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.