Who can predict a person’s end by looking at his beginning?

Who would have imagined that Hitler, an ordinary young man who made a living selling his paintings, would one day become a brutal dictator before whom the world trembled? Who would have imagined that Harry Truman, who once ran a small business, would one day become President of the United States and occupy a position of authority from which atomic bombs would be dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki?

The beginning does not tell us the end.

I look at Saul’s beginning.

He belonged to Benjamin, considered one of the smallest tribes of Israel. He himself asked, “Am I not a Benjamite, of the smallest of the tribes of Israel, and my family the least of all the families of the tribe of Benjamin?” (1 Samuel 9:21).

From a small tribe.
From an insignificant family.

He works in the field. He tends the cattle (1 Samuel 11:5). He goes searching for his father’s lost donkeys. He is an obedient son, a hardworking young man faithfully doing the ordinary work entrusted to him.

There is not the slightest trace of pride or an air of authority about him. He makes no attempt to exalt himself. Even when the time comes to present him before the people as king, he is found hiding among the equipment (1 Samuel 10:22).

What a wonderful beginning!

But how tragic was that man’s end!

The man who once considered himself small later became willing to do almost anything to preserve his throne. The man who once hid himself later fought to preserve his name, position, and authority. The man who once hesitated to be elevated could later no longer tolerate David, whom God was raising up.

Saul’s problem was not that he rose to a high position. His heart changed when he rose.

That frightens me.

When I think about Saul’s fall, another beginning and another end come to mind—Lucifer’s.

His beginning was not in evil. In the words Ezekiel 28 uses concerning the king of Tyre, words in which we also see a reflection of Satan’s fall, we read: “You were perfect in your ways from the day you were created, till iniquity was found in you” (Ezekiel 28:15). But at some point, his beauty turned his attention away from God and toward himself. “Your heart was lifted up because of your beauty” (28:17).

That is where the fall began.

When we think of great sins, we usually think of murder, adultery, theft, fraud, and the like. They are terrible sins indeed. But how dreadful pride must be in the sight of God! Pride does not merely lead a person into some particular sin; it begins to place self in the place that belongs to God.

“I am somebody.”

A person does not have to say those words aloud. The thought can be born quietly, somewhere deep within the heart.

My ability.
My knowledge.
My experience.
My ministry.
My accomplishments.
My influence.
My writing.
My songs.

When I begin to regard what God has given me as though it were my own, those very things can slowly make me great in my own eyes.

That is why Samuel’s words to Saul pierce me:

“When you were little in your own eyes…” (1 Samuel 15:17).

The problem was not that Saul was small. Nor was the problem that he became great. The problem was that after coming to a great position, he lost the sense of being little in his own eyes.

My safety, then, is not in occupying a small position or a great one. However high the place I may occupy, my safety lies in remaining little in my own eyes.

Lucifer’s fall warns me. Saul’s fall warns me.

It may perhaps be comparatively easy for me to guard myself against other sins. But if somewhere deep in my heart the thought, “I am somebody,” is beginning to grow, I may be in far greater danger than I realize.

A person’s fall does not begin when he falls down.
The fall begins when he begins to rise in his own eyes.

The more air we blow into a balloon, the larger it becomes. It looks as though it is growing. But that increase in size is not a sign of strength; it may actually be moving toward the point of bursting.

Sometimes I wonder whether we are like that.

As praise comes, as successes multiply, as influence grows, as more and more people listen to what we say, something within us can begin to swell without our even realizing it. Outwardly, we may appear to be growing; inwardly, we may actually be moving toward danger.

Then what does the God who loves us do?

Paul’s experience gives me great comfort here. He writes that because of the abundance of the revelations given to him, a thorn in the flesh was given to him so that he would not exalt himself (2 Corinthians 12:7).

“Lest I should be exalted above measure…”

He says it not once, but twice in the same verse.

Was that thorn, then, merely a source of pain?

No. It was also a protection.

Paul did not like it. Three times he pleaded with the Lord to remove it. But God did not remove the thorn. Instead, He said, “My grace is sufficient for you” (2 Corinthians 12:8–9).

When I think about this, I begin to look differently at many things in my own life that I do not like.

Some circumstances may humble me. Some people may ignore me or treat me with disregard. Some may misunderstand me. The recognition I expected may never come. Things I planned may fail. Events beyond my control may make me conscious of my weakness. Some experiences may even make me feel small.

I cannot say that God directly caused all these things. Nor can I categorically call the wrongs and injustices others do to me the work of God.

But God can use even these things for my good.

While I am praying for them to be removed, God may be using them to remove something else from me—my pride.

I ask God to change my circumstances; God changes me.

I ask Him to remove a person from my path; God uses that very person to bring something within me into the light.

I ask for a thorn to be removed; God allows the thorn so that I will not swell until I burst.

This thought humbles me deeply.

God’s love is not always expressed by creating comfortable circumstances for me. His love is also revealed in restraining me so that I do not destroy myself.

A father does not give his child everything simply because he loves him. He closes some doors. Sometimes he slows the child down. What the child will become tomorrow matters more to the father than what the child wants today.

In the same way, God may use circumstances, people, and events to keep the children He loves from falling into the dreadful sin of pride.

So I do not regard every obstacle in my life as an enemy, every humiliation as a loss, or every thorn as a curse. Some thorns may have been permitted not to wound me, but to protect me.

The balloon may want to become bigger and bigger.

But God does not want it to burst.

Yet another question arises here.

Once, while I was speaking along these lines in a meeting, a believer asked me:

“If that is so, aren’t you speaking as though we are nothing? If we teach our children that way, won’t the world crush them? Won’t they begin to think of themselves as inferior?”

There is validity in that question.

Humility is not an inferiority complex. Thinking, “I am good for nothing,” is not humility. Denying my abilities or refusing to value what God has given me is not humility.

God created me. Christ gave Himself for me. God has given me abilities. He has entrusted responsibilities to me. Therefore, I am not worthless.

But there is a very subtle distinction here:

I have value, but I have nothing of which I can boast.

Paul asks, “For who makes you differ from another? And what do you have that you did not receive? Now if you did indeed receive it, why do you boast as if you had not received it?” (1 Corinthians 4:7).

That puts me in my proper place.

I do not want to teach my children or grandchildren, “You are nothing; let anyone walk all over you.” At the same time, I do not want to teach them, “You are very special. You are greater than others. The world must recognize you.”

Instead, this is what I want to say:

You were created by God; therefore, you have value.
God has given you gifts and abilities; therefore, use them courageously.
But there is nothing you possess that you did not receive; therefore, do not boast.

This understanding does not make a person weak. On the contrary, it brings a remarkable freedom.

I do not have to prove that I am somebody. I do not have to show that I am greater than others. I do not need someone’s praise in order to have value. Nor do I become worthless when someone fails to value me.

My value comes from God; there is no room for my pride.

This is the balance I have learned:

Inferiority — “I am worthless.”
Pride — “I am somebody.”
Humility — “By the grace of God I am what I am.”
(1 Corinthians 15:10)

So the realization that “I am nothing” does not make me cower before the world. It puts me in my proper place before God.

Before people, I can stand with my head held high.
Before God, I bow my head.

Courage before the world;
humility before God.

They are not opposites.

Now I return to Saul.

It is easy to write about Saul. It is easy to list his failures. But the Word of God was not given to me merely so that I could examine him; it was also given so that I could examine myself.

So when I look at Saul, I do not want to look only at him.

I want to look at myself.

What was my beginning like?

What was I like when I had nothing? What was I like when no one knew me? How did I seek God when I had no name, no position, no influence? How faithfully did I handle small responsibilities? Could I serve without anyone’s praise?

Is that same simplicity still in me today?

When God lifts us a little, when people begin to respect us, when people listen to what we say, when our name becomes known, when our opinions begin to carry weight—something can change within us without our realizing it.

In the beginning we held on to God. Later, we may begin to hold on to what God has given us.

We may hold on to our ministry.
Our position.
Our name.
Our honor.
The things we have built.

The man who once asked, “Who am I?” may one day begin to fear, “What if someone else takes my place?”

What warns me most in Saul’s life is not merely his fall, but the change that took place between his beginning and his end.

That change did not happen in one day.

A small act of disobedience. A little self-justification. Fear of what people might think. An attempt to protect his position. Jealousy. Giving greater importance to his own judgment than to what God had said.

Slowly, the Saul who had been there at the beginning disappeared.

That frightens me even more, because a person does not become a different person in a single day. Small changes may be taking place within him continually while he remains unaware of them.

They may begin long before others notice them.

Perhaps I too may fail to notice immediately the changes taking place within me.

Something that once troubled me may no longer trouble me. Something that once brought me quickly to repentance may now seem ordinary. Once I knew that I could do nothing without God’s help; now I may begin to trust my experience and ability. Once I gave all the glory to God; now, without even realizing it, I may begin to take a little of that glory for myself.

That is why I desire a good ending even more than a good beginning.

There is no use taking pride in what I once was.

How I began is important.

But more important is this:

What am I like today?
How am I changing?
Above all, how am I going to finish?

At the end of his life Paul could say, “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith” (2 Timothy 4:7).

Those words draw me.

That is my desire.

Not merely to begin well.
Not to become great.
Not for my name to become known.
Not even to be remembered by people.

What matters is how I finish.

I want to finish depending upon the One on whom I depended when He first began His work in me.

The humility that was there at the beginning must remain at the end. The fear of God that was there at the beginning must remain at the end. The obedience that was there at the beginning must remain at the end. The simplicity that was there at the beginning must remain at the end. And the love I had for Christ at the beginning must not diminish, but become deeper at the end.

Therefore, I thank God even for some of the thorns He has allowed in my life.

For some things over which I have wept.
For some events I could not understand.
For some circumstances that humbled me and made me feel small.
For some people I did not like.
For some doors I wanted opened, but which remained closed.

At the time, they were painful. But some of them may have been safeguards God placed in my life to keep me from swelling until I burst.

I do not fully know which thorn protected me from what.

But this one thing I know:

A good beginning is no guarantee of a good ending.

Lucifer had a wonderful beginning.
Saul had a wonderful beginning.

When I think about their beginnings and their endings, I do not want to look at others.

I want to look at myself.

Before I look at someone else and say, “How he has changed!” I ask myself:

“How am I changing?”

That question matters more to me now.

I am growing older. I am closer to the end of my life than to its beginning. So the most important question for me now is not, “How did I begin?”

“How am I going to finish?”

I have nothing in my beginning of which to boast. Nor can I give any guarantee about my ending.

What I need is the grace of God.

I needed grace to begin.
I need grace to continue.
I need grace to finish.

I cannot hold on to myself and finish well. I can finish only by the grace of the One who is holding on to me.

So this is my prayer:

Lord,

Even if You lift me up, help me remain little in my own eyes.

Even if You use me, keep me from thinking that I am somebody.

Even if people praise me, keep that praise from swelling my heart.

If I need a thorn to keep me humble, teach me not to hate the thorn, but to see Your grace in it.

Use the people, circumstances, and events that come across my path to remove from me everything that is displeasing to You.

When I finish, let me depend on You even more than I did when I began.

Let the fact that I began well never become my boast.

Let finishing well be my desire.