:

Get it how you can. You’ve been through enough. You deserve this.

Whew.

That is dangerous theology when you’re hurting because pain can make entitlement sound a whole lot like justice.

I wasn’t walking around twirling an evil mustache and plotting people’s demise. I was wounded. I was immature. I was trying to survive. Some of the things I learned helped me survive seasons I genuinely did not know how to navigate any other way.

That explains some things.

It does not excuse them.

Because sometimes, while trying desperately to make sure nobody hurt me again, I became someone capable of hurting other people.

I don’t say that to condemn the woman I used to be. I say it because honesty is part of integrity too.

I cannot heal what I hide.

I cannot surrender what I refuse to name.

And I cannot keep asking God to mature me while protecting flattering versions of myself from the truth.

Which is probably why God took me from Proverbs straight over to Genesis 25:29–34.

Because apparently He looked at the blood already on the carpet and said, “Oh, we’re not finished.”

And this is where Jacob and Esau made me uncomfortable.

Jacob had a bowl.

Esau had a hunger.

And everybody’s integrity was about to get tested.

Esau came in from the field exhausted and hungry. Jacob had food. Esau wanted some, and Jacob saw an opportunity: “First sell me your birthright.”

We usually focus on Esau here because he traded something enormously valuable for something temporarily satisfying.

Fair.

But Jacob was standing there too.

And Jacob saw a hungry man.

Instead of simply feeding him, he exploited his hunger.

Whew.

Jacob was connected to the promise of God, but his character was still developing. He wanted something that was ultimately connected to God’s purposes, but wanting the right thing did not justify obtaining it the wrong way.

That convicted me because there have been times when I treated the promises of God like they needed my assistance.

God says, “I have something for you.”

And I’m like, “Perfect. I’ll take it from here.”

Ma’am.

Sit down.

Because hunger exposed both men.

Esau’s hunger made him willing to surrender something valuable.

Jacob’s hunger made him willing to exploit someone vulnerable.

And suddenly the question became less about whether I have integrity when I’m comfortable and more about who I become when I’m hungry.

Hungry for validation.

Hungry for money.

Hungry for attention.

Hungry to be chosen.

Hungry to be right.

Hungry for an opportunity.

Hungry for somebody to finally recognize what I bring to the table.

The hunger itself may not destroy me.

My response to the hunger can.

Integrity gets tested when something I desperately want is sitting close enough for me to grab it, but obtaining it would require me to become somebody I don’t want to be.

And whew, Mulan knew a little something about that.

At the beginning of Mulan, everybody is obsessed with honor. How she looks. How she behaves. Whether she performs correctly. Whether she can become the woman everyone expects her to be and bring honor to her family.

Meanwhile Mulan is basically walking around thinking, “Okay, but who exactly am I supposed to be today?”

Relatable.

Because there is a difference between looking honorable and possessing integrity.

Reputation asks, “What will people think?”

Integrity asks, “Who am I becoming?”

Those two questions can produce very different lives.

I can curate the outside beautifully while privately compromising myself into oblivion.

That’s why Proverbs 10:9 doesn’t say the person with integrity walks impressively.

It says they walk securely.

Integrity is protection.

Not perfection. Protection.

When my private behavior agrees with my public confession, I don’t have to spend my life managing different versions of myself.

There isn’t church me, work me, friend me, marriage me, angry me, broke me, blessed me, and “please don’t check the group chat because I was having a rough week” me.

Same woman.

Same principles.

Different environments.

And apparently God wasn’t finished because then we got to Mary and Martha.

Now listen.

My middle name is Marie.

It should have been Martha.

Because I can BUSY.

I can take three responsibilities, turn them into seventeen, voluntarily carry all seventeen, refuse help twice, and then become personally offended that everybody else appears appropriately rested.

Luke 10:38–42 tells us Martha was busy serving while Mary sat at Jesus’ feet listening.

Eventually Martha had enough.

She essentially asked Jesus, “Are You not bothered that my sister left me doing all this by myself?”

And I have never felt more represented in Scripture.

Because I will absolutely pick up six grocery bags at once and then internally question why nobody is helping me.

Girl.

YOU PICKED UP ALL SIX.

Jesus tells Martha that she is worried and bothered about many things, while Mary has chosen what is necessary.

That hurts because sometimes the thing making me bitter isn’t that everyone else is irresponsible.

Sometimes I have made an idol out of being needed.

Then I resent people who refuse to worship at its altar with me.

I stay busy.

They rest.

I overcommit.

They establish boundaries.

I run myself into the ground.

They grow.

Then I look around like Martha asking Jesus if He has noticed how much more I’m doing.

Meanwhile, Jesus is redirecting my attention away from the work I’m doing for Him and back toward the Lord of the work.

Because being busy isn’t automatically being faithful.

Being gifted isn’t automatically being trustworthy.

Being anointed isn’t automatically having character.

And I can be incredibly talented while still being too immature to safely carry what my talent can obtain.

That one hurt.

Because there are places my gifts could get me into that my character would not know how to maintain.

Integrity has to show up everywhere.

In my words: If everything I said became a contract, would I still sign my name underneath it?

In my relationships: Do I see people as image-bearers of God, or do I subconsciously calculate what they can do for me?

In my work: Am I excellent only when somebody important is watching?

In my finances: Is money a tool in my hand or a trophy for my ego?

In my anger.

In my loneliness.

In my disappointment.

And especially in my hunger.

Because principles that only survive comfortable circumstances aren’t really principles.

They’re preferences.

Proverbs 9:10 says, “The fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom.”

There has to be a reverence for God that becomes bigger than my appetite.

Because when my passions repeatedly override my principles, I eventually end up somewhere my character cannot protect me.

And this whole integrity thing isn’t God trying to ruin my fun.

It’s covering.

Solomon’s wisdom throughout Proverbs isn’t about creating a life where nothing painful ever happens. Life will provide plenty of pain without my assistance.

Wisdom helps me stop volunteering for unnecessary pain.

There will be suffering I cannot avoid.

I don’t need to manufacture additional suffering through preventable compromise.

Grace covers mistakes.

Grace meets me in missteps.

Grace reaches me when I fail.

But grace isn’t permission for me to intentionally keep choosing crooked paths and then act surprised when I arrive somewhere crooked roads lead.

I cannot earn God’s favor.

I cannot earn His grace.

But I can mishandle what He entrusted to me.

I can fumble favor.

That’s the part I’m sitting with.

Because God’s promises come with process.

I want the promise.

God keeps talking about the process.

I want the big thing.

God keeps pointing at the little thing.

I want to know where He’s taking me.

God keeps asking whether I’ll obey Him today.

Maybe that’s integrity.

Long obedience in the right direction.

Small decisions nobody applauds.

Telling the truth when lying would be easier.

Keeping my word when breaking it would be convenient.

Refusing to exploit somebody else’s weakness just because their vulnerability could become my advantage.

Sitting at Jesus’ feet when my inner Martha is running around with a clipboard yelling, “DOES ANYBODY ELSE WORK HERE?!”

And trusting that I do not have to manipulate my way into anything God genuinely has for me.

Mulan spends so much of the movie trying to figure out how to bring honor to everyone around her. She tries to become what everyone expects, but eventually the disguise has to come off.

Maybe that’s where integrity begins for me too.

No disguise.

No polished testimony.

No pretending I have always gotten this right.

I haven’t.

There were versions of me who manipulated.

Versions of me who gossiped.

Versions of me who used people.

Versions of me who believed my pain entitled me to behavior that could cause somebody else pain.

I don’t honor God by pretending she never existed.

I honor Him by refusing to let her keep driving.

Because I can’t heal what I hide.

I can’t correct what I refuse to confront.

And I cannot ask God for greater influence while treating integrity like a minor detail.

So maybe my prayer isn’t simply, “God, bless me.”

Maybe it’s:

God, make me trustworthy with what You’re blessing me with.

Make my character stronger than my hunger.

Make my principles louder than my passions.

Make who I am privately agree with who I claim to be publicly.

When I’m hungry enough to trade something valuable for a bowl, remind me what it costs.

When I’m ambitious enough to take advantage of somebody else’s hunger, remind me who I belong to.

When I’m Martha-ing all over the house and getting mad because everybody else appears to be peacefully sitting down, remind me to choose the better thing.

Because favor is beautiful.

Talent is useful.

Anointing is powerful.

But I don’t want my gifts to carry me somewhere my integrity cannot keep me.

I want to walk securely.

Not perfectly.

Honestly.

Consistently.

With enough integrity that when God puts something valuable in my hands, I don’t fumble it trying to satisfy a temporary hunger.

And if Mushu needs to pop up every now and then screaming, “DISHONOR!” when I’m getting out of pocket…

Honestly, Lord?

I’ll allow it.