"I had to lie to make new friends."
The words slipped out of her mouth easily, like it wasn't a big deal at all, as if she were commenting on the weather. The girls had spent the entire day lost in one pretend world after another, changing into costume after costume, creating art, sharing dreams, loving on one another after not seeing each other since the end of the school year. Celebrating with some ice cream, I almost missed the non-challant manner in which the words were spoken, but even Boogs (Kuda Kiddo Number One) knew the weight of her statement: our eyes immediately met in the rearview mirror, recognizing an action not allowed in our house: LIE.
Our kids know they will suffer consequences of certain actions, but lying will make it 100 times worse. So when her sweet girlfriend so casually mentioned lying as something she did, on purpose, to a parent, Boogs was downgright horrified. But while she thought I was focused on the lying part of it, my heart was actually breaking in two: she admitted to lying, yes, but she admitted to lying to make friends. And that just near broke my heart. I'm pretty sure I rattled off a soliloquy encouraging acceptance of your own quirks and strengths, speaking more to myself than the girls, as if she had opened a wound I wasn't sure was completely healed from years of not being sure I was who I was supposed to be, or at the very least who I portrayed myself to be.
Because isn't this what we do? We don't necessarily proclaim it boldly for all to hear, but don't we get caught in the lie, either outright or subtly, in the way we present ourselves to the world? Maybe we make our quirks a little less apparent, our less known oddities hidden in the walls of our homes. Maybe we feel strongly on a certain topic but are scared it will alienate those close to us. Or maybe we just like to eat dry cereal for breakfast without any milk on it. (Just me? Ok, fine. I know it's weird, but here I am owning it.) It can feel like that's the easier choice, to put on a face that's more appealing to the masses, or to hide our insecurities and faults due to fear we might be left out, not loved as much, not included with the in-crowd.
A nice little reminder that we never really leave high school. AmIRight?
Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom. Psalm 90:12
Studying this sweet little Psalm this morning, I was struck with something I think God has been nudging me toward this summer, without my having realized it: This. Is. It. This life may end tomorrow, or it may go on for another 40 or 50 years. But this is it. Fear has long had its grip on my heart, keeping me from showing the world my true identity, in hopes that my heart might be protected from myself: heart-on-my-sleeve creator, writer, dancer, wish-she-could-sing harmonizer in the car, a little bit flaky, has trouble with small talk, just give me all the deep talk, woman of God who loves her kids and husband but still needs peace and quiet at least an hour a day. I get stuck in the "shoulds" and forget about "want tos" because I don't want to let someone down. But while God has been teaching me to number my days, He's also been teaching me wisdom. Did you notice how they go together? As we grow closer to Him, He gives us wisdom and discernment to recognize the days as what they should be: another chance to glorify Him, shine His light, try again, love on people, love on ourselves.
My challenge for you today as we close out our week is this: if you find yourself hesitating to say/do/think something bold, be brave and ask yourself why. Why do I need to hide this part of me? What fear is lying in the corner behind that hesitation? Rest easy in the comfort that God made beautiful you on purpose and by design. He loves you so very much, and He will carry you across the threshold of fear with courage right there within in your grasp. Do the next brave thing, sweet friends.