Making Mountains Out Of Molehills

Most of the damage we do to our spiritual lives does not begin with big sins or dramatic failures.

It begins with small things we underestimate.

A reaction we excuse.

A habit we postpone dealing with.

A thought we repeat often enough that it starts to feel true.

We tell ourselves, “This is minor.”

“This doesn’t really matter.”

“I’m making too much out of nothing.”

And yet, over time, something small becomes something heavy.

What once felt manageable becomes immovable.

What once felt insignificant begins to dominate our inner landscape.

That’s how molehills turn into mountains.

Not because they were big to begin with —

but because they were left alone long enough to grow.

The apostle Paul names this process with a word that sounds almost harmless. Writing to the church in Ephesus, he says, “Do not give the devil a foothold.”

Not a stronghold.

Not a fortress.

Not a mountain.

A foothold.

A small place to stand.

A minor permission.

A tolerated space.

In the ancient world, a foothold was the crack in a wall where an enemy could brace a foot or wedge a tool. Once leverage was established, pressure followed. And once pressure was applied long enough, even the strongest wall could be compromised — often without anyone noticing from the outside.

That’s how spiritual erosion usually works.

Most people do not wake up one morning and decide to abandon their faith, sabotage their relationships, or live under constant guilt or fear. They wake up tired. Or wounded. Or unresolved. And somewhere along the way, something small is left unattended.

“I’ll deal with that later.”

“It’s not that serious.”

“I can live with this.”

And slowly, the interior terrain changes.

Scripture has another word for what eventually forms: a stronghold.

A stronghold is not just a bad habit.

It is not merely a recurring struggle.

A stronghold is a fortified pattern of thinking, believing, or coping that begins to define reality for us — often without our permission.

Strongholds convince us that change is unrealistic.

That freedom is for other people.

That this is simply “how life is.”

And here is what makes them so dangerous:

strongholds often coexist with religious activity.

We can worship.

We can pray.

We can quote Scripture.

And still live as though certain areas of life are beyond God’s reach.

That’s why Paul says the weapons God gives us are “mighty for pulling down strongholds.” Not managing them. Not accommodating them. Pulling them down.

Which tells us something important:

these mountains were not meant to stand.

So today we are not talking about dramatic rebellion.

We are talking about accumulation.

About how small, overlooked things are allowed to grow until they dominate the landscape of our faith.

And before we go any further, I want to invite you to hold one quiet question — not defensively, not anxiously, just honestly:

What small thing in my life might have grown larger than it was ever meant to be?

----- PART 1: HOW FOOTHOLDS FORM

Before a stronghold can ever exist, something smaller must come first.

Strongholds do not appear overnight.

They are constructed quietly, gradually, often invisibly — and almost always with our cooperation.

Paul’s warning in Ephesians 4 is precise. He says, “In your anger do not sin. Do not let the sun go down while you are still angry, and do not give the devil a foothold.”

Notice the logic.

Anger itself is not condemned.

But unresolved anger creates space.

Space becomes access.

Access becomes leverage.

Footholds are formed when something legitimate is left unattended.

Anger that isn’t processed becomes bitterness.

Pain that isn’t grieved becomes resentment.

Desire that isn’t submitted becomes entitlement.

And what makes footholds especially dangerous is that they often feel justified.

“I have a right to be angry.”

“Anyone in my position would feel this way.”

“If you knew what they did to me, you’d understand.”

And often, those statements are true.

But truth about injury does not automatically become truth about healing.

A foothold is not always about rebellion.

More often, it is about delay.

“I’ll deal with this later.”

“I’m too tired to face this now.”

“I’ll forgive when they apologize.”

Delay gives time for imagination to take over.

It gives room for stories to form — stories about motives, intentions, outcomes.

And once a story hardens, truth becomes harder to hear.

Another common foothold is secrecy.

Not outright deception — just silence.

We stop talking about something.

We stop praying honestly about it.

We stop inviting accountability.

And whatever we refuse to bring into the light begins to grow roots in the dark.

This is why Scripture consistently links light with freedom.

Not because God is trying to embarrass us — but because exposure disrupts power.

A foothold needs cover.

It needs privacy.