Being committed to the truth is easy to brag about when you can edit your words 572 times before hitting publish. But start recording your actual voice and have over 500 people listen to it in less than two weeks time? Well, then you start to feel just a tad bit insecure about the truth you’re tellin’.
And you start askin’, WHOSE truth is it I’m telling?
If I say it’s hard to live here (and I did, just listen) what does that communicate to the people who only know here? To the people whose families settled this land? To the people who have called it home for generations? What am I saying about them? Maybe nothing really, or maybe insinuating something I don’t quite understand. And that’s the problem, I’m not sure.
Is it hard to live here? You know it is. Hard in ways I can’t explain and in ways I can. (HELLO parking spots designed for Playmobile cars at no less than $4 an hour.)
But what I neglected to say in 57 minutes and 29 seconds is this: It’s also beautiful. In ways I can’t explain and in ways I can.
Blue + gold macaws nesting in my backyard.
Seeing Jesus in the eyes of the people I meet on the street.
Watching women speak up for themselves at city council meetings.
Teenagers gathering around my dining room table for card games and sundaes.
I can easily get jammed up in my head, paralyzed into saying nothing of substance. Overthinking, avoiding, pretending not to have deep lingering thoughts in every nook and cranny of my mind… But that’d be a lie and I’ve committed to truth-tellin’, no matter the cost, no matter the cost.
So I keep on keepin’ on. Keep saying words, keep tap-tap-tapping the keyboard with my boney fingers, keep figuring out what I think in front of the whole-wide-world… And for what?
I suppose I really do believe we need each other. That we’re better together. That something about a triune God speaks to my need and your need and everybody’s need for community.
I suppose I’d rather ask for forgiveness than keep my mouth shut. I’d rather cut my teeth on the hard, gnawing conversations that come from honesty than swallow watered down junk, microwaved over and over and over again, served up by the Prince of Lies.
If we seek hard after the truth, we’ll discover sometimes the truth is hard. And divisive. And controversial. But always necessary. Always necessary. And on days like today, when the internet feels suffocating, let me remind us, Jesus knows the end from the beginning.