Integrity in Small Moments

Integrity Is Built in the Smallest Moments

Most of us assume our integrity will be tested in dramatic, high-stakes situations — the big decision, the public pressure, the defining crossroads.

But more often than not, the real tests come disguised as small, ordinary tasks. Quiet moments. Minor responsibilities. Things no one would ever notice.

I grew up watching a British TV show called Jim’ll Fix it. Kids would write in with their wildest wishes, and if chosen, he would make them happen. If I’d written in as a kid, I wouldn’t have asked to score the winning goal at Wembley. I think deep down I knew that wasn’t in the cards. I would’ve asked to be a ball boy at a professional soccer match — close enough to the action to feel like I belonged on the field.

And one day, I found myself living that childhood wish. Not at the highest level of the sport, but on the sideline of a professional match, serving as ball boy. It sounds simple because it is simple: when the ball goes out, get it back into play quickly. Retrieve the extras. Keep things moving. That’s it.

Before kickoff, I had the privilege of gathering a few players for prayer. After that, I happily threw myself into all the small, behind-the-scenes details — laying out bibs and cones, checking warm-up balls, filling water bottles. I loved it. There’s something satisfying about serving well in small ways.

Then the game got intense.

Rain started falling. The score tightened. Every possession mattered. And suddenly my little corner of the field became active. The ball was flying out near me constantly. Both teams were pushing hard for the win.

Earlier, someone had joked, “Just get the ball back quicker for our team and take your time with theirs.” We laughed. But in the heat of the match, that joke didn’t feel so funny.
Because I realized how easy it would be.

A two-second delay here. A slightly faster toss there. Nothing dramatic. Nothing obvious. No one in the stands would notice. I could subtly tilt momentum. I could help “my” team. It would be small. Harmless, even.

Except it wouldn’t be. That’s where integrity lives — or dies.

Integrity isn’t forged in spotlights. It’s formed in split-second decisions that no one applauds. It’s built in the quiet refusal to cheat “just a little.” It’s strengthened when we choose fairness over favoritism, even when our loyalties pull hard in the other direction.

I gave the ball back to both teams the same way. Quickly. Fairly. Every time. And here’s the deeper truth: catastrophic failures of integrity don’t start big. They start small. They begin with tiny compromises that feel insignificant. A shortcut here. A delay there. A bending of the rules because “it doesn’t really matter.” But it does matter.

Because your integrity is shaped long before the big moment ever arrives. It’s formed in the small, repetitive choices when there’s no crowd watching and no consequences looming. The dramatic collapse — or the powerful stand — is usually just the overflow of hundreds of unseen decisions made beforehand.

The real work of integrity happens in the daily details.
In the email, you could shade slightly.
In the expense, you could justify.
In the story, you could exaggerate.
In the advantage, you could quietly take.

Do the right thing there.

Throw the ball back quickly and fairly — to both sides.

Because who you become is decided in moments that look far too small to matter.