diligence

Excuses, excuses, excuses

/ taethne

There’s a Lion Outside!

Proverbs 22:13 paints a delightfully ridiculous picture: “The sluggard says, ‘There is a lion outside! I shall be killed in the streets!’”

You can almost see him. Curtains drawn, blanket pulled up to his chin, eyes wide with theatrical terror. A lion. In the streets. Of an ancient Near Eastern town. It’s the biblical equivalent of “I can’t go to work today—there’s a rogue tiger in the parking lot and also my left sock feels weird.”

Solomon (or whoever compiled this bit of inspired wisdom) isn’t primarily concerned with zoology. He’s shining a gentle but pointed light on the human heart’s remarkable talent for manufacturing excuses. The sluggard isn’t merely lazy; he’s a master storyteller. Danger becomes the perfect alibi for staying put. Fear, once invited in, grows larger than any actual lion.

From a Christian perspective, this little verse sits inside the larger biblical call to diligence and trust. Work is not a curse to be dodged; it’s part of the good design God spoke over creation before the Fall. Colossians 3:23 urges us to work “heartily, as for the Lord and not for men.” Proverbs repeatedly contrasts the sluggard with the diligent person whose path is made straight. Laziness isn’t just inefficient—it quietly rejects the stewardship God has given us over time, gifts, and opportunities. And the “lion” excuse reveals something deeper: when fear or comfort becomes louder than faith, we start negotiating with God about the size of the obstacles He’s supposedly allowed outside our door.

The humor is kind, though. Scripture doesn’t mock the weak; it lovingly exposes the self-deception we all practice. Most of us aren’t literal couch-bound sluggards. We’re more sophisticated. Our lions wear modern disguises:

  • “I can’t start that project until conditions are perfect.”
  • “I’ll pray about it… indefinitely.”
  • “Someone else is better equipped; I’ll just stay in my lane (which happens to be the recliner).”
  • “What if I fail and everyone sees the lion eat me?”

We chuckle because the excuses are so transparent—yet we recognize our own voices in them.

Practical Application

Here’s where the rubber (or the sandal) meets the road. The next time you feel that familiar reluctance rising, try this simple three-step response rooted in the gospel rather than grit:

  1. Name the lion out loud. Write down or speak the excuse exactly as it presents itself. “I’m afraid this conversation will go poorly.” “I don’t feel like cleaning because it never stays clean.” Naming it robs it of vague power and reveals whether it’s a real threat or a paper tiger.
  2. Bring it into the light of Christ’s sufficiency. Pray something short and honest: “Lord, You already know the size of this lion. You also know my tendency to exaggerate it. Give me the faith to take the next small step, trusting that You go with me.” Remember that the same God who shut the mouths of lions for Daniel is not surprised by your inbox, your messy kitchen, or your hard conversation.
  3. Take one concrete, imperfect action within the next hour. Send the email. Wash the first three dishes. Open the Bible app even if you only read five verses. The goal isn’t heroic productivity; it’s refusing to let the imaginary lion keep the door locked. Often the “streets” turn out to be far safer—and more grace-filled—than the sluggard imagined.

Over time these small acts of obedience train the heart. The Spirit uses them to replace the habit of excuse-making with the habit of trust. And occasionally, when you look back, you’ll laugh at how large the lion seemed and how faithful God proved to be once you stepped outside.

So the next time you hear yourself declaring that some fierce beast is prowling just beyond the threshold, smile, quote Proverbs 22:13 under your breath, and remember: the Lion of Judah has already walked those streets. You’re safer with Him than you are behind any closed door. Now—shall we open it together?

As a Door Turns on Its Hinges… and Why Your Bed Is Not a Holiness Zone

/ taethne

There’s a verse in Proverbs that always makes me smile—and then quietly rearrange my morning routine. Proverbs 26:14 says:

“As a door turns on its hinges, so a sluggard turns on his bed.”

Picture it with me. A door. It swings open. It swings shut. It creaks. It groans. It makes a lot of dramatic noise… and yet it never actually goes anywhere. It lives its entire wooden life in the same three-foot radius, forever pivoting but never progressing.

Solomon looks at that door, looks at the person still buried under three layers of blankets at 10:47 a.m., and says, “Yep. Same energy.”

The humor is gentle, but the jab is real. The sluggard isn’t villainous. He’s not plotting evil. He’s just… revolving. Turning left. Turning right. Adjusting the pillow. Checking the clock. Negotiating with himself about “just five more minutes” that somehow turn into fifty. All motion, zero mileage.

From a Christian perspective, this hits differently. God is not anti-rest. He invented the Sabbath. Jesus Himself took naps in boats during storms (a power move, if we’re honest). Rest is holy. But sluggishness—that endless, directionless turning—is something else entirely. It’s the quiet refusal to step through the open door God has already set before us.

Scripture is full of the opposite call: “Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord” (Colossians 3:23). The ant in Proverbs 6 doesn’t need a motivational podcast; she just gets up and gathers. Diligence isn’t about hustle culture or grinding yourself into dust. It’s about faithfulness. It’s about recognizing that the body God gave you, the time He entrusted to you, and the people He’s placed around you are not meant to be endlessly rotated upon like a creaky hinge.

The sluggard’s bed becomes a tiny kingdom of inertia. And inertia, left alone, has a way of slowly convincing us that staying put is safer, wiser, even more spiritual than moving. (“I’m just waiting on the Lord… from under this duvet.”)

Practical Application: Becoming a Door That Actually Opens

Here’s the good news: hinges can be oiled. Patterns can change. And the same God who designed doors also delights in helping His children walk through them.

Try this simple, grace-filled practice for the next seven days:

  1. Name your hinge. What is the specific “bed” you keep turning on? Is it the snooze button? Scrolling instead of starting the day with Scripture? Putting off the hard conversation, the workout, the email, the prayer time? Write it down. Specificity is the enemy of vagueness, and vagueness is the sluggard’s best friend.
  2. Set a “hinge-breaking” alarm. Choose one realistic morning or evening moment. When the alarm goes off, you get one pivot—sit up, feet on the floor, and say out loud (yes, out loud, even if your roommate looks at you strangely): “Lord, I’m getting up to walk through the door You’ve opened today.” Then do the next smallest possible action. Not the whole marathon. Just the first step.
  3. Invite accountability with humor. Text a trusted Christian friend: “If you see me still horizontal after 7:30, feel free to send me a picture of a door with the caption ‘Stop being this.’” Laughter disarms shame. Shame keeps us under the covers. Grace gets us moving.
  4. End the day with gratitude, not guilt. Before bed, thank God for one thing you did move toward. Even if it was tiny. Progress, not perfection, is the Christian metric. The door that opens once is already more useful than the one that only swings.

Friend, your bed is a gift for rest—not a permanent residence. The door of today is already swinging open. Somewhere beyond it is work that matters, people who need you, joy that waits, and a Savior who is not annoyed by your slow starts. He’s simply ready, with infinite patience and a quiet smile, to walk with you once your feet hit the floor.

So go ahead. Turn one more time if you must. Then stand up. The hinges were never meant to be your whole story.

A Sheep Saunters Into 2 Peter 1:12-15

/ taethne

Remembering and Reminding

Dear friend in Christ,

I write to you today with a heart full of quiet joy and sober tenderness, for the words of the apostle Peter in his second letter, chapter 1, verses 12 through 15, have been lingering with me like a gentle hand upon the shoulder. Let me share them with you as they stand:

“Therefore I intend always to remind you of these qualities, though you know them and are established in the truth that you have. I think it right, as long as I am in this body, to stir you up by way of reminder, since I know that the putting off of my body will be soon, as our Lord Jesus Christ made clear to me. And I will make every effort so that after my departure you may be able at any time to recall these things.”

These lines were penned in the mid-to-late 60s of the first century, almost certainly from Rome itself, in the shadowed final years of Emperor Nero’s reign. The great fire of AD 64 had already left the city in ashes, and Nero—desperate to deflect blame—had turned with vicious cruelty upon the followers of Jesus. Believers were being arrested, tortured, and executed in public spectacles.

It was into this climate of gathering storm that Peter, the once-impulsive fisherman now seasoned shepherd of the scattered church, sat down to write. Tradition and the internal evidence of the letter place him there in the imperial capital, fully aware that his own martyrdom was drawing near. Years earlier, beside the Sea of Galilee, the risen Lord had told him plainly that when he was old he would stretch out his hands and be led where he did not wish to go—a clear prophecy of the cross that awaited him (John 21:18–19). Now that word was coming to pass. Within a short time Peter would be crucified, tradition says upside-down at his own request, outside the walls of Rome.

Yet instead of turning inward in self-pity or fear, he turns outward in love. He knows his readers—Jewish and Gentile believers scattered across Asia Minor—are already established in the truth; they know the gospel, they have tasted the divine nature, they are walking in faith, virtue, knowledge, self-control, steadfastness, godliness, brotherly affection, and love. Still, he insists on reminding them. Why? Because truth, however firmly planted, needs the soft rain of repetition if it is to keep bearing fruit amid the changing seasons of persecution and daily pressure.

Notice the warmth in his resolve: “I think it right… to stir you up by way of reminder.” The Greek word he chooses carries the sense of awakening someone who is already awake, of gently rousing a soul so that what is known becomes freshly alive. He is not scolding; he is shepherding. And he does this not merely for the days that remain to him beneath Nero’s shadow, but with an eye to the years after he is gone. “I will make every effort so that after my departure you may be able at any time to recall these things.” His departure—his exodus, the same word used of Christ’s own departure in glory—will not silence the truth. He labors so that memory itself becomes a faithful companion long after the apostle’s voice is still and his body has been laid in a Roman grave.

What a tender picture of Christian maturity this is. Peter does not cling to his own importance; he pours himself out so that the church may continue to stand. He knows that the greatest gift he can leave is not a monument to himself, but a people who remember Jesus—His power, His promises, His call to grow in godliness. The body is temporary; the truth is eternal. And love, real love, spends itself making sure that truth is not forgotten, even when the one who speaks it is taken away by the sword of an emperor.

So, my dear one, I write these lines to you in the same spirit. We too live in fragile tents. We too have been given precious and very great promises. And we too are called to keep one another awake to the grace that has already taken root in us. May we, like Peter in those final Roman days, stir one another up—not with novelty, but with the old, living truth—until the day we put off these bodies and see the Lord face to face.

With affection in the One who never forgets us,
A fellow pilgrim

Personal Reflection Questions

  1. What truths of the gospel do I already “know” and yet most need to be gently reminded of in this season of my life?
  2. How might the awareness of my own temporary body change the way I invest in the spiritual memory of those I love?
  3. In what practical ways can I “stir up” a brother or sister this week—not with new information, but by lovingly recalling the old, life-giving truths we already share?
  4. If the Lord were to make clear that my departure is near, what would I most want those who remain to be able to recall about Christ and His call upon their lives?

A Sheep Saunters Into 2 Peter 1:10-11

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Making Your Calling Sure

“Therefore, brothers, be all the more diligent to confirm your calling and election, for if you practice these qualities you will never fall. For in this way there will be richly provided for you an entrance into the eternal kingdom of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.”

My dear friends,

As we continue to work our way through 2 Peter’s wonderful letter, let us draw close to the Lord as we sip on our cup of steaming caffeine of choice. Remember, these words are written to you because your Heavenly Father deeply loves you and wants what is best for your life.

Peter writes these words near the end of his life, with the tenderness of a shepherd who knows his flock and the urgency of a man who has walked with Jesus. He has just listed the beautiful chain of Christian virtues—faith, virtue, knowledge, self-control, steadfastness, godliness, brotherly affection, and love—and now he turns to us with a warm, pastoral “therefore.”

Notice the heart of his exhortation: “be all the more diligent to confirm your calling and election.” Our calling and election are not fragile things we manufacture by effort. They are the gracious, sovereign work of God who chose us in Christ before the foundation of the world and called us effectually by His Spirit. Yet Peter does not leave us passive. He invites us into a holy diligence—not the anxious striving of those who fear they might lose what God has given, but the joyful, steady work of those who want to see more clearly what God has already done.

How do we confirm it? By practicing “these qualities.” The virtues are not a ladder we climb to earn God’s favor; they are the fruit that grows when we remain in the Vine. As we cultivate them—day by day, imperfectly yet sincerely—our assurance deepens. We begin to recognize the family resemblance. The forgetfulness and nearsightedness Peter warned about in the previous verse start to clear. We remember that we have been purified from our former sins, and we walk with greater confidence.

The promise that follows is precious: “if you practice these qualities you will never fall.” This is not a cold guarantee of sinless perfection, but a warm assurance that the path of growing Christlikeness is a safe path. The one who keeps adding these graces will not stumble into the kind of spiritual collapse that leaves a person barren and unfruitful. God Himself upholds the diligent heart.

And then comes the beautiful horizon: “in this way there will be richly provided for you an entrance into the eternal kingdom of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.” Not a bare admission, like someone barely slipping through the gate. A rich entrance—an abundant, lavish welcome into the presence of the King. The same Lord who called and elected us will one day open wide the doors of His eternal kingdom and receive us with joy. The diligence of this life becomes the very means by which our entrance is made abundant.

So take heart, dear believer. Your growth in grace is not a burden laid upon you; it is the Spirit’s gentle work through you. Keep practicing these qualities. Keep confirming what God has already secured. And look forward with longing to that rich entrance, when faith will give way to sight and every imperfect step of obedience will be swallowed up in the everlasting welcome of Jesus.

Personal Reflection Questions

  1. Which of the qualities listed in 2 Peter 1:5–7 feels most alive in my life right now, and which one is the Spirit gently inviting me to cultivate more intentionally?
  2. When have I experienced a deeper sense of assurance about my calling and election through the simple, faithful practice of these virtues?
  3. How does the promise of a “richly provided” entrance into Christ’s eternal kingdom change the way I view the ordinary disciplines and struggles of following Jesus today?
  4. In what specific area of my life am I tempted to grow careless or near-sighted, and what one small step of diligence can I take this week to walk more securely?

Podcast – The Noonday Demon

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Sloth, or laziness, has been called the noonday demon. One of the seven deadly sins of the Christian moral tradition, sloth is a prevalent enemy we must all battle. Come, listen, and see what God has to say on this subject. Learn how to battle and defeat this noonday demon.

Podcast – Ta Ethne.