The Truth About Lies

“No, it’s fine.” The words were meant to be flippant, but they fell hard—hammered into stone.

I was the youngest in a youth group of 3 girls. As far as I knew these two were the only other committed Christians in my school, in my small town and I desperately wanted to be a part. If a little playing the clown, taking some teasing was the entrance fee, I’d pay. In the classic annoying little sister tale, I earned the nickname off my last name, “Spacey Stacey.”

Sometimes it is hard to recognize that you are choosing a path.

One girl’s conscience was pricked, perhaps by her parents when she got home. She called to see if I was o.k.; if this new identity bothered me.

With a sideways glance at my mom, I pulled the phone’s cord to the end, reaching as much privacy as I could and then fidgeted with its tightening coils. 

Sometimes you don’t realize you are bowing to an idol.

Half-truths. White lies we call them, trying to deceive ourselves about our lies. And our culture seemingly needs this tension belt to run. Somehow it’s too hard to say, “Yes, it bothers me, but I don’t want to jeopardize our friendship.” 

The horse country in Gulliver’s Travels was incredulous that man would use language to deceive, “For he argued thus: that the use of speech was to make us understand one another, and to receive information of facts; now if anyone said the thing which was not, these ends were defeated.” 

“Do not lie,” the ancient scriptures say clearly, authoritatively, with finality. It’s part of the “love your neighbor as yourself,” second-greatest command.

And again in Colossians, it says you used to walk in the life that had filthy language and deceit, but you have taken off your old self.

I wonder about that new life. I wonder what it will be like in heaven when the truth we say to others will not hurt them. I wonder if the truth said to us will not wound us. 

It’s hard to imagine. 

Our culture holds relationships together with little white lies: “No, you don’t look fat. Yes, I’m so glad you called. I’d love to do that.”

Could we truly be set free by truth—hard, ugly truth that we feel in this fallen world?

How’s it going?

Oh, I’m fine.

How’s work?

Oh, fine.

How does your kid like school?

Oh, fine—fine—fine

Someday the truth will set us free. But do I have the courage to pull that thread until it completely unravels and leaves me naked?

Or for now do I continue to say, ‘It’s fine.’

I learned early some of the many places we don’t expose ourselves. While I went on to have a pretty good relationship with those high school girls, it took a lot longer to build intimacy as I was still locked in the self-imposed prison of pretending to be whatever I thought they wanted. 

So decades later, when a friend texted to ask a favor, it sent me into a familiar tail-spin. What she was asking for would require a couple of hours from me—later that day. I very badly wanted to help, but to do so would have disrupted a lot of things. Once again I was faced with a choice between the truth and hiding. I felt forced to put the relationship in jeopardy and tell her, ‘I can’t.’

Blessed are the peacemakers, not so much the people-pleasers.

Days later, she texted for advice on an issue. I was shocked to see the words “I know I can trust your thoughts, that you will tell me the truth.” Our friendship continued, and went deeper because I quit hiding.

The Lord will honor the truth, spoken gently, in love. True friendships and true community can only thrive when the truth is spoken. Telling the truth will move you from a people-pleaser to a God-pleasing peacemaker. Ask Him to correct your little white lies today. 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s