There's nothing like a good cheating song to make me want to run

Steven Curtis Chapman, the troubadour of faith and family, once declared with both humor and conviction: “There’s nothing like a good cheating song to make me want to run home to be with my wife.” Though his words are simple and touched with jest, they carry a wisdom that shines like a lantern in the night. He reminds us that art, even when it portrays betrayal, heartbreak, and failure, can become a mirror that strengthens our devotion to what is true and sacred.

The cheating song has long been a staple of country and folk traditions, a lament of broken trust and shattered vows. Its melodies are filled with longing, regret, and sorrow. To many, such songs stir memories of wounds and betrayals endured. Yet for Chapman, they serve another purpose: they awaken gratitude. By hearing of brokenness, he remembers the gift of wholeness. By witnessing the pain of betrayal in song, he feels anew the sweetness of faithfulness. Thus the shadow teaches the light, and sorrow reveals the depth of joy.

This wisdom is not new. The ancients often taught by contrast. In the Scriptures, the fall of David through betrayal is not told to glorify sin but to magnify the power of repentance and renewal. In Homer’s tales, the unfaithfulness of Helen brought ruin to Troy, while the fidelity of Penelope preserved the house of Odysseus. So too, the cheating song does not have to lead the heart astray; it can drive the heart back home, back to loyalty, back to love that endures.

Consider also the story of Johnny Cash, who sang both of sin and of redemption. His songs of heartache and betrayal carried raw honesty, yet they also pointed to the power of choosing a better way. Many who listened were reminded not to follow the path of destruction but to cling to the hope of forgiveness and faithfulness. In this same way, Chapman’s words remind us that even songs of betrayal can strengthen the hearer who listens with wisdom.

The lesson is clear: let even the dark songs teach you light. Do not fear the art that reveals sin and sorrow; rather, use it as a reminder of what you must cherish and guard. When you hear tales of brokenness, let them move you not toward temptation but toward gratitude for the bonds you hold sacred. In this way, no song is wasted, for even laments can serve as teachers when the heart is rightly tuned.

So, children of tomorrow, remember this counsel: when life or art shows you the ruin of betrayal, let it awaken in you a deeper devotion to faithfulness. When you encounter stories of lost love, let them remind you to treasure the love you possess. Let every warning be a guidepost, every sorrow a reminder of joy, every shadow a pointer to the light.

Thus remember always: faithfulness is the true song, and every false note only strengthens its harmony. A cheating song may lament betrayal, but to the wise, it stirs the heart to cling more fiercely to love. Chapman’s words, though playful, reveal this eternal truth: that the greatest response to the music of brokenness is to run home, to hold close, and to love more deeply.