I remember my first lie. I was a toddler. My idea of fun at the time was running a circle through our lovely 70’s style Ranch. I made a track from the living room, to the hallway, then the kitchen, and back to the other side of the living room. I was fast too. Just fast enough to brush a lamp off an end table. I didn’t realize it fell until I made the circuit again.
Lap 20. “Hmm,” I thought. “ I don’t remember that lamp being on the floor.” Like Forrest Gump I kept running. While running I contemplated the consequences of the broken lamp on the floor. “Maybe it won’t be there this time through.”
Lap 21. “Hmm, still there. Maybe it isn’t really broken.”
Lap 22. “Definitely broken.”
Lap 23. Path blocked by mom. “Uh oh.”
She stopped me. And instead of asking point-blank if I broke the lamp, she asked an even better question: “Do you know who broke my lamp?”
‘Did you’ and ‘do you know’ are two very different questions. I stared at the lamp. Bit my lip and looked down at the avocado green shag carpet. “Umm…the baby did it,” I half declared half questioned. There was only one teensy little issue: my sister wasn’t born yet.
Can’t get anything past my mom. Of course this could have been because I was born a horribly bad liar. It also didn’t help that mom was 8 months pregnant.
She proceeded to lecture me on the importance of being honest. I’ve realized over the years that honesty is a hard quality to come by. Given the opportunity, most of us will say anything to save our own rear ends. Worse to me though is the little lies we tell when our rear ends aren’t on the line. The ones we tell just because. And we all do it. In case you think otherwise, see if this conversation seems familiar.
Your friend: “Where do you want to eat?”
You: “It doesn’t matter to me. I could eat anything.”
Your friend: “How about (insert name of your least favorite restaurant)?”
You: “Ughh! No, anything but that.”
So it did matter, huh? I know because I’ve had that conversation more times than I care to admit. Once a co-worker and I made a “Lunch Wheel” to pick where we grabbed lunch because we could never decide. It was a piece of cardboard with different restaurant names on it, complete with a working spinner arrow. The bad part was that it took us longer to make the thing than it did to grab lunch. I don’t think our boss was excited about it either. It mysteriously disappeared after only one day. But that’s beside the point. The point is that if we are dishonest in something as inconsequential as our lunch choice, how much further does that dishonesty go?
Honestly, I’m afraid to find out.
I know that I’ve seen it in myself since the little episode with the lamp, and I hate it. Honesty is a tough thing to cultivate in a life. Sometimes honesty puts me at odds with people. And that’s another thing I don’t like. Sometimes honesty means that I have to admit being wrong. You guessed it, hate that too. But I’ve found a lot of freedom in admitting that I don’t have it all together. And that’s a start.
So, if you invite me to lunch, I plan on telling you exactly where I want to go. And I hope you’ll do the same.
Heath is a husband, dad, musician, worship leader, radio personality, and purveyor of random knowledge. Heath also types in third person on occasion.
Dusty Medlock
January 16, 2012 at 11:53 am
Blaming your unborn sister for breaking the lamp, I think, uses the same relative theory as when I used to ask Erik to go use the bathroom for me because I didn’t want to have to get off the top bunk. Since he was on the bottome bunk it would be a lot easier for him. It never worked though…. no matter how hard he tried.