The Gift of Failure
Nothing seasons our lives quite like failure—if we’re willing to view it the right way. When we sit with our mistakes, accept responsibility for them, and refuse to run from the discomfort, something remarkable happens: we grow. Growth that wasn’t accessible before the fall becomes possible. We can rise again, often as a better version of ourselves.
Failure has a way of shedding light on parts of us that might have otherwise remained in the shadows. It exposes the cracks in our foundation and invites us to rebuild stronger, wiser, and more compassionate.
I think this is part of what Jesus was teaching in the Sermon on the Mount. He turned the religious paradigm of His day on its head by declaring, “Blessed are the poor in spirit,” and “Blessed are those who mourn.” These blessings weren’t for the perfect or the put-together—they were for the broken, the humble, and the desperate. When Jesus said, “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,” He was speaking to those who recognized their own lack.
The humble people Jesus recognized were not the religious elites; they were tax collectors, doubters, and prostitutes. Misfits. They didn’t have it all together. And yet, they were the ones He called blessed.
Why? Perhaps because broken people often develop a deep empathy for other broken people. Walk into any Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, and you’ll see this in action. No matter how shocking a confession may be, the people in the room listen with grace. Why? Because they’ve walked the same road—maybe even further.
Failure has a way of leveling us. Over time, life tends to expose our weaknesses, our flaws, and our pride. If you live long enough depending on your own goodness, you’ll eventually stumble. And if by some chance your path remains spotless, you’ve probably just become really good at hiding the dirt. The truth is, the “self-made righteous man” doesn’t exist.
But this isn’t a pessimistic view of life. It’s realistic, yes, but also hopeful. Because hope is born in humility. The starting point of true hope isn’t blaming my spouse, my boss, or my neighbor—it’s looking in the mirror and realizing that my biggest problem in life is me.
And here’s the paradox: if you can come to this realization without falling, you might just be one of the wisest people alive. But for most of us, it’s through failure that we’re given the chance to see ourselves clearly, to embrace humility, and to step into the grace that God offers to the brokenhearted.
Failure, painful as it may be, is often the place where hope begins. And that, I think, is a blessing.
