Today, I’m over at A Deeper Story with some reflections on what it means to be a Christian truth-teller, to start with.
It’s right after I’ve finally told the truth.
(To him. To myself.)
My little balcony sets me almost in the trees, sometimes I pretend I’ve build my house up here. Branches glow orange through the rain from the porch light, reaching up like desperate arms against the icy grey December sky. I breathe out warmth, and it feels wasteful. Will there be enough for next time? The clutching, creeping cloud almost entirely muffles what he says next–
“You are so very brave.”
It’s a sob before I know it, teeth clenched against what feels most like fiction.
“I am not.”
We usually fight like siblings that missed out on a shared childhood, but I don’t push it this time. I know on this he won’t back down. I squeeze my eyes against the now-swimming branches, pinching the bridge of my nose with my fingers.
The haze is still there, but pushed back a bit to the corners. I breathe out again, this time sending out a bit of that cloud.
How long have I been pretending?
I’m wondering if you can relate to any of the sketches of story shared over there, what your thoughts are on what it means to be a truth-teller. Read the rest over at Deeper Story?