Mark Stephens has found a new voice.

For a long time, the public presentation often felt like:

Look what everyone has done to me.

Now the tone appears to be changing.

The victim is becoming the survivor.

The persecuted man is becoming the battle-tested man.

The person who endured legal battles, broken relationships, financial consequences, family upheaval and years of conflict is now presenting himself as someone who came through the other side wiser, stronger and qualified to teach everyone else about marriage, repentance, character, discernment and truth.

It is a much better brand.

There is just one problem.

Where is the accountability?

Because underneath thousands and thousands of words about growth, wisdom, forgiveness, Scripture, character and “fruit,” the same thing remains missing:

Mark showing his work.

Words. Words. Words.

Mark’s latest post is enormous.

He explains Hebrew.

He explains Scripture.

He explains the heart.

He explains wisdom.

He explains relationships.

He explains repentance.

He explains discernment.

He explains how to choose a spouse.

He explains what character looks like.

He explains how someone should respond to correction.

He even explains what a proper apology should look like.

And buried in all those words is this remarkably useful statement:

“Claims are tested by fruit.”

Great.

Then let’s test the claims.

Because Mark is very good at explaining accountability.

What continues to be difficult to find is Mark actually demonstrating it.

Mark, Show Your Work

Remember math class?

Sometimes getting the answer wasn’t enough.

The teacher wanted to know how you got there.

Show your work.

That is where we are with Mark.

You say you’ve learned?

Show your work.

You say you’ve grown?

Show your work.

You say you understand repentance?

Show your work.

You say truth matters?

Show your work.

You say character matters?

Show your work.

You say people should be able to receive correction?

Show your work.

You say people should be able to apologize?

Wonderful.

Then do it.

Not another essay about apologizing.

An apology.

Not another sermon about repentance.

Repentance.

Not another Facebook post about accountability.

Accountability.

Not another definition of character.

Character.

Where Is “I Did This”?

Mark writes:

“I’ve experienced a marriage breaking apart.”

“I’ve experienced my family changing.”

“I’ve experienced separation from a home and possessions representing years of work and investment.”

“I’ve experienced legal battles.”

“I’ve experienced financial consequences.”

Read those sentences carefully.

Everything happened to Mark.

He experienced a marriage breaking apart.

He experienced his family changing.

He experienced separation.

He experienced legal battles.

He experienced financial consequences.

What he does not say is much more interesting:

I contributed to this.

I made this worse.

I did this.

I refused this.

I hurt this person.

I ignored this warning.

I should have listened.

I was wrong.

Those are the sentences accountability requires.

Instead, Mark remains the person standing in the aftermath describing what he endured.

That is not necessarily accountability.

Sometimes it is simply a more sophisticated form of victimhood.

From “Feel Sorry for Me” to “Admire Me”

That appears to be the rebrand.

The old presentation:

Feel sorry for me because everyone has done terrible things to me.

The emerging presentation:

Admire me because I survived everything everyone did to me and became wiser because of it.

That is a meaningful change in marketing.

It is not automatically a meaningful change in character.

Mark even describes his suffering as education:

“I’ve paid tuition for some of these lessons with years of my life.”

“And I refuse to waste the lesson.”

It sounds profound.

But surviving consequences does not automatically make someone the hero of the story.

Sometimes the person who survived the fire helped start it.

Sometimes the “battle” exists partly because of your own decisions.

Sometimes the financial consequence followed a financial choice.

Sometimes the legal problem followed conduct.

Sometimes a relationship deteriorated because both people contributed to the deterioration.

Sometimes the person describing how much he “survived” needs to spend considerably more time asking:

What did I do that helped create what I later had to survive?

That question is almost completely absent.

Rebranding Is Not Repentance

Changing your language is easy.

Changing your behavior is harder.

Changing your Facebook persona is easy.

Repairing damaged relationships is harder.

Writing about humility is easy.

Being humbled is harder.

Explaining repentance is easy.

Actually repenting can be humiliating.

Talking about accountability is easy.

Taking responsibility without redirecting blame is much harder.

And Mark himself provides the standard.

He asks:

“Can they apologize without adding:
‘But you…’”

He also asks:

“Can they admit when they’re wrong?”

Excellent questions.

So let’s hear Mark answer them.

Not theoretically.

Personally.

The Missing Sentence: “No But”

A real apology sounds something like:

I did this.

It was wrong.

It hurt you.

Nobody made me do it.

My anger was mine.

My choices were mine.

The consequences were mine.

I am sorry.

No “but.”

No theology lesson.

No explanation of what the other person did first.

No rewriting the injured person as equally responsible before the apology is even finished.

No demand for forgiveness.

No sermon about bitterness.

No reminder that God forgave you.

Just ownership.

Mark appears to understand this concept perfectly when he explains it to everyone else.

So where is the demonstration?

“Look at the Fruit”

Mark writes that when evaluating another person, he is looking for:

“fruit.”

“consistency.”

“humility.”

“repentance.”

“truth.”

Fine.

Turn the mirror around.

Where is your fruit?

Where is your consistency?

Where is your humility?

Where is your repentance?

Where is your willingness to acknowledge truth when the truth makes you look bad?

Where is the acknowledgement of the people who may have experienced you very differently from the version of yourself you currently present online?

You are telling a hypothetical future woman to examine character.

She should.

Especially yours.

“This Time”

One phrase in Mark’s post deserves particular attention:

“So this time I’m going to guard my lev—my heart.”

This time.

That is not abstract marriage teaching.

That is someone talking about approaching a future relationship differently.

Mark later writes:

“if one day I open that gate completely and give my heart to a woman in covenant…”

So this latest run of marriage content increasingly appears to be about more than Bible study.

It reads like someone constructing the narrative for his next chapter.

Maybe there is already another woman.

Maybe there isn’t.

We do not know.

And pretending otherwise would be speculation.

But another relationship and another marriage are plainly occupying his thoughts.

That makes the advice about investigating character particularly interesting.

Because if Mark’s future partner follows his advice, she shouldn’t merely listen to Mark explain his past.

She should investigate it.

Don’t Just Listen to the Story

Mark tells people to look at fruit.

So do exactly that.

Don’t merely accept someone’s explanation of why a relationship failed.

Don’t merely accept their description of an ex.

Don’t merely accept their explanation of court proceedings.

Don’t merely accept their version of family conflicts.

Don’t merely accept their claim that everybody else was toxic, bitter, controlling, dishonest or vindictive.

Look.

Read.

Compare.

Ask questions.

Examine records.

Examine contradictions.

Examine how the person responds when confronted with something uncomfortable.

Does the story change?

Does everyone who disagrees suddenly become the enemy?

Is every consequence somebody else’s fault?

Does every apology contain an explanation?

Does every confession remain frustratingly vague?

Those questions matter.

Mark says so himself.

Anybody Can Put Scripture on Facebook

Then Mark writes what may be the most unintentionally appropriate sentence of the entire post:

“Anybody can put Scripture on Facebook.”

Exactly.

Anybody can.

Anybody can quote Proverbs.

Anybody can discuss Hebrew.

Anybody can explain repentance.

Anybody can post a lion, a cross and glowing hearts.

Anybody can hashtag something #VictoriousMarriage.

Anybody can tell everyone else how mature Christians behave.

The question is whether the words and the life match.

And Mark conveniently gives us that language too:

“Let’s see whether our words and our lives actually match.”

Yes.

Let’s.

And Apparently Even the Words May Not Be Entirely His

There is another layer here.

These recent posts increasingly have many of the characteristics commonly associated with AI-assisted writing.

The extensive organization.

The perfectly structured headings.

The repeated rhetorical patterns.

The Hebrew and Greek definitions.

The neat little parallel constructions.

The endless contrasts:

“A wall says…”

“A gate says…”

“My heart says…”

“Wisdom says…”

The volume and polish are striking, especially when compared with more ordinary personal writing.

To be clear:

We cannot prove from the text alone that Artificial Intelligence wrote these posts.

AI detection based solely on writing style is unreliable, and pretending otherwise would be irresponsible.

But if Mark is using AI heavily to create or polish this new voice, it creates an extraordinary additional irony.

Because Artificial Intelligence can write a beautiful essay about accountability.

It cannot take accountability for you.

AI Can Explain Repentance. It Cannot Repent.

AI can define repentance.

AI can explain forgiveness.

AI can generate a Bible study.

AI can translate a Hebrew word.

AI can produce a sophisticated essay about character.

AI can generate ten paragraphs about accepting correction.

AI can explain what a sincere apology should sound like.

AI can even generate the sentence:

“I was wrong.”

But it cannot mean it for you.

It cannot apologize to the people you’ve hurt.

It cannot repair a relationship.

It cannot make restitution.

It cannot comply with an obligation.

It cannot undo behavior.

It cannot accept a consequence.

It cannot sit across from someone and say:

“I did that. I was wrong. There is no excuse.”

That requires a human being.

That requires Mark.

You Can Outsource the Sermon

There is nothing inherently wrong with using Artificial Intelligence.

We use it.

Writers use it.

Businesses use it.

Millions of people use it.

AI is a tool.

The issue is not whether somebody got help writing a Facebook post.

The issue would be using highly polished, AI-assisted language to create the appearance of personal transformation that one’s actual conduct has not yet demonstrated.

Because:

You can outsource the writing.

You cannot outsource the work.

You can outsource the Bible study.

You cannot outsource repentance.

You can outsource the Hebrew lesson.

You cannot outsource humility.

You can outsource inspirational prose.

You cannot outsource character.

You can have Artificial Intelligence write a redemption story.

You still have to live one.

The Survivor Brand

And this is where the rebrand becomes interesting.

The imagery supports it perfectly.

A rugged man.

Armor.

A glowing heart.

A lion.

A cross.

A woman.

Battle imagery.

Protection.

Strength.

Covenant.

Purpose.

It is not simply:

I got through a difficult period.

It visually and rhetorically communicates something closer to:

I walked through battle and came out wiser. Listen to what I learned.

That is a much more admirable character than the perpetual victim.

But admiration should be earned.

You don’t become wise simply because enough years passed.

You don’t become accountable because you learned the vocabulary of accountability.

You don’t become an expert on relationships because several failed.

You don’t become a teacher of repentance because you can explain repentance.

And you certainly don’t get a medal simply for surviving consequences connected to your own choices.

You Don’t Get to Cast Everyone Else as Supporting Characters

There is another problem with the survivor narrative.

Other people lived through this history too.

They are not simply characters in The Trials and Redemption of Mark Stephens.

Other people experienced the marriage.

Other people experienced the family conflict.

Other people experienced the legal battles.

Other people experienced the consequences.

Other people have memories.

Other people have records.

Other people have documents.

Other people have their own versions of events.

Some of those versions may make Mark deeply uncomfortable.

That does not make them irrelevant.

If the new standard is really:

Question everything.

Then question your own narrative too.

Accountability Has Names and Dates

Real accountability tends to become specific very quickly.

It sounds like:

On this date, I did this.

I said this.

I should not have.

I failed to do this.

I ignored this person.

I misrepresented this.

I should have listened.

I caused harm.

I understand why trust was lost.

I am sorry.

Here is what I have done to repair it.

That is substantially different from:

“I’ve been through a lot.”

The first is accountability.

The second is autobiography.

Stop Performing Accountability

There is a difference between accountability and the performance of accountability.

Performance says:

I’ve made mistakes.

Accountability says:

Here they are.

Performance says:

I’ve learned.

Accountability says:

Here is what changed.

Performance says:

I understand repentance.

Accountability says:

Here is what I am repairing.

Performance says:

I’ve survived.

Accountability asks:

What role did I play in creating what I later had to survive?

Performance says:

Look at my fruit.

Accountability accepts that other people may inspect it.

Want to Be Someone Worth Looking Up To?

Then stop trying so hard to sound like someone worth looking up to.

Do something worth looking up to.

Own something publicly and specifically.

Accept correction without immediately attacking the source.

Acknowledge an uncomfortable fact without qualifying it.

Apologize without a “but.”

Fulfill an obligation without needing applause.

Repair something without turning the repair into content.

Show that changed behavior lasts when nobody is watching.

That would be compelling.

That would actually be interesting.

That might even deserve admiration.

Until Then: Words

Words about wisdom.

Words about truth.

Words about marriage.

Words about character.

Words about repentance.

Words about accountability.

Words about forgiveness.

Words about survival.

Words about fruit.

Words about transformation.

Possibly even AI-assisted words about all of the above.

But still:

Words. Words. Words.

Mark, you said claims should be tested by fruit.

You said people should be able to admit when they’re wrong.

You said apologies shouldn’t include “but you.”

You said words and lives should match.

You said to watch character.

You said to question.

You said to look at the evidence.

Fine.

Now stop explaining the test.

Take it.

Stop writing about accountability.

Practice it.

Stop telling people how much you’ve learned.

Show them what changed.

Stop trying to transform the public story from:

“Feel sorry for me.”

into:

“Admire me for surviving.”

Because that may be a more sophisticated brand.

It may be a more flattering brand.

It may even be a more marketable brand.

But without specific ownership, repair, changed behavior and sustained action, it remains exactly that:

A brand.

And if Artificial Intelligence is helping write this latest redemption story, remember something very simple:

AI can write Mark Stephens a redemption story in seconds.

Only Mark Stephens can actually live one.

Until then:

Words. Words. Words.

Mark, show your work.

---

Revision dated 9/14/2026

I Did Exactly What Mark Is Telling People to Do

There is something important here that I know from personal experience.

When Melissa and I were dating casually, there came a point when I realized there might be potential for the relationship to become something more serious.

And before I made that decision, I wanted to know what I was walking into.

So I spent an entire afternoon at the courthouse reading the court record.

Not Facebook posts.

Not someone’s summary.

Not gossip.

Not just Melissa’s version.

The actual record.

I read document after document, paying particular attention to the portions that mattered most to me:

Facts.

Findings.

Conclusions of Law.

Those distinctions mattered.

Allegations are allegations.

Arguments are arguments.

People in divorces say terrible things about one another.

I understood that.

What I wanted to know was:

What had actually been presented to the court?

What had the court found?

What conclusions had actually been reached?

That is a very different exercise from simply asking the person you’re dating:

“So what happened with your ex?”

I Cross-Checked Melissa’s Story

I wasn’t reading those records hoping to prove Melissa right.

I was checking her.

That is an important distinction.

If Melissa had seriously misrepresented what happened, I wanted to know that before allowing the relationship to become more serious.

If she had exaggerated Mark’s conduct, I wanted to know.

If she had minimized her own conduct, I wanted to know.

If there were findings that materially contradicted what she had told me, I wanted to know.

Because if I was considering allowing this person into my life in a significant way, her credibility mattered.

So I checked.

And what surprised me was not discovering that Melissa had exaggerated Mark.

It was essentially the opposite.

In my judgment, after reading the court record—particularly the factual findings and conclusions—what I found concerning about Mark was greater than what Melissa had described to me.

That was significant.

Melissa had not needed to embellish the story for me.

The records spoke for themselves.

That Is What Due Diligence Looks Like

And this is exactly why I have no criticism of Mark wanting to take his time with another relationship.

He should.

I did.

Investigate.

Cross-check.

Don’t fall in love with someone’s story before you have any idea whether the story is true.

But here’s the part Mark seems to leave out:

The person dating Mark deserves to do exactly what I did with Melissa.

She/he should not merely hear Mark’s account of his previous relationships.

She/he should test it.

If the relationship becomes serious enough, she/he should be encouraged to examine whatever records are lawfully available.

Read the documents.

Understand the difference between somebody’s allegation and a judicial finding.

Look at dates.

Look at orders.

Look at findings of fact.

Look at conclusions of law.

Look at what was required.

Look at what happened afterward.

Then compare that record with the story being told across the dinner table.

That’s not betrayal.

That’s discernment.

Melissa Had to Pass My Test Too

This is the fundamental difference I keep seeing in Mark’s “gate” metaphor.

When I realized Melissa might become more than someone I dated casually, I did not assume:

Melissa says Mark was terrible, therefore Mark was terrible.

I checked.

Melissa’s story was subjected to independent verification.

She didn’t simply get to tell me who she was.

Her claims had to survive information she didn’t control.

That’s healthy.

And she passed that test.

In fact, the independent record left me more concerned about what had taken place than Melissa’s account had.

So when Mark talks about watching another person’s “fruit,” examining her/his character and allowing time to expose what excitement might hide, I actually agree with the concept.

What I don’t see is the reciprocal invitation:

“Please investigate me with the same intensity.”

Mark, Would You Invite Her/Him to Do What I Did?

That’s the question.

If another person becomes serious about Mark, would Mark say:

Go check me.

Would he encourage her/him to read court records?

Would he encourage her/him to distinguish Mark’s allegations from actual judicial findings?

Would he say:

Don’t rely solely on what I’m telling you about Melissa.

Don’t rely solely on what I’m telling you about Tori.

Verify my claims independently.

Would he tell her/him this website exists?

Would he say:

There are years of criticism of me there. Read it. Look at the underlying documents where they’re available. Then ask me about what you find.

Would he be comfortable with her/him hearing competing accounts?

With appropriate consent, would he welcome her/him speaking with people who were actually there?

Melissa.

Tori.

Me.

Witnesses.

And, where appropriate and lawful, people whose professional or official involvement forms part of the record.

Not because any one of us should automatically be believed.

But because Mark shouldn’t automatically be believed either.

That’s what “test everything” actually requires.

Give Her/Him the Same Opportunity I Gave Myself

I didn’t let attraction answer questions evidence could answer.

I didn’t assume Melissa was telling me the complete truth simply because I liked her.

I checked.

And if Mark really believes everything he has recently written about discernment, character, fruit and truth, then the next person in his life deserves that same opportunity.

She/he deserves time.

She/he deserves transparency.

She/he deserves independent sources.

She/he deserves the ability to test his narrative rather than merely hear it.

And she/he especially deserves the freedom to discover things that Mark himself may not volunteer.

Because that is what taking your time is actually for.

Not merely giving Mark enough time to decide whether she/he passes his test.

Giving her/him enough time to decide whether he passes hers/his.

That would make the gate truly two-way.

And that’s the invitation still missing from Mark’s sermon:

“Don’t just listen to what I tell you about my past. Check me.”

I did exactly that before getting serious with Melissa.

And Mark, if your new philosophy is really built around truth, character and fruit, you should have no problem encouraging the next person to do exactly the same thing with you.

We Asked Tori to Do Exactly What I Had Done

There is another reason this matters.

When Tori became involved with Mark, Melissa and I did not ask her to simply believe us.

Quite the opposite.

We pleaded with her to investigate for herself.

We told her not to take our claims as truth merely because we were making them.

We told her there were records.

We told her where to find them.

We directed her to the courthouse.

We encouraged her to look at the actual court file.

Read the pleadings.

Read the orders.

Read the findings.

Read the conclusions.

Compare what Mark was telling her with what the record actually said.

In other words:

Don’t believe us. Check us.

That is the same standard I had applied to Melissa.

I had gone to the courthouse myself when I realized Melissa might become more than someone I was casually dating. I wanted evidence rather than a romantic partner’s version of her previous marriage.

Tori had the same opportunity.

We actively encouraged her to take it.

But Mark Had Already Given Her a Reason Not to Look

According to what Tori later told us, Mark had already given her a very different picture of Melissa.

Melissa was supposedly the problem.

Crazy.

Jealous.

Evil.

Vindictive.

And the accusations against Mark?

According to the version Tori said she had been given, they were lies.

Think about what that does before an independent investigation ever begins.

If the person you’re falling in love with tells you:

“My ex is crazy.”

“She’s jealous of us.”

“She’s evil.”

“She’s lying about me.”

then what happens when that ex reaches out and says:

“Please look at the records”?

The warning itself suddenly appears to validate the story you’ve already been told.

“She contacted me? Mark warned me she was obsessed.”

“She gave me court information? Mark warned me she was trying to destroy him.”

“She says there are things I should know? Mark told me she lies.”

It’s an extraordinarily effective closed loop.

The very person offering contradictory information has already been discredited before she gets to speak.

We Weren’t Asking Tori to Believe Melissa

That distinction matters enormously.

We weren’t asking:

“Believe Melissa instead of Mark.”

We were saying:

Believe neither of them until you check.

That’s what I had done.

That’s what we encouraged Tori to do.

If Melissa’s story was false, the records could expose it.

If Mark’s story was false, the records could expose that too.

If both had contributed to the conflict, the record could provide considerably more context than either person’s romantic retelling.

That is why we kept pointing back toward documentation.

Facts.

Findings.

Conclusions of Law.

Not:

“Melissa said.”

Not:

“Mark said.”

What did the court actually find?

Tori Chose Mark’s Explanation

She did not have to trust us.

We didn’t expect her to.

She was in a relationship with Mark. Of course she was going to have an emotional investment in believing the person she loved.

That’s precisely why independent verification mattered.

But by our experience, the invitation to investigate went largely nowhere.

And years later, there is a painful irony in watching Mark write about how a future partner should:

watch the fruit,

ask difficult questions,

take time,

verify character,

look for truth,

and refuse to let emotion override wisdom.

Those are precisely the things we wished Tori had done.

This Is Why Discrediting the Ex Matters

If someone tells a new partner that every former partner is crazy, dishonest, jealous, bitter or evil, that isn’t just complaining about an ex.

It can have another effect:

It insulates the storyteller from cross-examination.

The new partner no longer sees an independent source.

She/he sees an enemy.

The ex’s records become attacks.

The ex’s warnings become jealousy.

The ex’s contradictory account becomes proof that the ex is unstable.

And suddenly the storyteller controls both sides of the conversation.

He gets to tell the new partner:

what happened

and

why she/he shouldn’t believe anyone who says something different.

That is exactly why Mark’s new “gate” philosophy needs to include something much more difficult than:

“I’m going to examine your fruit.”

It needs to include:

“You should independently examine mine.”

Don’t Poison the Witness Before She/He Speaks

Imagine a healthier approach.

Instead of telling a future partner:

“Melissa is crazy.”

Say:

“Melissa and I have an extremely difficult history. I have my perspective. She has hers. Don’t assume mine is complete merely because you’re in love with me.”

Instead of:

“Everything she says about me is a lie.”

Say:

“Some things said about me I strongly dispute. Others may be things I need to own. Look at the actual documentation and make your own judgment.”

Instead of:

“Don’t talk to these people because they’re against me.”

Say:

“If you become serious about me, I understand why you may want independent information about my history.”

That would be confidence.

That would be humility.

And that would make this new sermon about discernment considerably more convincing.

Would Mark Do It Differently This Time?

That is now the obvious question.

Mark says:

“So this time I’m going to guard my lev—my heart.”

Fine.

But what does “this time” mean for the person on the other side of the gate?

Would Mark tell her/him that this website exists?

Would he say:

“There are people who strongly dispute the story I’m telling you about my past.”

Would he voluntarily point her/him toward the records?

Would he explain where the court files can be found?

Would he encourage her/him to distinguish allegations from findings?

Would he welcome her/him talking with Melissa?

With Tori?

With me?

With witnesses?

With other people who personally observed relevant events and are willing to discuss their own experiences?

Would he say:

“Please don’t take my word for it.”

Because that’s exactly what we told Tori.

We Even Gave Her the Roadmap

This wasn’t:

“Someday you should investigate Mark.”

It was much more concrete.

We told her records existed.

We told her where they were.

We encouraged her to look for herself.

And crucially:

We told her she should not believe us simply because we were telling her something.

That is the part I keep coming back to.

If my goal had merely been to poison Tori against Mark, I would have wanted her to accept my story.

Instead, the message was:

Verify it yourself.

That is because evidence is stronger than persuasion.

And frankly, it is exactly what Mark is now preaching.

There’s Evidence That the Defensive Pattern Continued

Years later, the correspondence shows how difficult independent concerns could become once everyone was already entrenched in competing narratives. In one exchange about Liam, we explicitly wrote that concerns repeatedly seemed to be met with some version of “Not us” or “Not here,” while Tori responded that she and Mark had discussed the concerns and were making changes.

That correspondence doesn’t prove every earlier conversation about Mark’s past. But it does show why independent verification matters so much: people living inside the same relationship can develop an explanation that feels completely coherent to them while outsiders are seeing something very different.

The answer is not:

Believe our side.

The answer is:

Check.

The Next Person Should Not Repeat That Mistake

This is why Mark’s current advice about taking time could actually be valuable—if he means it in both directions.

Take time.

Absolutely.

Become equally yoked.

Absolutely.

Watch the fruit.

Absolutely.

But don’t let the potential partner spend that time merely proving her/his worthiness to Mark.

Give her/him enough time to investigate Mark too.

And don’t sabotage that investigation by pre-labeling every contradictory source as crazy, jealous, evil, vindictive, bitter or dishonest.

If someone tells a future partner something uncomfortable about Mark, she/he should be able to ask:

Is this true?

Not immediately think:

Mark warned me these people would do this.

Put Your Own Story on Trial

Mark’s latest writing essentially says:

Don’t let emotions interfere with discernment.

That’s good advice.

Tori’s experience illustrates why it matters.

When you’re emotionally attached to someone, their explanation feels trustworthy.

Their enemies become your enemies.

Their injuries become your injuries.

Their narrative begins to feel like established fact.

That is exactly when you should investigate harder.

I did.

We asked Tori to.

And if Mark truly believes what he’s preaching now, he should insist that the next serious partner do it too.

Not just investigate some carefully selected version of Mark’s history.

Investigate all of it.

“Don’t Believe Me. Check Me.”

That may be the most important phrase missing from everything Mark has written.

Not:

“Trust me because I’ve learned.”

Not:

“Trust me because I’ve survived.”

Not:

“Trust me because I know Scripture.”

Not:

“Trust me because my ex was terrible.”

Simply:

“Don’t believe me. Check me.”

Read the record.

Cross-check my claims.

Hear competing accounts.

Ask difficult questions.

Look at things that make me uncomfortable.

Then decide what my fruit actually looks like.

Because we gave Tori that invitation.

We pleaded with her to use it.

And if Mark really has learned something from all those years he says he paid as “tuition,” perhaps one lesson should be this:

The next person deserves the information necessary to judge Mark for herself/himself—not merely the information Mark chooses to place on the other side of his gate.