Yearly Archives: 2011

Liar, Liar (Part 2 of 2)

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My Aunt Agnes, Dad’s sister, never had children but had a slew of nephews and nieces, and I was glad to be one of them. She spent Sundays with our family and came over every Thursday for dinner, bringing candy from Marshall Fields. She didn’t forget our dog Toby, either, arriving with bones or biscuits to make him happy. When she died in 1980, she divided her estate between several charities and her nieces and nephews, generous to the end.

One day when I was 11, Aunt Agnes asked if I’d like a sleepover at her condo on a Saturday night, just me. I jumped at the chance to stay in her immaculate home on the 8th floor of her building, and we had a great time.

She enjoyed beautiful things, and on her glass-topped dresser was a hand mirror and matching hair brush given to her by her husband. Because they were married only five years before he died, these were precious to her. On Sunday morning I asked if I could use the brush, and she said, “Yes, but don’t put water on it.”

Without thinking I went to the bathroom mirror, and before I knew it, I’d swished her brush under the faucet to wet my ponytail. Right away I realized what I’d done but hoped Aunt Agnes wouldn’t notice. As I put the brush back, water was already pooling beneath its gold design.

But I never said a word.

My parents picked us up for church, and in the car Aunt Agnes turned and said, “Did you wet my brush this morning?”

Immediately I lied. “No.”

“Are you sure?”

“I didn’t do it! Someone else must have.”

She knew the truth, but she didn’t press further. I felt awful but was bonded to my lie. Aunt Agnes never mentioned it again.

For many weeks I suffered, knowing I should confess and fully intending to, but life swept me away with school, college, marriage and children. Time dimmed the weight of my guilt, and eventually I forgot about it.

That is, until the week Aunt Agnes died. We were in her apartment packing her things, and as I stood in front of her guest room dresser, there lay the mirror and brush, the brush still wavy with water damage. It triggered my memory of never having told her the truth. Mom invited us to keep something of hers that day, so I kept the dresser set.

Every time Aunt Agnes saw that brush, she must have thought about my lie. And because she loved me unconditionally, she probably wondered why I couldn’t trust her with the truth.

God probably feels the same way, disappointed when I lean into sin rather than choose honesty. In doing so, I ignore the fact that our relationship is grounded in unconditional love.

Besides, God will never punish truth-telling (even dreadful truth) like he punishes a lie.

“The human heart is the most deceitful of all things, and desperately wicked… But I, the Lord, search all hearts and examine secret motives. I give all people their due rewards, according to what their actions deserve.” (Jeremiah 17:9-10)

When I see Aunt Agnes one day in heaven, I’m going to come clean.

Liar, Liar (Part 1 of 2)

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Most of us have seen Jim Carrey’s 1997 movie “Liar, Liar.” As a successful lawyer famous for twisting the truth to get ahead, his character repeatedly disappoints his little boy, Max, by failing to show up when he says he will. He even misses Max’s birthday, causing Max to realize his daddy has a lying problem. Max blows out his candles with a secret wish that his daddy will have to tell the truth for the next 24 hours.

Max’s birthday wish comes true immediately, and his daddy can’t make himself tell a lie or even withhold part of the truth. He stutters, stumbles over words, tries to hurt himself to avoid telling the truth and eventually makes a hopeless mess of himself.

In the end, he comes to see that Max is more important than business success, and the happy ending shows a truth-telling father and son spending quality time together.

Although the movie is hilarious, the truth of “Liar, Liar” is that the majority of people lie routinely without so much as a twinge of guilt. A new book, Tangled Webs (James Stewart), details the problem. He says lying was originally a crime against God, condemned in the Bible. But with time and a watering down of our spiritual commitment as a nation, guilt is no longer a pressure, and lying is rampant.

Mr. Stewart tells the stories of four famous liars: Bernie Madoff, Barry Bonds, Martha Stewart and Scooter Libby. These and many others have told the ultimate in lies, lying in court while under oath. Perjury is high-risk lying, and all four have paid in spades.

Interestingly, these celebrities didn’t get charged for their criminal behaviors. Instead they went to prison for lying about that (at least three of them, since one has only recently been convicted). Was lying worth their losses?

I can’t wag my finger at a liar, though, having stretched the truth many times. It was fascinating to hear the author of Tangled Webs wonder aloud during a radio interview where this “epidemic of lying” originated.

He assigned blame, at least partially, to parents not teaching the value of truth to children. But his interviewer said, “I think lying is in all of us.” She was right. We all want to make ourselves look good, and Satan, a professional liar, coaches us on how to do that. But God, the ultimate in truth, tells us there are 7 things he hates, and in that short list, 2 of them are lying. (Proverbs 6)

Scripture details the laws of lying: (1) if we tell one lie, we’ll have to tell more; (2) lying always hurts others; and (3) the truth will come out. Thinking of these irrefutable laws motivates me to tell the whole truth.

I want God to be pleased with me, not to hate what I do or say. And telling the truth is a sure way to win his approval.

(Tomorrow: the telling of a whopper.)
”Don’t scheme against each other. Stop your love of telling lies that you swear are the truth. I hate all these things, says the Lord.” (Zechariah 8:17)

A “B Plan”

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Just outside the front windows of our Illinois house was a small tree covered with springtime blossoms. One April day we noticed a bird’s nest tucked in its branches, topped with a mama blue jay. So we began bird-watching from a nearby window, checking every day for babies.

Our cat Kennedy was also watching, and several times I saw her stretching tall from the back of the couch, peering out at the mother bird. She had no interest in eggs, though, only what was inside them.

Kennedy had been a rescued kitten given to Hans on his 12th birthday, picked up while wandering across Chicago’s Kennedy Expressway. She was puppylike-friendly but morphed into a hunter every night, insisting on being let out as the rest of us went to bed. In the morning she’d often arrive with a gift, a dead mouse, chipmunk or small bunny dangling from her mouth. None of us liked this part of Kennedy but knew it was nature’s way.

Through the window, we worried about the baby blue jays but hoped their protective mama would keep Kennedy at bay. I remember the day the eggs hatched. We kept the cat indoors while several of us perched at the window to watch, but suddenly there she was, at the tree.

Hans bolted out the front door to grab her, but it was too late. She was already in the branches fighting with the mother blue jay, who appeared to be winning. Hans raced to the garage and reappeared with a board, shouting and swinging at his beloved pet, desperate to force her down. But within seconds it was all over, and Kennedy had had her way.

All of us were devastated, and my heart went out to the mama bird. She’d been faithful to her task, then was robbed of her reward. Although we were mad at Kennedy, we couldn’t blame her for doing what God had taught her to do.

Sometimes people-lives parallel that of mama blue jay. We meet our responsibilities, work hard and do the right things, but disaster strikes anyway. Money is diligently saved, then lost in a recession. A parent pours heart and soul into raising a child, who then turns against her/him. Someone leads a healthy lifestyle but gets sick anyway. A business is built on moral principles but goes bankrupt.

We usually can’t explain these misfortunes and wonder why bad things happen to good people, especially if “God is good.” But that’s where faith comes in. Do we really believe he’s good, and good to us? If so, we have to trust that even “bad” stuff has “good” purposes.

After Kennedy destroyed the mama blue jay’s future, I stayed at the window watching her. What would she do now? She sat on the porch railing nearby, focused on the tree, squawking intensely for about 5 minutes. Then she flew off in search of Plan B and never returned.

It’s often excruciating to surrender our A Plans. But when we’re ready, God’s B Plan is ready, too.

“The righteous… do not fear bad news; they confidently trust the Lord to care for them. They are confident and fearless and can face their foes triumphantly.” (Psalm 112:6-8)