Integrity

“At last the ladder, which had been built slowly, slowly, one hope at a time, reached up to the clouds. And the dreamer began to climb.”
— Katherine Berry, The Ladder

There are moments in life when the path before us disappears.

The clouds gather. The storm blinds. The wind presses against us, and suddenly the way forward seems hidden from view.

Then, quietly, something shifts.

A door opens where another had been closed and locked. An unexpected provision arrives, not before we need it, but right on time. A burden becomes lighter in ways we never could have orchestrated ourselves. These moments seldom arrive all at once. More often, they emerge one faithful step at a time, after we have resolved to keep walking the path that aligns with our conscience.

I’ve come to believe that these moments reveal something deeper than provision. They reveal the quiet strength of integrity.

We live in a world that celebrates outcomes. We are encouraged to measure success by what we gain, how quickly we arrive, or whether we appear to have “won.” Expediency is often mistaken for wisdom, and success can tempt us to believe that the ends justify the means.

Yet I wonder if faith is inviting us to ask a different question.

Who are we becoming along the way?

Justice is not only found in the causes we champion. It is also found in the character we cultivate. Every day, we are quietly shaping the kind of neighbors, leaders, advocates, parents, friends, and people of faith we will become. In a culture that often rewards expediency, choosing integrity is a quiet act of resistance.

Because becoming carries no price tag. It cannot be bought, sold, or negotiated. It takes root beneath the surface, quietly shaped by the choices we make long before anyone notices what is growing.

As I write these words, I find myself at a crossroads. Perhaps you do too.

Maybe you are weary. Maybe the easier path is asking you to leave a piece of yourself behind. Only you know the burdens you carry, and every person’s circumstances are different. There is no judgment here, only the recognition that each of us is navigating roads that others cannot fully see.

A word of encouragement…

Hold on… to yourself.

Hold on to the deepest values that have guided your life. Do not mistake a hidden path for the absence of one. Sometimes the next faithful step is the only part of the journey we are meant to see. Sometimes we reach for that step, lose our footing for a moment, and then find it again. That, too, is part of the journey.

No one can promise that life will unfold according to our plans. Most of us know this all too well. What I have come to trust, however, is that there is a profound peace in looking back and recognizing that, whatever happened, I remained true to the person I believed God was calling me to be.

I didn’t abandon myself along the way.

Perhaps that, too, is a witness for justice.

Hold on.

The way may not yet be visible.

But that does not mean it is not already unfolding beneath your feet.

A toast to you, my friends, right here at the crossroads.

Amen.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Schmian Evans serves as the Minister for Women and Gender Justice in the National Setting of the United Church of Christ.

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