God says, “You Don’t Have To Lie Anymore,” but in not so many words

When I was a kid I thought some lies were worth telling. One time, during recess in the third grade, a guy paid me seventy-five cents to tell the ugliest girl in class she was pretty and say, "syke!". Then I used the change to buy a Flintstones push-up ice cream. I slurped up the orange sherbet goodness while the teacher explained to Sally about how insides count and how her insides were beautiful. Then there was this time I broke one of Mama’s Precious Moments figurines and blamed it on my little sister. I sat in front of the TV watching Batman while my sister bawled her eyes out and screamed bloody murder as my mom dealt out death and judgment in the other room. Talk about your precious moments.

I’ve told a lot of lies to get out of trouble in life. There was not an incident in my childhood I couldn’t lie or cheat my way through. That’s how I made my decisions on whether or not to misbehave. I’d ask myself, “If I get caught, can I lie my way out of this?” If the answer was no, then I didn’t do it. I became more skilled in my craft as I got older and began to judge my accomplishments based on how complex and successful the lies I told were. Often my lies were so elaborate and convoluted I wouldn’t remember what the truth was in the first place, and keeping track of who I had told what lie was a juggling feat for the pros.

I try not to lie anymore. I’m pretty good at it, most of the time. Now I do it mostly for little things like, “Yes Dad, I remembered to pick up the milk,” as I make a U-turn at the next intersection or, “Sure Mom, that dress looks great,” on the way to church on Sunday morning.

I guess eventually the shame got to me. People thought I was such a trustworthy young fella. The truth is I was ruthlessly cunning. I could have taught the Devil a thing or two about being deceitful. But the shame got so bad that I couldn't bear it anymore, so I decided to give up my lying ways, for the most part. I remember feeling so bad one night that I ran into my mom and dad’s room long after bed time, woke them up in a frightful frenzy and confessed all the lies I could think of. The whole time tears rolled off my cheeks as I divulged in trembling sobs who truthfully broke Mama’s pretty thing, where the remote control actually was and what really happened to Tony the Turtle. I laid in the bed between Mom and Dad and cried myself to sleep. That was probably the best night’s rest I’ve ever had. Now that I think about it, Mom and Dad never punished me for the lies I confessed that night. They never condemned my shameful action. They just held me and hugged me and told me they loved me. The next morning they didn’t mention the night before. Somehow I go the feeling that they didn’t want me to tell lies again, but they didn’t have to say it. I just knew. Deep down inside I knew.

Last night I had a similar experience with God. For so long I’ve lied to Him about why I do the things I do, why I am the person that I am. I’ve made excuse for why I’m so judgmental towards people and why I can’t seem to keep my mind off how pretty He made Suzie Q. and Jane D. (those aren’t actual ladies). I’ve explained away my wicked nature in twisted justifications and inaccurate truths. And some of my lies were pretty convincing. I bet you know the kind I’m talking about. I bet your’s are no less convincing to you.

But there is a problem with our lies to God. Unlike our parents, God always knows the truth. We cannot and are not fooling Him. The only person we’re deceiving with our lies are ourselves. And just like when I was a little kid, the shame of the lies I’ve told God have overwhelmed me. So heavy was the guilt that I couldn’t even bear to face Him. It hurt me to talk to Him, to ask Him questions, to pretend that the exchanges we were having were open and honest. So last night I came running to Him (in the figurative sort of way) and confessed all the lies I could think of, the whole time tears pouring off my cheeks (literally). God just held me and hugged me and told me He loved me, and I just laid there in bed until I had cried myself to sleep. It was the best night’s rest I’ve had in a while. This morning, when I got up and talked with God, all my guilt was gone. I didn’t feel like I was hiding anything anymore, all my shame was gone. And God didn’t bring up the night before. Somehow I’ve got the feeling He doesn’t want me to make excuses for my sins any longer, but He didn’t have to say it. I just knew. Deep down inside I knew.

Are We There Yet?

Note: A conversation with a friend last night got me to thinking about how fast time goes by the older you get. We discussed how, as kids, family road trips took forever and how long a year seemed to be. It has been a year since my friend and I have seen each other on a daily basis, but it seems like mere days ago. There are similarities between a child's view of the passage of time and our relationships with God. This post is dedicated to Casey Jones for helping me understand those similarities.

I remember when I was a kid and my family still took vacations and road trips together. I would sit in the back seat of our big Dodge van and ask my parents, “Are we there yet?!” A day is forever when you’re five, and that’s how long it usually felt it took to get wherever it was we were going. My Mom would always buy coloring books, Gold Fish crackers and other road trip goodies to keep me and my sister, Sarah, occupied. Sometimes Mom’s entertainments where the most exciting and anticipated parts of the trip. She always had a way of catching my imaginative eye with a quick $10 stop by Wal-Mart on the way out of town. Inevitably though, no matter how interesting Mom’s gifts may have initially seemed, my sister and I would become restless and start the endless questioning, “Are we there yet,” and, “how much longer Daddy,” because Daddy always drove. In hindsight I see these were the times Dad didn’t mind stopping for a rest break because Mom would pull out the Dimetapp® and drug me and Sarah out of our misery. One quick cherry sip and off to dream world we would slip. I also remember when I realized that Dimetapp® wasn’t just a sweet treat and what it was actually for and how horrified I was that my parents would do something like that to me. Honestly, those were probably the best naps of my life. I would wake up feeling so refreshed and so alive. The scenery changed while I slept and the sun moved to the opposite side of the sky to cast different hues on the horizon. And usually, the wait was almost over. Grandma’s house, the Grand Canyon, or the Smokey Mountains would be just around the corner or just up ahead and I could sense the journey’s end.

I’m now twenty two years old and I often find myself asking God the same questions I asked my parents when I was younger. How much farther? Are we almost there? The adventures of faith from my younger years now seem like simple activities to keep me occupied on the journey and now I’m so restless I’m practically begging God to knock me out until the end is near. But God doesn’t work like that. He doesn’t dispense spiritual Dimetapp® to make the trip easier or go by faster. Now is when the rubber meets the road, so to speak. This is where it really counts. I want so desperately to arrive in life. I’m ready to be fully engaged in what the Lord has for me, to be actively fulfilling my purpose for being here and not just preparing for it.

I’m beginning to understand who it is the Lord created me to be. I see how my passions are connected to my giftings and why I’ve experienced the things in life I have experienced, both pleasurable and sorrowful. A vision of purpose is being birthed in me that is beautifully painful. Someone once told me that visions and dreams are like seeds and have to die before they can truly come alive. I’m starting to understand what this means. My heart held such exciting visions in the innocence of my youth, but somewhere along the road those dreams where smothered, sometimes even murdered. But that was not the journey’s end. The exciting part is just beginning. I guess I’m sort of glad God doesn’t drug me like my parents use to do. Experiencing the journey and understanding how I’ll reach my destined destination will make the arrival that much better.

As a kid I’d wake up from those drug-induced naps on road trips and wonder how did the scenery changed so dramatically while I was asleep. God wants me to experience Him on the journey He is taking me on. And I guess that’s okay with me, because I know that someday, just as I did when I was a little boy, I will get to wherever it is that I am going and God will be there with me, even though I pester Him with questions, “How much farther? Are we there yet?”

Silver Strokes

There are strokes of silver on the horizon that brush against an azure veil, pulling back to reveal a glorious dawn. The grass is damp with diamond dew. The wind is slow and gentle. Lingering fingers of a bitter cold tickle my body and I hug myself for warmth. I am all alone. Not even the birds are stirring, but it is a comforting loneliness. It is moments like these that souls are born. The ground I am standing on must be holy, because I’ve been taken to mighty Eden to be charmed by her maker. These rare moments have me wondering at the irony of God’s art. Nature doesn’t know the power of her seduction; beautiful and magnificent, but also innocent and humble. My heart surrenders to such splendor and my tongue is useless in expressing words. I’m not sure how long I’ve been standing here, but my legs are numb, and not from the cold. Something within my chest is stirring, pounding. It’s a swirling tension, like I’m holding my breath as not to disturb this glorious orchestra. God is conducting a pastoral symphony for me, His twenty-first century Adam. I listen as the first rays of the sun stroke the sleeping earth and gently whisper, “Wake up. A new day has come.”

If I could capture this moment in time
I’d display it for all the world to see
This endless melody of God's beauty
Sung by nature in harmony

If I could capture this moment in time
The depth of man would stir
And awaken a yearning for the pure
Awesomeness of God’s earthly picture

If I could capture this moment in time
The world of power would fail to be
Bowing down to God’s unimaginable majesty
That strokes across the morning’s tapestry

God captured for me a moment in time
To renew my heart for what draws nigh
A day of reckoning with one who sits on high
Painting silver strokes across a morning sky