I know what you’re thinking….
And yes, I too am a liar.
But my lying is hidden,
I’m good at it.
I don’t think we stop growing. I am jealous of my friends who have a house they grew up in. Six years is the longest time I lived in any one house. When I visit homes where my friends grew up I search for growing pains. My favorite spot is where they physically grew. It is usually in the garage, a pantry, or a bedroom closet. I love reading the height marks from age two into high school. I like to picture my friends being juniors in high school and their parents still wanting to measure their height. they get out the ruler or book to place on their head to mark how tall they are. They put the date, and then say, “look how much you’ve grown”! All while my friends are now mad that their hair is messed up. There is always a big jump in height around middle school and high school. Measurable growth is fascinating, and weird.
We don’t like stagnancy.
We don’t like boredom.
I don’t think we actually like growth?
I’ve found out, recently, how good it is to hurt. I understand now when I am in pain it means something else is at work. I am slowly learning to stop, think, and wonder why it is I am “hurt”. Is it because people are abused, widowed, poor, or any form of injustice? Then why am I hurt? What really hurts? We joke around with kids and ask if they are going to live when they skin their knee. We joke around and make them believe a kiss will stop the pain from a splinter. But in reality, I joke too much. Pain hurts, so live in it for a while and figure out why, or try.
Grumpy, never smiling, predictable Mike makes me wonder. Why is he angry? Why does he come into starbucks every day? Why does he read the paper every day? Why does he fall asleep on the paper? Why does he drive a really nice Lexis? How old is he? How did he get where he is? And I have no answers. I don’t know what it is like to live in his shoes. He looks like he has seen and felt much pain. I could ask, but I like the mystery.
I am a liar, and I never knew it. It took a bright light, someone to see past my own kingdom, and a courageous friend to reveal my blindness. Jesus says the light hurts, and He is right. But it is good pain. I don’t think you would ever know I was a liar but, by not writing this I would continue to live in my secrete sin. My lying comes in the form of not being a truth teller. It isn’t that I tell you the square is round, but I just don’t tell you about it at all. I want you to like me so I mask how I feel with jokes. I pass off feeling mad at you by chucklingly saying something that will make us both laugh. I have a hard time believing you will stay my friend if I tell you that I don’t like it when you don’t call me back. Which is, in turn, lying.
I haven’t written in a while because I have been trying to figure this all out. The pain is thick, and it is as old as the house I didn’t grow up in. It feels as though I am in the middle of a big mud pit, waist deep, but making my way towards the shallow. It is hard to take the next step, the mud is thick, and it tries to pull me back. Sometimes I get stuck, or fall, but…
Growth is good
Pain is good
Mud is thick
Jesus loves the mud pit, and that’s where I’m at.
I had to write another sentence because my word count was 666 and that is not my style.
I think I’ll start keeping a growth chart
But instead of height and date; where and who!