Firm Foundations: Judges Ehud
Message 2
Ehud — Failure Through Familiar Sin
Judges 3:11–30 11 And the land had rest forty years. And Othniel the son of Kenaz died. 12 And the children of Israel did evil again in the sight of the Lord: and the Lord strengthened Eglon the king of Moab against Israel, because they had done evil in the sight of the Lord. 13 And he gathered unto him the children of Ammon and Amalek, and went and smote Israel, and possessed the city of palm trees. 14 So the children of Israel served Eglon the king of Moab eighteen years. 15 But when the children of Israel cried unto the Lord, the Lord raised them up a deliverer, Ehud the son of Gera, a Benjamite, a man lefthanded: and by him the children of Israel sent a present unto Eglon the king of Moab.
Well, I’m so glad to be back with the Lord’s people today studying the Lord’s book. I don’t know about you, but for me it can feel like a long stretch from Sunday to Sunday. Each Sunday we come together to get our spiritual fuel tanks filled. And, it’s not as though we don’t do things to be spiritually renewed during the week. We read Scripture together every day, we talk about the Lord, and we pray. But there’s something about gathering with other like-minded people to be refreshed so much so that we can roll into our church building on Sunday on fumes, our tanks almost exhausted.
And it can feel like that for a number of reasons.
By the time we make it from one Sunday to the next, it can feel like we’ve been running uphill all week. The weight of the world presses in through constant headlines, cultural tension, financial uncertainty, and a moral climate that feels increasingly unstable. Add to that the relentless pace of daily life—deadlines at work, responsibilities at school, family obligations, and the endless to-do lists that never quite get finished—and the soul grows tired even when the body keeps moving. On top of it all, there are the quieter burdens: emotional strain from conflict, loneliness, health concerns, private griefs, and anxieties about the future that we don’t always share out loud. And while we may read Scripture and pray faithfully during the week, much of it happens in isolation. We fight our battles alone, carry our worries alone, and process our struggles alone.
And probably one of the greatest reasons that we can roll into Sunday service on fumes is if this week we fought a battle with temptation of some sort, and lost.
Well, if you feel that way this morning, don’t be too discouraged, you are in good company. Even the apostle Paul described his inner battle with painful transparency in Epistle to the Romans 7. He said of himself that he delights in the law of God in his inner man — there is genuine love for righteousness. Yet he also sees another law at work in his members, waging war against the law of his mind. He speaks of wanting to do good and instead practicing the very thing he hates. He describes sin as something that still dwells within him, an internal pull that reasserts itself just when he thought he was standing firm. This is the tension of a redeemed heart housed in unredeemed flesh. It builds until he cries out, “O wretched man that I am! Who shall deliver me from this body of death?”
Well, what Paul describes here in the New Testament, this inner turmoil that results in a life of spiritual ups and downs is also described in the Old Testament. Clear back to the story of Cain being tempted by his anger.
Genesis 4:6-7 6 And the Lord said unto Cain, Why art thou wroth? and why is thy countenance fallen? 7 If thou doest well, shalt thou not be accepted? and if thou doest not well, sin lieth at the door. And unto thee shall be his desire, and thou shalt rule over him.
The psalmist describes the inner turmoil of wrestling with sin.
Psalm 38:4, 8 “For my iniquities have gone over my head… I am feeble and crushed;
I groan because of the tumult of my heart.”
Psalm 42:5, 11 “Why are you cast down, O my soul? And why are you in turmoil within me? Hope in God; for I shall again praise Him…”
Well, we have been looking at the next Old Testament book in our series; the book of Judges. And it is a book that chronicles this same struggle with sin that we all go through; only it describes it at a national scale. It is the struggle with sin that the nation of Isreal went through. They would serve God faithfully under the leadership of a God-given judge, but when that judge was gone, they would fall back into sin; the worship of idols. Then God would discipline them by bringing them under the bondage of some foreign power, they would realize their error and call out to God for deliverance from their oppressor. And God would send another judge who would lead them in a military victory against their oppressor and lead them back to faithfulness toward God.
And as I introduced this book last time, I told you that we are going to look at each of these times of failure, and see what lessons God would have us learn from them. Of course, the hope is that we can learn from their failures, so we have fewer of them ourselves. The lessons are phrased like this; “We often fail because...” So, I got to thinking about these lessons, and they reminded me of the practice of medicine; doctors trying to help you be successful over disease. These lessons often have a medical corollary.
For example, in our first sermon, looking at Othniel, we learned that we often fail because we do not obey completely — we do not finish the job.
In medicine, it can be compared to cancer surgery. For cancer surgery to be successful, you have to remove all the cancer cells. Israel failed to remove all the foreign and idolatrous influences from the land. And partial obedience leaves open doors. The same is true in our lives when we don’t remove temptations completely.
And today, our second lesson builds on that truth: failure often comes because we slide back into what is familiar. Our temptations are often just old patterns that we slip back into because they are familiar. They are the comfortable compromises, the tolerated habits, the familiar attitudes we have learned to live beside. And as we step back into Judges today, we will see how what feels familiar can quietly become the doorway to our next fall.
Prayer
We spiritually fail because we just slide back into the familiar. And speaking of familiar, let me remind you that we see the same pattern here that we saw with Othniel the last judge, and the same pattern that will repeat itself again and again with the remaining judges; rest, worshipping idols, oppression, crying out, deliverer, rest.
When we come to the story of the second judge of Israel; Ehud, we find this lesson. The text begins this way,
11 And the land had rest forty years. And Othniel the son of Kenaz died. 12 And the children of Israel did evil again in the sight of the Lord:
Now there are some things I want you to notice. First, the timetable of this fall back into sin, second the familiarity of falling back into this sin.
First let’s look at the timetable.
This moment marks the second clear repetition of the cycle in Judges. “And the people of Israel again did what was evil in the sight of the LORD…” And often when through the years I have read the book of Judges, or studied it, I have thought, “How can these people keep going back to the same sins, the same idols, over and over again?”
Can’t they see where it led them last time? Well, we need to remember something. This book covers the history of Israel over approximately 325 years. So, the cycle of returning to idols is taking place over multiple generations. Think about our own country. This is 2026. How different are the religious beliefs and morals in our country today compared to 325 years ago in 1701? Our country has followed the same downward spiral as Israel. Without exception, every civilization follows this same downward trend. But also, in terms of time, there were 58 years between the rise of the first judge Othniel and the second Ehud. They had 40 years of peace under Othniel. So, a generation has passed who experienced the first oppression, and a generation arisen who did not. So that’s the timeline. Now let’s look at the familiarity here.
These verses doesn’t describe a dramatic rebellion or a sudden rejection of the Lord. Instead, it tells us that Israel “again did what was evil in the sight of the Lord.” This is not forgetfulness; it is familiarity. They drift back to what they already know, to sins that feel manageable, respectable, and close to home. From the time of Othniel’s deliverance to the second oppression is 40 years. And it says that in that time Israel had peace. Outwardly, under the leadership of Othniel they follow God, but inwardly they are cuddling up with their old comfy blanket of idolatry.
What stands out is how ordinary it feels. There is no dramatic rebellion, no shocking new sin—just a quiet, familiar return to evil that Israel has already walked before. The text is careful not to say that they forgot the Lord, but that they returned to evil, highlighting a willful drift back to what was known rather than a sudden break born of ignorance.
And speaking of familiarity, notice that the text doesn’t even tell us what god they went to. When they fell into idolatry the first time it tells us that they worshipped Baalim and Asherah. Here it doesn’t say what they went back to.
Who did they go back to?
The text assumes a return to Baal worship, echoing the pattern already described earlier in Judges (cf. Judges 2:11–13). They went back to the familiar. Baal was not merely a rival deity in name, but a fertility god, closely associated with agriculture, rainfall, and economic stability.
In returning to Baal worship, the drift likely began in quiet, practical ways inside the home and in the field. Families may have kept small household idols—little carved figures tucked into corners, placed on shelves, or kept near a family altar—telling themselves it was merely symbolic or cultural, not a replacement for worshiping the Lord. At the same time, agricultural anxiety would have pulled at their hearts. Because Baal was believed to control rain and fertility, they may have begun offering small sacrifices before planting, burning incense before harvest, or participating in seasonal rituals to “secure” good crops. What started as precautionary—“just in case”—slowly became participation, and participation gradually became trust. The compromise didn’t feel like rebellion; it felt like practicality. But over time, the center of their dependence shifted from Yahweh to the gods of the land.
That’s why God wanted them to remove and destroy every remnant of idol worship when they entered the land. He commanded that first generation to destroy it all, don’t even mention the name of their gods. Why? Because your children can’t go back to what they never knew. But they didn’t obey. They didn’t complete the job. They kept these old sins within arm’s length, and eventually, like finding your grooves in your familiar chair, they eased back into what they knew.
But before we cast too many dispersions on them let us remember that we often follow the same pattern. We can experience times of great spiritual victory in our lives, but still fall back into the familiar. Why? Because
We never threw the tempting magazines or books away, so they are there to retrieve later. We never deleted the contact with a bad influence, so he or she remains an open door. We never unfollowed the account that feeds your insecurity or lust, so it keeps preaching to you every day. We never confessed the prior sin, so you fight alone when the temptation returns. We never installed accountability, so no one notices when we drift. We kept a hidden password, so secrecy is still available. We saved the old photos, so nostalgia becomes bait. We kept the streaming subscription that weakens our convictions, so compromise is only a click away. We never changed our route home, so you still pass the place where we stumble. You never set a financial boundary, so impulse spending still owns us. We never stopped the private texting, so emotional attachment keeps growing. We never put distance between ourselves and gossip, so our tongue keeps rehearsing it. We never replaced the old habit with a godly discipline, so the vacuum keeps pulling you back. We never humbled ourselves enough to ask for help, so pride guards the doorway of relapse. We kept a supply of “cheat snacks,” so the diet was never truly surrendered. We kept the alcohol in the cabinet “just in case,” so the battle was never fully decided. We never rebuilt our prayer life after the last failure, so our defenses stay thin. We never changed our schedule, so exhaustion keeps weakening your resolve. We never renewed your mind in Scripture, so the old patterns still feel familiar. We never settled in our mind and heart that what you had done was actually sin. We said, “It’s not that bad.” “I’m better than most.”
So comes the slip into a familiar sin. As Peter wrote
2 Peter 2:22 But it is happened unto them according to the true proverb, The dog is turned to his own vomit again; and the sow that was washed to her wallowing in the mire.
Well, it would seem that Othniel is not even in the grave before Israel regresses. Right away, they did evil, and right away God raises an oppressor.
a Familiar Enemy (Judg. 3:12–14)
12 And the children of Israel did evil again in the sight of the Lord: and the Lord strengthened Eglon the king of Moab against Israel, because they had done evil in the sight of the Lord. 13 And he gathered unto him the children of Ammon and Amalek, and went and smote Israel, and possessed the city of palm trees. 14 So the children of Israel served Eglon the king of Moab eighteen years.
A quick lesson and the big take away
The text is explicit and unsettling: “the LORD strengthened Eglon the king of Moab against Israel.”
Here’s something you should notice right off the bat. The text says that “the LORD strengthened the oppressor.” Denise and I have had discussions on more than one occasion that centers around the question, “Did God cause the bad thing to happen, or did He allow the bad thing to happen?” You know we all ask it. A sickness, a financial situation, a hostile relationship. And we want to know, “Why is God doing this?” And then someone will say, “God is not causing it, He is allowing it.” And my response is, “What’s the difference? If God can prevent it, and He chooses not to prevent it, then His allowing it is effectively the same as His causing it.
Now I don’t say that so you will have reason to doubt or accuse God. I tell you that as an indictment against us, not God. Often when bad things happen to us, we spend a lot of time trying to figure out the source of it. And we will pray for days, weeks, and months, “Lord take it away.” But we forget that God teaches through trials and suffering.
Deuteronomy 8:2–3 “And you shall remember the whole way that the LORD your God has led you these forty years in the wilderness, that He might humble you, testing you… And He humbled you and let you hunger… that He might make you know that man does not live by bread alone…”
Psalm 119:67, 71 “Before I was afflicted I went astray, but now I keep Your word.”
“It is good for me that I was afflicted, that I might learn Your statutes.”
Isaiah 48:10 “Behold, I have refined you, but not as silver; I have tried you in the furnace of affliction.”
Judges 3:1–4 “Now these are the nations that the LORD left, to test Israel by them…”
Hebrews 12:6–11 “For the Lord disciplines the one He loves… For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness…”
Romans 5:3–5 “Suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character…”
So maybe, when we go through sessions of suffering, we should spend less time trying to determine who did it, God or the devil, and more time figuring out the lesson from it.
In this case with the oppressor Eglon, it was divinely imparted discipline. God Himself strengthened Moab in order to use them in discipline for Israel’s sin.
Familiarity: The big take away
They fall back into a familiar sin, God raises a familiar enemy. And they are familiar in a strict sense of the word. The root word of familiar is “family.” The oppressor, Moab, is not a distant pagan empire but a relative nation. They descended from Lot, Abraham’s nephew. The passage also tells us that Eglon got help from some other people to help him strike Israel.
13 And he gathered unto him the children of Ammon and Amalek, and went and smote Israel, and possessed the city of palm trees.
The Ammonites descended from Ben-Ammi, the son born to Lot through his younger daughter (Genesis 19:36–38). The Amalekites descended from Amalek, grandson of Esau, even closer relatives to Israel.
Israel was very familiar with these people. Their association dates back to their common father Abraham.
And they were not only related by ancestry, their lands shared borders with Israel. So there would have been regular interaction with these people.
Israel’s familiarity with the Moabites, Ammonites, and Amalekites would not have been limited to moments of conflict; it was woven into ordinary life. Border communities would have traded livestock, grain, wool, and pottery along shared routes like the King’s Highway. Marketplaces would have brought together different languages, clothing styles, and customs. Intermarriage would have blended families and traditions. Seasonal festivals tied to planting and harvest would have exposed Israelites to neighboring religious rituals. Children would have grown up seeing foreign altars on nearby hills and hearing stories of other gods said to control rain, fertility, and prosperity. Over time, what was once foreign would begin to feel familiar, and what felt familiar would no longer seem threatening. Cultural exposure slowly softened theological boundaries, making spiritual compromise feel less like rebellion and more like participation in the ordinary rhythms of life.
This interaction began way back when Israel returned from Egypt to the Promised land. You might remember that Moses led the Children of Israel through Moabite territory on their way to the Promised land. And Moab allowed it. But later the king of Moab became afraid of Israel and hired Balaam to pronounce a curse on Israel. This backfired on them, but Balaam gave the king advise about luring the sons of Israel into compromise by sending their best-looking Moabite women to seduce Israelite men and lure them into sexual immorality and worshipping Baal. God judged Israel for that and 24,000 died in a plague.
Well, God judges again here by raising up Eglon to subjugate Israel. It says he gathered allies in Ammon and Amalek and attacked Israel and took the city of palm trees. The city of palm trees was Jericho. It would have been the first stronghold that Eglon could capture to give himself a foothold into Israeli territory. It was also, ironically, the first city that Israel had captured under Joshua.
Israel gets subjugated by these familiar people. The irony is sharp and intentional—Israel imitates the gods of the land, and God hands them over to people from their own family tree.
Eighteen Years of Subjection (Judg. 3:14)
The text says, “the people of Israel served Eglon the king of Moab eighteen years,” and that word served deserves careful attention. It is the same verb Scripture often uses for worship, making the point unmistakable: Israel is serving Moab because they refused to serve the Lord. This is not merely the result of tolerated sin, but of misdirected allegiance. What Israel would not give to God in obedience, they now give to a foreign king in bondage. When worship is displaced, service does not disappear—it simply finds a new master.
Serving Eglon for eighteen years meant living under humiliating subjection rather than open warfare. According to Book of Judges 3, Israel paid regular tribute to Moab — grain, livestock, oil, and other produce — meaning their labor sustained a foreign king. Strategic territory such as the “city of palm trees” were seized, likely guarded by Moabite forces, reminding Israel daily of their defeat. Their leaders delivered tribute publicly, acknowledging Moab’s authority. Economically, prosperity would have stalled as harvests were taxed, and families worked without fully enjoying the fruit of their labor. Spiritually and culturally, foreign dominance brought ongoing pressure and influence. And for eighteen years — nearly a full generation — oppression became normal. They were not wiped out; they were worn down, diminished, and quietly ruled, all because the familiar compromise they tolerated had now become their master.
IV. God Raises an Unexpected Deliverer (Judg. 3:15)
The text is unambiguous: “Then the people of Israel cried out to the LORD, and the LORD raised up for them a deliverer, Ehud.” Unlike some later figures in Judges, there is no uncertainty here—Ehud is explicitly sent by God.
I told you last time that there is a lot of irony in the book of judges. And the irony comes from God. God They serve Eglon for 18 years.
Israel falls to a close neighbor, even a relative tribe. God delivers by Ehud.
He comes from the tribe of Benjamin, whose name means “son of the right hand,” a detail that only deepens the irony of the story.
Throughout Scripture, the right hand is the hand of strength, honor, and favor — “Your right hand, O Lord, glorious in power” (Exodus 15:6), the place of authority and blessing.
The deliverer Ehud himself is described as left-handed, literally “restricted in the right hand,” whether by natural limitation or intentional training. In ancient warfare, this would have been unexpected and easily overlooked, even exploited. The irony is embedded directly into the narrative: a man from the “right-hand” tribe of Benjamin delivers Israel with his left hand, and the very trait that appears to be a weakness becomes the instrument of God’s deliverance.
So, in Judges, Israel turns away from the strength of God’s right hand and, spiritually speaking, choses the “left” — the lesser, the compromised, the familiar idols that weakened them. So, when they finally cried out, God answered with holy irony.
He raised up Ehud, a left-handed man, from the tribe of Benjamin the “son of my right hand.” A left-handed deliverer from the “son of the right hand” comes to rescue Israel from the grip of Moab’s oppressive hand and restore them to the service of the Lord’s right hand.
The very symbolism is layered with grace: Israel chose the wrong hand, but God used the unexpected hand to bring them back to the only hand that saves.
Now, the irony does not stop there.
V. How did Ehud deliver?
Now this passage is one of the more graphic in Scripture. I will tell it as gingerly as possible the story of how Ehud delivered Israel. As I mentioned before, one of the ways that Israel had to serve Eglon was with tribute.
In the ancient Near East, tribute was not a casual gift but a structured system of enforced submission. After a conquest, the weaker nation was allowed to remain in its land but required to send regular payments — grain, livestock, oil, wine, metals, or other goods — to the ruling power.
So, local elders and tribal leaders typically collected these goods from villages. Ther would likely be a set time where a caravan of empty wagons would go from village to village. The Israelite elder or tribal leader would have been a trusted representative who delivered the goods to the conquering king.
In Book of Judges 3, Ehud was likely an Israelite leader or delegate chosen to carry tribute on behalf of his people. He would have been a respected representative — someone with enough standing to present the offering directly to Eglon. And for eighteen years, these deliveries would have symbolized Israel’s humiliation and submission. But the very man entrusted to carry the tribute, the visible sign of Israel’s servitude, became the instrument God used to break that system and deliver His people.
And here is another irony: Eglon is killed because he trusts what was familiar. This is not a hostile encounter but a familiar one—Ehud is allowed close, unquestioned proximity.
This is what he does. He conceals a dagger on his right thigh. He is left-handed. The typical warrior was right-handed and would have put a weapon on his left thigh. That detail matters because Eglons guards would looked for a weapon on the right thigh, not the left. Now another detail that we are given is that Eglon the king was very fat.
So, Ehud goes to Eglon with an entourage carrying the produce to be given as a tribute. He goes in to meet Eglon to officially and ceremonially say, “we have delivered our tribute, we are your servants.” Now, after the tribute is received, and the produce is inventoried, Ehud enacts his plan. He says to Eglon, probably sitting on his throne overseeing the bringing of tribute, Ehud says, “I have a secret errand unto thee, O king.” “I’ve got a private message to you and you alone O king.” “I’ve got some very important information you should hear.”
And the king replies, “Keep silence.” The king dismisses his attendants. He sends everyone out except Ehud and himself. Well, isn’t that kind of dangerous? Well, it appears that Eglon was too proud of his own power. Ehud had no apparent weapon. And maybe Ehud had faithfully delivered the tribute for years, to the point where Eglon looked at him as a docile servant. The fact that he is not afraid to dismiss his people and be alone with Ehud implies that Eglon trusted Ehud. So, everybody else is dismissed from the room. Irony: Israel forsakes God by following a familiar path to destruction. Eglon dies because he trusts what is familiar.
The text reveals a subtle but powerful insight: deliverance comes not through open confrontation, but through intimacy and access. And sin often defeats us in the same way—not by obvious attack, but by what we trust, permit, and allow close enough to shape us from the inside.
VI. “I Have a Message from God” — Corrupted Authority (Judg. 3:19–23)
When Ehud says, “I have a secret message for you, O king,” the irony of the moment deepens. Eglon rises in respect, dismisses his attendants, and assumes this message carries divine favor, not danger. His very posture reveals his character. His name likely means “calf,” and he is described as exceedingly fat—not merely as a physical detail, but as a picture of indulgence, excess, pride, and self-satisfaction. What follows is swift and decisive: the assassination is carried out at close range, complete, and met with no resistance at all. The text drives home the irony—the king who enslaved Israel through indulgence is undone by his own private overconfidence, falling not in battle, but in isolation, trusting what should never have been trusted.
Ehud pulls the dagger from his right thigh and kills Eglon with it. I’ll spare you the details. But if you want to read them, they are described in Judges 3:21-22.
Eglon falls dead, and Ehud leaves the room he’s in, shuts and locks the door and quickly escapes before anyone knows what he has done. While he is escaping, Eglon’s servants try the door, and it is locked. They assume that the king is having a private moment. But soon, enough time passes that they find the key, open the door and find their king dead.
Ehud then calls all of Israel to battle against Moab, they go to battle against any occupying forces and they win their freedom.
VIII. Theological Wrap-Up — What the Text Emphasizes
What’s the lesson: we often fail because we slip back into the familiar. We overlook the signs of danger.
In 1889, the South Fork Dam above Johnstown, Pennsylvania had been weakening for years. Cracks had been noticed. Repairs had been patched rather than strengthened. Heavy rains had tested it before — and it had held. Warnings had been issued before — and nothing catastrophic had happened. Over time, both the residents downstream and those responsible for the dam grew familiar with the conditions. Rising water was no longer alarming; it was routine. Concerns about the dam were no longer urgent; they were expected. Even telegraphed warnings in previous high-water moments had not resulted in disaster, so urgency dulled. Familiar storms. Familiar reassurances. Familiar survival. Until one day the rain did not stop, the pressure exceeded the weakened structure, and the dam collapsed. In minutes, a wall of water tore through Johnstown, and thousands died — not because the danger was unknown, but because it had become normal. That is how spiritual decline works. We grow accustomed to the cracks. We live beside the weakness. We hear the warnings so often that they lose their force. And what once alarmed us begins to feel ordinary. But familiarity does not remove danger — it conceals it. When we trust what has always “held before,” we may be standing beneath a structure already prepared to fail.
If familiarity is what dulls our vigilance, then Scripture gives us very practical ways to guard our hearts against sliding back into “familiar” sin.
First, remove what feeds it. Jesus said in Gospel of Matthew 5:29–30 that if your right eye or right hand causes you to stumble, cut it off. He is not calling for mutilation, but for decisive action. Do not manage temptation — eliminate access to it. Delete the number. Throw it away. Change the route. Remove the supply. Radical amputation is better than repeated collapse.
Second, walk in the Spirit daily. Epistle to the Galatians 5:16 says, “Walk in the Spirit, and you shall not fulfill the lust of the flesh.” Familiar sin thrives in spiritual drift. A steady pattern of prayer, Scripture intake, and obedience strengthens what the flesh weakens. The battle is not won in crisis moments; it is won in daily communion.
Third, bring sin into the light. First Epistle of John 1:9 reminds us that confession brings cleansing. Familiar sin grows in secrecy. When we confess to God — and when appropriate, to trusted believers — we gain reinforcements. Silence isolates; confession fortifies.
Fourth, establish accountability and watchfulness. Jesus warned in Gospel of Matthew 26:41, “Watch and pray, that ye enter not into temptation.” Watching implies awareness. Know your patterns. Know your weak hours. Know your triggers. The believer who assumes strength is already near a fall.
Fifth, replace old habits with righteous disciplines. Epistle to the Romans 13:14 says, “Make no provision for the flesh.” That means do not stock the pantry of compromise. But Scripture also tells us to “put on the Lord Jesus Christ.” Sin is not only resisted; it is displaced. You do not merely stop feeding the flesh — you start feeding the Spirit.
Finally, remember the cost. Israel’s compromise led to eighteen years of oppression. Sin never remains small. What feels manageable today can master you tomorrow. Keep eternity in view. Keep the cross in view. Keep the right hand of God — the place of power and authority — in view.
Familiar sin loses its grip when we refuse to keep it familiar. When we remove access, walk closely with the Spirit, confess quickly, watch carefully, and replace compromise with obedience, we reinforce the dam before the pressure builds. And by God’s grace, we do not slide — we stand.