I was sweeping the temple courtyard when I heard the laughter. Loud, cruel, echoing off the stone walls—the kind of laugh people use when mocking someone who can’t fight back. I peeked through the columns, gripping my broom tight.
There he was. Samson. Once the strongest man in Israel. Now, chained like a wild animal, his face sunburned and his eyes… gone. The Philistines had taken those, along with his dignity.
I’d heard the stories—everyone had. The angel who promised his mother a child. The boy who never cut his hair because God had given him a holy vow. The man who tore apart a lion with his bare hands… who defeated armies with nothing but a jawbone. People cheered for him. Girls lined the street when he passed. But that was before Delilah.
I was just a servant, born to Philistine parents, trained to sweep floors and refill oil lamps. We all knew about Delilah. She was beautiful, the kind of beautiful that draws people in before they realize they’re trapped. The Philistine rulers paid her to discover Samson’s secret. And she did. Every night, she’d ask him how he got his strength. Every night, he lied. But in the end, he told her the truth—the truth even children had heard by the fire: his strength came from God and the vow tied to his long hair.
When she cut it while he slept, everything changed.
He woke up like always, ready to fight—but God had left him. Without God’s power, he was just a man. Guards rushed in, beat him, tied him up. Then they took his vision, so even light would be a stranger to him. I saw him once afterward, dragging his feet through the prison yard, tied to a grinding wheel like a beast.
Now, on a holiday made to honor our idol, the leaders had hauled Samson out to entertain them. That’s what they called it—“entertainment.” Really, they just liked seeing someone powerful brought low.
“Dance for us, Mighty One!” someone crowed, and the crowd roared.
I stood frozen behind the pillar, my hands trembling. I didn’t feel proud. I just felt… sad. People threw things at him—dates, bones, even a sandal. But Samson didn’t flinch. He stood quietly between two huge stone pillars, head bowed like he was praying.
Then—he whispered something. Loud enough that I could hear.
“Lord God, remember me. Give me strength one more time.”
His fingers gripped the wooden post near me, then reached out to the two giant pillars on either side. I’d polished that stone all week—I knew how wide it was, how strong. At first, I thought he was too weak to stand. But then I saw it—his muscles tensing, shoulders rising. Something was happening. Something I couldn’t explain.
A rumble.
At first, it was small. Then it roared. The pillars cracked. Stone groaned like an angry cloud. A woman nearby screamed.
Then everything fell.
When I climbed out from the rubble later, I couldn’t hear anything but ringing and shouts. The temple was crushed. Thousands had died—including Samson.
But not everything died with him.
That day, I realized strength doesn’t come from muscles or pride or even hair. Real strength is doing something for God, even when everyone’s watching you fail. Even when they laugh.
Samson loved foolishly. He trusted the wrong heart. But in the end, he faced the truth—and turned back to the One who had always loved him better. God didn’t reject him. God gave him victory.
And me? I didn’t just sweep floors anymore. I believed in a God even our walls couldn’t contain.
Because the last thing Samson did wasn’t a failure—it was faith.
I was sweeping the temple courtyard when I heard the laughter. Loud, cruel, echoing off the stone walls—the kind of laugh people use when mocking someone who can’t fight back. I peeked through the columns, gripping my broom tight.
There he was. Samson. Once the strongest man in Israel. Now, chained like a wild animal, his face sunburned and his eyes… gone. The Philistines had taken those, along with his dignity.
I’d heard the stories—everyone had. The angel who promised his mother a child. The boy who never cut his hair because God had given him a holy vow. The man who tore apart a lion with his bare hands… who defeated armies with nothing but a jawbone. People cheered for him. Girls lined the street when he passed. But that was before Delilah.
I was just a servant, born to Philistine parents, trained to sweep floors and refill oil lamps. We all knew about Delilah. She was beautiful, the kind of beautiful that draws people in before they realize they’re trapped. The Philistine rulers paid her to discover Samson’s secret. And she did. Every night, she’d ask him how he got his strength. Every night, he lied. But in the end, he told her the truth—the truth even children had heard by the fire: his strength came from God and the vow tied to his long hair.
When she cut it while he slept, everything changed.
He woke up like always, ready to fight—but God had left him. Without God’s power, he was just a man. Guards rushed in, beat him, tied him up. Then they took his vision, so even light would be a stranger to him. I saw him once afterward, dragging his feet through the prison yard, tied to a grinding wheel like a beast.
Now, on a holiday made to honor our idol, the leaders had hauled Samson out to entertain them. That’s what they called it—“entertainment.” Really, they just liked seeing someone powerful brought low.
“Dance for us, Mighty One!” someone crowed, and the crowd roared.
I stood frozen behind the pillar, my hands trembling. I didn’t feel proud. I just felt… sad. People threw things at him—dates, bones, even a sandal. But Samson didn’t flinch. He stood quietly between two huge stone pillars, head bowed like he was praying.
Then—he whispered something. Loud enough that I could hear.
“Lord God, remember me. Give me strength one more time.”
His fingers gripped the wooden post near me, then reached out to the two giant pillars on either side. I’d polished that stone all week—I knew how wide it was, how strong. At first, I thought he was too weak to stand. But then I saw it—his muscles tensing, shoulders rising. Something was happening. Something I couldn’t explain.
A rumble.
At first, it was small. Then it roared. The pillars cracked. Stone groaned like an angry cloud. A woman nearby screamed.
Then everything fell.
When I climbed out from the rubble later, I couldn’t hear anything but ringing and shouts. The temple was crushed. Thousands had died—including Samson.
But not everything died with him.
That day, I realized strength doesn’t come from muscles or pride or even hair. Real strength is doing something for God, even when everyone’s watching you fail. Even when they laugh.
Samson loved foolishly. He trusted the wrong heart. But in the end, he faced the truth—and turned back to the One who had always loved him better. God didn’t reject him. God gave him victory.
And me? I didn’t just sweep floors anymore. I believed in a God even our walls couldn’t contain.
Because the last thing Samson did wasn’t a failure—it was faith.
