Bukola’s favourite phrase was “No problem.”
She was a gifted fashion designer with a small shop in Surulere, three sewing machines, two apprentices and a waiting list that never seemed to get shorter. Her work was beautiful. Brides came to her from across Lagos because she could look at a length of lace and see exactly what it wanted to become. And whenever a customer asked whether something could be ready by a certain date, she smiled and said, “No problem.”
In the second week of December, she said it to a woman who brought in aso-ebi fabric for twelve members of her family. Her daughter was getting married on the Saturday before Christmas. The outfits would be collected on the Thursday. “No problem,” said Bukola. That same week she said it to two other customers with weddings, a man who needed three agbadas for a chieftaincy ceremony, and a friend from church who wanted a dress for the end-of-year thanksgiving. She did not add up the hours. She never did. She was sure it would somehow work out, the way it usually more or less did.
On the Tuesday, the power went off in her street and stayed off. On the Wednesday, her generator developed a fault and the mechanic could not come until Friday. One of her apprentices travelled home to Ibadan for a family emergency. Bukola worked through the night by the light of a rechargeable lamp, hand-finishing hems.
On Thursday the bride’s mother came to collect the outfits. Bukola told her they would be ready on Friday morning. On Friday morning she said Friday evening. At eleven o’clock on Friday night, the bride’s mother was still sitting on the bench in the shop, watching the apprentice iron, while her phone rang constantly with relatives asking where their clothes were. Some of the aunties had travelled from Akure and had nothing else to wear. By six on Saturday morning, eight outfits were finished. Four were not. The bride’s sister walked into the church in a dress she had worn to another wedding the year before.
On Monday the bride’s mother came back to pay the balance. She was not shouting. Bukola said that was worse. She counted out the money, laid it on the cutting table and said, “Bukola, you are a very good tailor. Everybody knows it. But I cannot plan with you. When you say yes, I do not know what it means.”
Bukola told me that sentence followed her for weeks. She had always thought of herself as kind. She hated disappointing people, which was exactly why she found it so hard to say no. But she began to see that her kindness had a hidden cost, and that other people had been paying it.
What a promise allows other people to do
We do not often think about it this way, but a promise is something other people build on. When you say, “I will be there at nine,” someone else arranges their morning around it. When you say, “I will pay you back at the end of the month,” someone else decides whether they can afford to pay their own bills. When you say, “The report will be ready on Friday,” your manager tells the client to expect it on Monday. Your word becomes part of the foundation of other people’s decisions.
That is why being dependable is a form of love. It allows the people around you to act with confidence. They do not need to build in extra time for your lateness, or keep a backup plan in case you do not come, or chase you three times before you respond. They can take your yes and lean on it.
The reverse is also true. When we are unreliable, other people carry the cost. The bride’s mother carried it on Friday night. The relatives from Akure carried it on Saturday morning. Proverbs describes the experience vividly: “Confidence in an unfaithful man in time of trouble is like a broken tooth, and a foot out of joint” (Proverbs 25:19). Think of biting down on a broken tooth, or putting your weight on a foot that gives way. You lean on something because you expect it to hold, and the pain comes precisely at the moment you need it most.
Most unreliable people are not malicious. Like Bukola, they are often warm, generous and eager to help. They make promises because they want to please, and then they break them because they never counted the cost. But good intentions do not repair a broken tooth.
Let your yea be yea
Jesus addressed this directly in the Sermon on the Mount:
Again, ye have heard that it hath been said by them of old time, Thou shalt not forswear thyself, but shalt perform unto the Lord thine oaths: But I say unto you, Swear not at all; neither by heaven; for it is God’s throne: Nor by the earth; for it is his footstool: neither by Jerusalem; for it is the city of the great King. Neither shalt thou swear by thy head, because thou canst not make one hair white or black. But let your communication be, Yea, yea; Nay, nay: for whatsoever is more than these cometh of evil.
To understand what Jesus was saying, we need to know something of the culture He was speaking into. The law of Moses required people to keep the oaths they made to the Lord (Numbers 30:2). Over time, however, religious teachers had developed an elaborate system for deciding which oaths were really binding. An oath made by God’s name was serious. But an oath made by heaven, or by the earth, or by Jerusalem, or by one’s own head might be treated as less binding, because God’s name had not been directly invoked. Jesus exposed this thinking later in Matthew’s Gospel: “Woe unto you, ye blind guides, which say, Whosoever shall swear by the temple, it is nothing” (Matthew 23:16).
In effect, people had created two levels of truthfulness. There was ordinary speech, which could be bent when convenient, and there was sworn speech, which had to be kept. The oath became a way of signalling, “This time I really mean it.”
Jesus abolished the two levels. You cannot swear by heaven without involving God, because heaven is His throne. You cannot swear by the earth, because it is His footstool. You cannot swear by Jerusalem, because it is His city. You cannot even swear by your own head, because you cannot make one hair white or black. Everything you might swear by belongs to God. So every word you speak is spoken before Him.
“But let your communication be, Yea, yea; Nay, nay.” Let your yes mean yes, and your no mean no. If every word you speak is as reliable as an oath, then you do not need oaths. “For whatsoever is more than these cometh of evil.” The need for extra guarantees arises because human speech has become untrustworthy.
We have our own versions of those first-century oaths. “I swear to God.” “God knows I am coming.” “On my mother’s life.” “I promise you, this time.” And we have phrases that sound like commitments but are not meant to be held to: “I am on my way,” spoken from bed. “Let me call you back,” with no intention of calling. “I will see what I can do,” as a polite way to avoid saying no. Jesus calls His disciples to a simpler and more demanding kind of speech, in which an ordinary yes carries all the weight it needs.
Sincere Christians have understood the practical application of this passage differently. Some traditions, including many Quakers and Anabaptists, have refused to take formal oaths at all, even in court, and have affirmed instead. Most Christians have concluded that Jesus was addressing the casual and evasive swearing of everyday life, not solemn oaths required by a lawful authority, noting that Paul sometimes called God as his witness (Romans 1:9) and that God Himself confirmed His promise to Abraham with an oath (Hebrews 6:13). Whichever view a believer holds, the heart of Jesus’ teaching is the same. Your plain word should be so reliable that an oath adds nothing to it.
Above all things, swear not
James, the brother of the Lord, repeats Jesus’ teaching almost word for word:
But above all things, my brethren, swear not, neither by heaven, neither by the earth, neither by any other oath: but let your yea be yea; and your nay, nay; lest ye fall into condemnation.
The context in James is significant. He has just been writing to believers under pressure, some of them poor labourers cheated of their wages by rich landowners. He has urged them to be patient, like a farmer waiting for the early and the latter rain, and like Job, who endured great suffering. Then, before turning to prayer for the sick, he says, “But above all things, my brethren, swear not.”
Why “above all things”? Perhaps because pressure is exactly when our speech becomes most dramatic. When we are afraid, or desperate, or trying to persuade someone, we reach for bigger words. We make vows we cannot keep. We say things like, “If God gets me out of this, I will never...” or, “I swear I will have the money by Friday.” Pressure tempts us to substitute intensity for reliability.
James calls believers back to simplicity: “let your yea be yea; and your nay, nay; lest ye fall into condemnation.” Honest, measured speech is a mark of a person whose confidence rests in God rather than in the force of their own words.
The person who dwells with God
Psalm 15 asks one of the most searching questions in the whole Psalter:
LORD , who shall abide in thy tabernacle? who shall dwell in thy holy hill? He that walketh uprightly, and worketh righteousness, and speaketh the truth in his heart. He that backbiteth not with his tongue, nor doeth evil to his neighbour, nor taketh up a reproach against his neighbour. In whose eyes a vile person is contemned; but he honoureth them that fear the LORD . He that sweareth to his own hurt, and changeth not. He that putteth not out his money to usury, nor taketh reward against the innocent. He that doeth these things shall never be moved.
“LORD, who shall abide in thy tabernacle? who shall dwell in thy holy hill?” The psalm may have been used as worshippers approached the sanctuary, as a kind of examination of the heart before entering God’s presence. The answer is not a list of rituals. It is a description of character, much of it to do with speech and reliability.
He “speaketh the truth in his heart.” Truthfulness begins inside, before it reaches the lips. He does not slander, does not do evil to his neighbour, does not take up a reproach against his neighbour. He honours those who fear the Lord.
Then comes the line that goes to the heart of our subject: “He that sweareth to his own hurt, and changeth not.” This describes a person who has made a commitment, and then discovered that keeping it will cost him more than he expected. Perhaps the price of materials has gone up. Perhaps a better offer has come along. Perhaps the job is more work than it first appeared. And he keeps his word anyway. He does not look for a loophole. He does not suddenly discover that the agreement was not really binding. He absorbs the cost himself rather than passing it on to the person who trusted him.
The psalm ends with a promise: “He that doeth these things shall never be moved.” There is a stability that comes to dependable people. Because their word holds, their lives hold. They are not constantly managing the fallout of broken commitments.
In the New Covenant, we know that our access to God’s presence rests on the blood of Jesus, not on our record of keeping promises. We enter His holy hill because Christ has opened the way. But Psalm 15 still describes the kind of person who lives comfortably in God’s presence, and the kind of character the Spirit is forming in those who dwell there. Jesus Himself is the perfect fulfilment of this psalm. He kept His word to His own hurt, all the way to the cross. And His Spirit is making us like Him.
PunchlineKeeping your word allows other people to act with confidence. Breaking it hands them a cost they never agreed to carry.
The God whose word does not fail
Behind all of this stands the character of God Himself. When Balak, king of Moab, tried to persuade the prophet Balaam to curse Israel, Balaam found that he could not change what God had said: “God is not a man, that he should lie; neither the son of man, that he should repent: hath he said, and shall he not do it? or hath he spoken, and shall he not make it good?” (Numbers 23:19).
Our whole salvation rests on the dependability of God’s word. He promised a Saviour, and He sent one. He promised to forgive those who trust in Christ, and He does. When we keep our word, we reflect something of His nature. When we break it carelessly, we misrepresent Him.
Paul once faced an accusation of being unreliable. He had told the church in Corinth that he planned to visit them, and then he changed his plans. Some of the Corinthians, already suspicious of him, concluded that his word could not be trusted. Paul’s answer is instructive:
When I therefore was thus minded, did I use lightness? or the things that I purpose, do I purpose according to the flesh, that with me there should be yea yea, and nay nay? But as God is true, our word toward you was not yea and nay. For the Son of God, Jesus Christ, who was preached among you by us, even by me and Silvanus and Timotheus, was not yea and nay, but in him was yea. For all the promises of God in him are yea, and in him Amen, unto the glory of God by us.
“Did I use lightness?” The word means fickleness, being careless or frivolous with commitments. “Or the things that I purpose, do I purpose according to the flesh, that with me there should be yea yea, and nay nay?” In other words, do I say yes and no at the same time, depending on what suits me?
Paul’s defence rests on the faithfulness of God. “But as God is true, our word toward you was not yea and nay.” Then he lifts the whole discussion to Christ: “For the Son of God, Jesus Christ, who was preached among you by us... was not yea and nay, but in him was yea. For all the promises of God in him are yea, and in him Amen.”
Every promise God has ever made finds its “yes” in Jesus. He is God’s faithfulness in human form. And Paul’s argument is that a messenger of such a faithful God cannot be careless with his own word.
But notice something else. Paul did change his plans. Circumstances had altered. And a few verses later he explains why: “to spare you I came not as yet unto Corinth” (2 Corinthians 1:23). He did not simply fail to turn up. He wrote to them, explained his reasons, and took responsibility for the change. Dependability does not mean that plans never change. It means that when they do, the people affected hear about it honestly and promptly, with the reasons, and with respect for what the change costs them.
Careful promises
If our word is to be dependable, it must first be given carefully. A great deal of unreliability begins earlier than the broken promise. It begins with promises we never should have made. The Preacher gives wise counsel:
Be not rash with thy mouth, and let not thine heart be hasty to utter any thing before God: for God is in heaven, and thou upon earth: therefore let thy words be few. For a dream cometh through the multitude of business; and a fool’s voice is known by multitude of words. When thou vowest a vow unto God, defer not to pay it; for he hath no pleasure in fools: pay that which thou hast vowed. Better is it that thou shouldest not vow, than that thou shouldest vow and not pay.
Nugget“Be not rash with thy mouth, and let not thine heart be hasty to utter any thing before God.” Then: “Better is it that thou shouldest not vow, than that thou shouldest vow and not pay.”
That second sentence is liberating for people like Bukola. You do not have to say yes to everything. It is better to say no, or “not by then,” or “let me check,” than to say yes and fail. An honest no respects the other person more than a dishonest yes, because it allows them to make other arrangements.
Scripture contains a grim warning about rash promises in the story of Jephthah, who vowed that if God gave him victory he would offer up whatever came out of his house to meet him (Judges 11:30-31). It was his only daughter. Interpreters have long debated exactly what followed, but the tragedy of the story lies in a vow made carelessly, in the heat of the moment, without thinking about where it might lead.
Jesus taught His disciples to count the cost before making commitments: “For which of you, intending to build a tower, sitteth not down first, and counteth the cost, whether he have sufficient to finish it?” (Luke 14:28). The application is very practical. Before you promise, look at your calendar. Add up the hours. Consider what else you have already committed to. Ask whether your finances can bear what you are about to pledge. Leave margin for the generator that breaks and the apprentice who travels.
For many of us, this means learning a few new sentences. “I would love to help, but I cannot do it by Thursday. I could do it by the following Tuesday.” “Let me check and get back to you by this evening.” “I am sorry, I cannot take this on.” These sentences can feel uncomfortable, especially in a culture that values warmth and hates to disappoint. But they are a form of honesty, and honesty is a form of love.
People-pleasers often find this the hardest lesson of all. Their yes is driven by the fear of someone’s displeasure in the moment. The irony is that the quick yes almost always leads to a much greater displeasure later. A person secure in God’s acceptance can afford to disappoint someone today by telling the truth, rather than disappoint them far more painfully next week.
When keeping your word costs you
Some promises turn out to be more costly than we expected. Scripture gives an unusual example in the book of Joshua. The Gibeonites, a people living in Canaan, deceived Joshua and the leaders of Israel by pretending to have come from a distant country. They wore old clothes and carried mouldy bread to make the story convincing. On the strength of their story, Israel made a covenant of peace with them, sworn in the name of the Lord. Three days later the truth came out. They were neighbours.
And the children of Israel smote them not, because the princes of the congregation had sworn unto them by the LORD God of Israel. And all the congregation murmured against the princes. But all the princes said unto all the congregation, We have sworn unto them by the LORD God of Israel: now therefore we may not touch them. This we will do to them; we will even let them live, lest wrath be upon us, because of the oath which we sware unto them.
The congregation was angry and wanted to break the agreement. But the leaders refused: “We have sworn unto them by the LORD God of Israel: now therefore we may not touch them.” They had been deceived. They had not asked the Lord before agreeing (Joshua 9:14). They had every human reason to back out. But they kept their word, even to their own hurt. Centuries later, when King Saul broke that covenant and killed Gibeonites, God brought a famine on the land because of it (2 Samuel 21:1-2). The promise still held, generations after it was made.
That is “sweareth to his own hurt, and changeth not” in action. When a commitment becomes costly, the dependable person’s first instinct is to keep it, and to absorb the cost rather than shift it to the person who relied on them.
Wisdom is needed here, because not every promise should be kept. A promise to do something sinful must be broken. Herod kept a foolish oath made at a birthday feast, and it cost John the Baptist his life (Mark 6:26). No promise binds anyone to commit a wrong. Nor does any promise require a person to remain in danger. A marriage covenant is sacred, but Scripture never asks anyone to endure abuse in the name of keeping it. Where someone is being harmed, safety comes first, and the help of authorities and qualified people should be sought.
And sometimes a person has made a commitment they genuinely cannot fulfil. Proverbs gives counsel for someone who has rashly guaranteed a neighbour’s debt: “go, humble thyself, and make sure thy friend” (Proverbs 6:3). In other words, go quickly, humbly, and ask to be released. Do not simply disappear. Do not wait until the deadline has passed. Go early, explain honestly, accept responsibility, and do whatever you can to reduce the damage to the other person.
That is the practical heart of dependability when circumstances change. Tell people as soon as you know. Bukola knew on Wednesday that the outfits would not all be ready. The bride’s mother found out on Thursday, then Friday morning, then Friday night, then Saturday at six. If she had been told on Wednesday, she could have found another tailor for some of the outfits, or warned the relatives, or made other arrangements. The delay hurt her. The hidden delay hurt her far more.
Faithfulness in ordinary words
Dependability is built and lost in small things. Arriving when you said you would. Returning the call you promised to return. Paying back the money you borrowed, on the date you said. “The wicked borroweth, and payeth not again” (Psalm 37:21) is a sentence worth pausing over, especially in a culture where borrowing between friends and relatives is common and repayment is often quietly forgotten. Keeping the confidence someone shared with you. Fulfilling the pledge you made at the church harvest. Turning up for the rota you agreed to join. Doing what you told your children you would do, because children learn what words are worth from their parents.
None of these things will be announced from a pulpit. But together they form a reputation that is worth more than any gift. “A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches” (Proverbs 22:1). A dependable person becomes someone others can build their lives around, in the best sense. Employers trust them. Friends rely on them. Churches give them responsibility. Children feel safe with them.
Where does this kind of character come from? Paul lists “faith” among the fruit of the Spirit (Galatians 5:22), and the word there carries the sense of faithfulness, trustworthiness, reliability. It is something the Spirit grows in us. We cooperate by making careful promises and keeping them, by telling the truth quickly when things change, and by repairing honestly when we fail. And we will fail sometimes. When we do, we confess it to God, apologise to the person affected without excuses, put right what we can, and keep going. Grace does not make us careless about our word. It makes us people who can afford to be honest about it.
Bukola changed slowly. The first thing she did was buy a large hardback notebook. Every job went into it, with the hours she estimated it would take, and she stopped taking on new work once the hours for a week were full. When a customer asked for something by a date she could not manage, she learned to say, “I cannot do the tenth, but I can do the fourteenth. If you need the tenth, I can recommend someone.” It felt terrible the first few times. Some customers went elsewhere.
She also made a rule for herself. If anything happened that might delay a job, a power cut, a sick apprentice, a fabric that behaved badly, she would call the customer that same day. Not on the morning of collection. That day.
The following year the generator failed again, in November. Bukola phoned every customer with a December deadline that afternoon, told them exactly where things stood, and offered to return the fabric to anyone who wanted to go elsewhere. Two did. The rest waited, because they knew precisely what they were waiting for. Every outfit was ready on the day she had promised.
Three years after the wedding, the bride’s mother walked into the shop again. Her second daughter was getting married. She laid the fabric on the cutting table and asked how long it would take. Bukola opened her notebook, ran her finger down the page, and said, “I can have it ready by the twenty-second. Not before.”
PunchlineThe woman looked at her for a moment and smiled. “The twenty-second,” she said. “Good. Now I can plan.”
May that be said of you. You will not say yes to everything. But when you do say yes, may people be able to build on it. Let your yea be yea. Count the cost before you promise. Tell the truth quickly when things change. And lean on the God whose every promise is yes in Christ, so that your word can become something other people lean on too.
Teaching Companion
For Reflection
- Who has built plans on your word recently? Did your word hold?
- Are there phrases you use, like “I am on my way” or “no problem,” that sound like commitments but are not really meant to be kept?
- What makes it hard for you to say “no” or “not by then”? What would it look like to make more careful promises?
- When circumstances have changed and you could not keep a commitment, how quickly did you tell the people affected? What would prompt honesty look like next time?
- Is there a promise, a debt or a commitment you have quietly forgotten that you need to return to, either to keep it or to ask humbly to be released?
This Week
Read Matthew 5:33-37 and Psalm 15 at the beginning of the week. Then, for seven days, write down every commitment you make, however small: a time you will arrive, a call you will return, a task you will complete, money you will repay. Before making each one, pause and count the cost honestly. At the end of each day, check the list. Where you kept your word, thank God. Where something changed, make sure the person affected heard from you that same day. At the end of the week, look for any older promise you have let slip, and take one step to keep it or to ask honestly to be released.
A Prayer
Faithful Father, every promise You have made is yes in Jesus Christ. You have never broken Your word to me. Forgive me for the times I have spoken carelessly, made promises I did not count the cost of, and left others to carry the consequences of my unreliability. Teach me to let my yes be yes and my no be no. Give me the courage to say no when I should, the wisdom to promise carefully, and the honesty to tell people quickly when things change. Grow the fruit of faithfulness in me by Your Spirit, so that the people around me can build on my word with confidence, as I build my life on Yours. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
Truth received brings freedom. Truth believed establishes the heart.
Scripture quotations are from the King James Version. · Illustrations using first names only are composites unless stated otherwise.