Truth doesn’t disappear—it’s us who let go of it, inch by inch, excuse by excuse.

Truth never fails. It doesn’t falter, it doesn’t waiver, and it doesn’t shift with the winds of convenience. Truth is steady, immovable, and eternal.

We’re the ones who lose our grip on it. We let it slip through our fingers—not because truth is weak, but because we compromise. We convince ourselves that a small lie here or a shortcut there doesn’t matter. And that’s how it begins: with a whisper of justification, a shrug of indifference, a decision to look the other way.

The problem isn’t truth. It’s us.

The Minister and the Hill of Broken Sod

I had just had new sod laid at my house. If you’ve ever done it, you know how delicate it is at first. It’s not just grass—it’s an investment. It needs time, care, and attention to take root. You can’t afford to ignore it.

One day, I mentioned the cost and care involved to a minister I knew. His response? A story that left me uneasy—one of those moments where something small reveals something much bigger.

He told me about a job he’d been working outside the church. He had to walk up a freshly sodded hill, and the ground was still wet from rain the night before. With every step he took, the sod shifted beneath his feet. He could feel it sliding, tearing loose, patch by patch.

But he didn’t stop. He climbed all the way to the top, displacing not just one patch of grass, but at least 20 or 25. By the time he turned around, the hill was destroyed. Large sections of bare dirt stared back at him where the sod had been.

And what did he do? Nothing.

“I just left it,” he said, shrugging. “Figured it wasn’t mine to fix.”

It wasn’t the grass that unsettled me. It was the casual way he dismissed it, the way he justified walking away as if it didn’t matter.

Compromise Always Feels Small

This wasn’t about a hill of sod. It was about something much deeper. It was about the way we let small compromises shape who we are.

The minister hadn’t set out to destroy the hill, just like none of us set out to walk away from truth. But with every step he took, he made a choice to ignore the damage. And by the time he looked back, the mess was too big to ignore.

That’s how compromise works. It feels insignificant in the moment. You tell yourself, “It’s fine. It’s just one small thing. It doesn’t really matter.” But it does.

Integrity doesn’t collapse in a single moment. It erodes, decision by decision, until there’s nothing left to hold onto.

Why We Lose Our Grip on Truth

Truth doesn’t adjust to fit our feelings or circumstances. It stands firm, even when it’s inconvenient, even when it costs us something. That’s why we’re so quick to let it go. Holding onto truth means taking responsibility, owning up to our mistakes, and doing what’s right even when no one’s watching.

And let’s be honest: that’s hard. It’s far easier to walk away, to convince ourselves that the mess isn’t ours to fix. But every time we make that choice, we loosen our grip on truth just a little more.

Feelings are often the culprit. They tell us, “If it feels good, it must be right. If it feels hard, it must not be worth it.” But feelings are terrible guides. They’ll lead you straight into compromise if you let them.

The Ripple Effect of Walking Away

When the minister walked away from that torn hill, he wasn’t just leaving behind a damaged yard. He was walking away from accountability, from integrity, from truth. And the effects didn’t stop with him.

Our choices, especially the small ones, have ripples. They touch the people around us, shaping how they see us and what they value.

The minister’s casual dismissal of the mess he left behind spoke volumes. It said, “Responsibility doesn’t matter. Someone else will deal with it.” And whether he realized it or not, that choice was planting seeds in the lives of everyone who watched him.

What seeds are you planting with your choices?

The Bigger Lesson

The minister’s story wasn’t just about a hill of torn grass. It was about all of us. It was about the way we let small compromises creep into our lives and the damage they leave behind.

Truth never fails. It never moves. It’s us who drift away, patch by patch, excuse by excuse. The good news is that no matter how far you’ve drifted, truth is still there, waiting for you to grab hold of it again.

So, will you? Or will you keep walking away, step by step, until there’s nothing left to hold onto?

The choice is yours.

—Joshua L Mullins