A Nugget of Truth.
THE GLANCE, WE JUDGE.
"But Lot’s wife looked back from behind him, and she became a pillar of salt." — Genesis 19:26
If you grew up hearing the story of Sodom and Gomorrah, you probably learned a very specific lesson about Lot’s wife: Don't look back. Don't love the world more than God. Total obedience matters.
For centuries, we have treated her as a cautionary tale of a divided heart. We assume she looked back because she missed the luxury, the culture, or the sin of the city she left behind. We read her final, tragic moment as a swift act of divine judgment on a woman who valued a corrupt city more than her deliverance.
But if we are honest, it is incredibly easy to judge a heart we cannot see.
When we look at her story through a single verse, we condense a human life into one bad decision. We do the same thing to the people around us every day. We see a snapshot of someone’s worst moment, a sudden lapse in judgment, or a struggle they can’t seem to break free from, and we instantly write their internal script for them. We decide *why* they did it.
Let’s step into her sandals for a moment. Put yourself on that dusty road, fleeing in the pre-dawn darkness.
The angels didn’t just say "leave"; they literally had to grab Lot, his wife, and their daughters by the hands and drag them out of the city because they were lingering. They were terrified. The text tells us that Lot had married daughters who stayed behind with their husbands.
When the sulfur and fire began to rain down, Lot’s wife was running for her life, but she was also running away from her children.
Try to imagine hearing the roar of destruction behind you, knowing your flesh and blood is caught in the middle of it. Was her look back a longing for the sin of Sodom? Or was it the instinct of a mother hearing the screams of her family? Was it a posture of rebellion, or was it a heart paralyzingly overwhelmed by grief and trauma?
The truth is, we don’t know. The text doesn't tell us her internal dialogue. And that is exactly the point.
When she turned around, she was frozen in place—transformed into a pillar of salt. In ancient times, salt was a symbol of grief, tears, and desolation. She became a physical monument to the weight of what she was leaving behind. God saw her heart, and whatever happened in that spiritual space was between her and her Creator.
But for us, the readers, her story stands as a warning—not just about looking back, but about how quickly we cast judgment on the brokenness of others.
When we judge the hearts of others, we almost always assume the worst possible motivation.
If someone steps away from the faith, we assume they just want to sin.
If someone struggles with deep anxiety or depression, we assume they lack faith.
If someone makes a sudden, messy mistake, we assume they are rebellious.
Jesus gave a fierce warning about this in the Sermon on the Mount:
"Do not judge, or you too will be judged. For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged"*
(Matthew 7:1-2).
Why? Because human beings are notoriously bad at reading hearts. We see the action; God sees the battlefield inside. We see the look back; God sees the grief, the fear, the generational trauma, and the exhaustion that caused the neck to turn.
How do we practice this in our daily lives? How do we shift from being prosecutors of other people's hearts to guardians of our own compassion?
Extend the Benefit of the Doubt: When someone fails or hurts you, consciously stop yourself from assigning a motive to them. Instead of saying, "They did that to hurt me," try saying, "I don't know what kind of pain or pressure they are under right now."
Remember Your Own Hidden Battlefields:Think of a time you did something foolish, reactive, or wrong, not out of malice, but out of sheer pain, exhaustion, or fear. You wanted mercy then. Offer that same space to others.
Leave Judgment to the Only One Who Can See: God is the only righteous judge because He is the only one with all the data. He knows the exact weight of every heart. When we judge, we try to sit in a seat that belongs solely to Him.
Heavenly Father, forgive us for how quickly we assume the worst in others. Forgive us for the times we have looked at someone's brokenness or failure and decided we knew exactly why they fell. Help us to be slow to judge hearts we cannot see. When we see someone look back, stumble, or freeze on the road, let our first instinct be to offer a hand of mercy rather than a stone of condemnation. Thank You for seeing our messy, complicated hearts and meeting us with grace. Amen.
THE GLANCE, WE JUDGE.
"But Lot’s wife looked back from behind him, and she became a pillar of salt." — Genesis 19:26
If you grew up hearing the story of Sodom and Gomorrah, you probably learned a very specific lesson about Lot’s wife: Don't look back. Don't love the world more than God. Total obedience matters.
For centuries, we have treated her as a cautionary tale of a divided heart. We assume she looked back because she missed the luxury, the culture, or the sin of the city she left behind. We read her final, tragic moment as a swift act of divine judgment on a woman who valued a corrupt city more than her deliverance.
But if we are honest, it is incredibly easy to judge a heart we cannot see.
When we look at her story through a single verse, we condense a human life into one bad decision. We do the same thing to the people around us every day. We see a snapshot of someone’s worst moment, a sudden lapse in judgment, or a struggle they can’t seem to break free from, and we instantly write their internal script for them. We decide *why* they did it.
Let’s step into her sandals for a moment. Put yourself on that dusty road, fleeing in the pre-dawn darkness.
The angels didn’t just say "leave"; they literally had to grab Lot, his wife, and their daughters by the hands and drag them out of the city because they were lingering. They were terrified. The text tells us that Lot had married daughters who stayed behind with their husbands.
When the sulfur and fire began to rain down, Lot’s wife was running for her life, but she was also running away from her children.
Try to imagine hearing the roar of destruction behind you, knowing your flesh and blood is caught in the middle of it. Was her look back a longing for the sin of Sodom? Or was it the instinct of a mother hearing the screams of her family? Was it a posture of rebellion, or was it a heart paralyzingly overwhelmed by grief and trauma?
The truth is, we don’t know. The text doesn't tell us her internal dialogue. And that is exactly the point.
When she turned around, she was frozen in place—transformed into a pillar of salt. In ancient times, salt was a symbol of grief, tears, and desolation. She became a physical monument to the weight of what she was leaving behind. God saw her heart, and whatever happened in that spiritual space was between her and her Creator.
But for us, the readers, her story stands as a warning—not just about looking back, but about how quickly we cast judgment on the brokenness of others.
When we judge the hearts of others, we almost always assume the worst possible motivation.
If someone steps away from the faith, we assume they just want to sin.
If someone struggles with deep anxiety or depression, we assume they lack faith.
If someone makes a sudden, messy mistake, we assume they are rebellious.
Jesus gave a fierce warning about this in the Sermon on the Mount:
"Do not judge, or you too will be judged. For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged"*
(Matthew 7:1-2).
Why? Because human beings are notoriously bad at reading hearts. We see the action; God sees the battlefield inside. We see the look back; God sees the grief, the fear, the generational trauma, and the exhaustion that caused the neck to turn.
How do we practice this in our daily lives? How do we shift from being prosecutors of other people's hearts to guardians of our own compassion?
Extend the Benefit of the Doubt: When someone fails or hurts you, consciously stop yourself from assigning a motive to them. Instead of saying, "They did that to hurt me," try saying, "I don't know what kind of pain or pressure they are under right now."
Remember Your Own Hidden Battlefields:Think of a time you did something foolish, reactive, or wrong, not out of malice, but out of sheer pain, exhaustion, or fear. You wanted mercy then. Offer that same space to others.
Leave Judgment to the Only One Who Can See: God is the only righteous judge because He is the only one with all the data. He knows the exact weight of every heart. When we judge, we try to sit in a seat that belongs solely to Him.
Heavenly Father, forgive us for how quickly we assume the worst in others. Forgive us for the times we have looked at someone's brokenness or failure and decided we knew exactly why they fell. Help us to be slow to judge hearts we cannot see. When we see someone look back, stumble, or freeze on the road, let our first instinct be to offer a hand of mercy rather than a stone of condemnation. Thank You for seeing our messy, complicated hearts and meeting us with grace. Amen.
A Nugget of Truth.
THE GLANCE, WE JUDGE.
"But Lot’s wife looked back from behind him, and she became a pillar of salt." — Genesis 19:26
If you grew up hearing the story of Sodom and Gomorrah, you probably learned a very specific lesson about Lot’s wife: Don't look back. Don't love the world more than God. Total obedience matters.
For centuries, we have treated her as a cautionary tale of a divided heart. We assume she looked back because she missed the luxury, the culture, or the sin of the city she left behind. We read her final, tragic moment as a swift act of divine judgment on a woman who valued a corrupt city more than her deliverance.
But if we are honest, it is incredibly easy to judge a heart we cannot see.
When we look at her story through a single verse, we condense a human life into one bad decision. We do the same thing to the people around us every day. We see a snapshot of someone’s worst moment, a sudden lapse in judgment, or a struggle they can’t seem to break free from, and we instantly write their internal script for them. We decide *why* they did it.
Let’s step into her sandals for a moment. Put yourself on that dusty road, fleeing in the pre-dawn darkness.
The angels didn’t just say "leave"; they literally had to grab Lot, his wife, and their daughters by the hands and drag them out of the city because they were lingering. They were terrified. The text tells us that Lot had married daughters who stayed behind with their husbands.
When the sulfur and fire began to rain down, Lot’s wife was running for her life, but she was also running away from her children.
Try to imagine hearing the roar of destruction behind you, knowing your flesh and blood is caught in the middle of it. Was her look back a longing for the sin of Sodom? Or was it the instinct of a mother hearing the screams of her family? Was it a posture of rebellion, or was it a heart paralyzingly overwhelmed by grief and trauma?
The truth is, we don’t know. The text doesn't tell us her internal dialogue. And that is exactly the point.
When she turned around, she was frozen in place—transformed into a pillar of salt. In ancient times, salt was a symbol of grief, tears, and desolation. She became a physical monument to the weight of what she was leaving behind. God saw her heart, and whatever happened in that spiritual space was between her and her Creator.
But for us, the readers, her story stands as a warning—not just about looking back, but about how quickly we cast judgment on the brokenness of others.
When we judge the hearts of others, we almost always assume the worst possible motivation.
If someone steps away from the faith, we assume they just want to sin.
If someone struggles with deep anxiety or depression, we assume they lack faith.
If someone makes a sudden, messy mistake, we assume they are rebellious.
Jesus gave a fierce warning about this in the Sermon on the Mount:
"Do not judge, or you too will be judged. For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged"*
(Matthew 7:1-2).
Why? Because human beings are notoriously bad at reading hearts. We see the action; God sees the battlefield inside. We see the look back; God sees the grief, the fear, the generational trauma, and the exhaustion that caused the neck to turn.
How do we practice this in our daily lives? How do we shift from being prosecutors of other people's hearts to guardians of our own compassion?
Extend the Benefit of the Doubt: When someone fails or hurts you, consciously stop yourself from assigning a motive to them. Instead of saying, "They did that to hurt me," try saying, "I don't know what kind of pain or pressure they are under right now."
Remember Your Own Hidden Battlefields:Think of a time you did something foolish, reactive, or wrong, not out of malice, but out of sheer pain, exhaustion, or fear. You wanted mercy then. Offer that same space to others.
Leave Judgment to the Only One Who Can See: God is the only righteous judge because He is the only one with all the data. He knows the exact weight of every heart. When we judge, we try to sit in a seat that belongs solely to Him.
Heavenly Father, forgive us for how quickly we assume the worst in others. Forgive us for the times we have looked at someone's brokenness or failure and decided we knew exactly why they fell. Help us to be slow to judge hearts we cannot see. When we see someone look back, stumble, or freeze on the road, let our first instinct be to offer a hand of mercy rather than a stone of condemnation. Thank You for seeing our messy, complicated hearts and meeting us with grace. Amen.
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