The other day, I was invited to share from the Word with a small group. They were an unassuming, unthreatening bunch of folk. My material was prepped and ready to go. In fact, I had presented the same content twice before to other groups. Plus, I was speaking from Scripture to a group of Christians, and to top that off, we had just prepared our hearts through worship. It was the perfect environment to thrive. At least, the perfect environment to not fail.

Just as I was introduced as the speaker for the evening, I knocked down my handbag. As I bent to pick it up, the host moved forward to possibly shake my hand. I wouldn’t know. I was completely engrossed in picking up my capsized handbag.

As I stood up to speak, I felt a nervous knot in my stomach. The nervous knot unfurled as I walked up front, sending cold shivers through my limbs. By a cruel twist of nature, despite the icy waves, sweat dripped down my back, turning me into a slippery mess.

I mustered up my courage, told myself it was okay, and started to share the message. But with every word I spoke out loud, another annoying voice spoke inside my head:

They are already familiar with the passage.

They kinda look bored.

You sound nervous. They can tell.

If they can’t tell from your voice, they can tell from the fact you’re sweating through your shirt.

You shoulda worn something else.

You’re too short to stand behind this big lectern.

And then came the clincher. As I was gesturing to emphasize my point, my inordinately animated hand knocked a matchbox-shaped mic from the lectern. It clattered to the ground, bounced, and split into three pieces. Now instead of picking up my handbag, I was engrossed in picking up pieces of mic.

All in all, I wanted to dig a deep hole and crawl into it. It would have to be a bug-free, airconditioned hole, of course, and I would need to bury myself in a comfy down blanket, but you get the picture.

Maybe you haven’t toppled over purses and microphones, but chances are, you’ve goofed things up in your life. You’ve felt like you want to run and hide.  You’ve felt like a failure.

The Bible is full of stories of those who have messed up pretty badly. The heroes of the Bible aren’t considered heroes because they have flawless track records. They are heroes because they failed—and then took the pieces to God.

Consider Abraham, the foremost hero of our faith. He pretended Sarah was his sister—on two occasions. When Sarah suggested he build his family line through her maid Hagar, Abraham didn’t really put up a fight.

Did he fail? Without a doubt

Did he fail again? Unfortunately, that’s a yes.

Did he fail a third time? As they say, the third time’s a charm. (Or not)

But God considered him a righteous man. Abraham acknowledged his failures and frailties and he laid them before the Lord. And then he walked in obedience and faith.

Friend, as someone who walks with God, there are no guarantees that you won’t fail.

In fact, on this side of eternity, it’s pretty certain that you and I will fail.

When we remember our frailties—and His faithfulness, we don’t let shame dictate to us.

But the One who rescued us from our fallenness also frees us from our failures. We don’t need to crawl into a hole when we fail, because we can stand on the Rock.

He remembers that we are dust. Perhaps it’s good for us to remember that too.

When we remember our frailties—and His faithfulness, we don’t let shame dictate to us.

That evening, after my speaking engagement, the enemy seemed to hiss in my ear that I should just give up, that I would never be the “right fit” for this speaking thing, that if I couldn’t “hold my own” in front of a small group of people, I would never be able to speak the Word from a bigger stage.

But then God reminded me that I was not there to be the “right fit” — I was there to speak of a God who is perfect and right and good.

I wasn’t there to “hold my own”—I was there to hold a light so others could see the beauty and love of God.

Friend, when failure comes knocking, answer the door. Not cowering in shame. But declaring the truth.

We get to show the enemy who’s boss.

We get to declare that our God redeems us—not just from our fallenness but also from our fears, failures, and frailties.

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