Category Archives: Learning from our past

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)

“Something happened!”

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My oldest grandchild, Skylar, has a sparking personality backed by a strong will. Recently I got to spend a week with her and her family, catching up on her latest dreams and schemes. One thing she loves (along with every other two year old) is to join adults in whatever they’re doing, and I love having her assist me.

Ever since she was little, she’s “helped” me put on my make-up. As we approach the task, I’ve already removed the dangerous items from my zipped bag: a hair-cutting scissors, eyebrow pencil sharpener and nail clippers. Then, as I work to improve my old face, Skylar pretends to improve her flawless one.

The only questionable tool I’ve left in the bag is an eyebrow plucker, the kind with a scissors handle. Its “points” are flat, and I didn’t think Skylar could do any damage with it. Leave it to a two year old to prove me wrong.

While I was busy staring into a hand-size 10X magnifier mirror trying to put mascara on, Skylar hopped off her stool and wandered out of the room. In 20 seconds I heard a “Tszt” just before the power went out. Immediately Skylar’s alarmed voice came from the next room. “Something happened!”

We all came running, and there, sticking out of a wall outlet, was my scissor-shaped eyebrow tweezers. She’d plugged it into a socket and had experienced something new, an up-the-arm jolt like we’ve all known, unpleasant but not especially harmful.

Skylar ran to her daddy’s reassuring arms but never shed a tear, and I would have given anything to know her immediate thoughts. For a minute, however, our chatty Skylar was speechless.

I would never intentionally hurt one of my grandchildren, but this incident was probably my bad. There was an up-side, though. Skylar’s experiment taught her a few things:

  • Outlets are covered for good reasons.
  • Electrical shocks feel terrible.
  • My parents were protecting me when they told me, “No.”
  • I should obey my parents.
  • I’ll never do that again!

Experience is our best teacher, and Skylar’s new respect for electrical outlets will never dim. No damage was done (except to the blackened tips of my tweezers), and important lessons were learned.

Once in a while all of us have to be taught just like Skylar, through harsh experience. Scripture is full of wisdom we don’t heed as we toss it aside in favor of our own flawed ideas. So God steps back and lets us learn the hard way. Once we learn to internalize wisdom simply by listening, we spare ourselves and others unnumbered “jolts”.

If Skylar had simply believed her parents when they told her electrical outlets could hurt her, she would have avoided her unpleasant zap. Hopefully that potent lesson will serve to increase the validity of her folks’ advice from here on.

As for me, when I work with my traumatized tweezers, I’ll try to remember Skylar’s example, because I’d rather learn by listening than by a jolting.

“Josiah was eight years old when he became king… He did what was pleasing in the Lord’s sight and… did not turn away from doing what was right.” (2 Chronicles 34:1-2)