I’m no longer surprised when a sense of melancholy descends on my soul each April. As dependable as the spring flowers, it ushers in a time of purposeful remembrance. I intentionally recollect details of Ray’s final days and those immediately following his much-too-soon-for-me passing. I honor his memory and allow myself to mourn the loss.
But sometimes sorrow associated with lesser losses catches me off-guard. Such was the case recently. After feeling out-of-sorts for a day or two for no pin-pointable reason other than being relegated to inside activities while my hand continued its post-op recovery, I was enlightened by a Facebook memory. In the original post I quoted Sir Walter Scott: “O, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive.” And then I knew – it was the anniversary of a lie. Though not the first or last in the series, it was the most blatant and dealt a blow so severe that a valued friendship would eventually unravel completely.
Forgiveness is commanded. Even so, reconciliation isn’t always possible or advisable, much less guaranteed. And so, realizing the source of my sadness, I grieved what might have been had truth-telling held more sway.
As with most parents, I endeavored to instill in my daughters the importance of honesty. (A task I’m now repeating with my grandchildren.) Nonetheless, lying is part of testing the boundaries for many children. This is especially true when imagined consequences associated with a truthful answer are deemed too much to bear. One of my most gratifying mom-moments came when daughter Mary told her younger sister Jessie, “Don’t lie to Mom. You don’t want to lose her trust.” To go from me accepting everything at face value to questioning and verifying was a fate Mary wanted to save her sibling from, having experienced the increased scrutiny firsthand.
Indeed, trust is a precious commodity and the foundation of any successful relationship, be it business or personal. Once broken it requires much time and faithfulness to repair, restore, rebuild, if it ever happens at all.
The very first lie, the one that changed everything, occurred early in the scriptural recounting of human history. God had graciously given Adam and Eve the fruit from all the trees in the garden for food with one exception: “You must not eat from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, for when you eat from it you will certainly die.” Then along came Satan, the father of lies. After engaging Eve in a doubt-producing conversation regarding what God commanded, he brazenly contradicted the Almighty: “You will not certainly die. For God knows that when you eat from it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.” Eve ate. Adam ate. Their eyes were opened. They were ashamed and they hid.
And still we try to hide from God and each other.
God could have left them to fend for themselves in their pitiful leafy garments, but He knew all along his creatures were dust. In his infinite and eternal love, He’d already planned a way back. A way to repair, restore and rebuild our relationship with Him for all time. “The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.”
As long as we’re in the world, we’ll struggle with sin and temptation. Sometimes we’ll embellish the details, tell a half-truth or flat-out lie. But by the power of the Spirit, we’re being conformed more and more to the image of the Son and He who began a good work in us will see it through to completion until the day of Christ Jesus. On that glorious day there will be no more hiding for we will be welcomed into his presence clothed in radiant robes of righteousness.
 Matthew 6:14-15; Colossians 3:13
 Genesis 2:17
 John 8:44
 Genesis 3:1-10
 Psalm 103:14
 Genesis 3:15
 John 1:14
 Romans 7:14-25
 Romans 8:29
 Philippians 1:6
 Revelation 7:9-17