Easy Lovers

Dishonesty is an easy companion.

We like to think of liars as politicians and megachurch pastors – it’s easier that way, since most of us, being neither, are distrusting of persons in one or both of those categories. In truth, each of us woos and wars against dishonesty. We seek it in ways we seldom recognize. We abhor it in ways for which we have not words. We both love and despise dishonesty the same way we love and despise truth.

We are Smeagols, each of us; and dishonesty is the One Ring that both sustains and decays our lives.

Sometimes we call it by other names to distance ourselves from any likeness to those politicians and megachurch pastors and gollums. Denial… denial is a big one.

I’ve courted a bit of denial myself the past several years. It has been the easiest lover on the loneliest nights. It has looked like this:

• My mom is okay.
• Mom will get through this.
• We will get mom through this.
• This is traumatic, not degenerative.
• I can carry this.
• I’m strong enough.
• I am okay.

Denials, all. Dishonesty, all. Lies, all. In my refusal to see things as they truly are, I accept an altered “truth” and try to squish my experiences into that frame. It doesn’t work. The altered version is too small to fit reality.

The lie is too small to fit the truth.

Several days ago, without sharing any circumstances, I publicly shared the words “dementia” and “my mother” in the same sentence. Intentionally. Though I had already spoken it in closed circles and limited conversations, this was the first time I had publicly acknowledged my mother’s disease. It was a milestone moment for me, as if by doing so, I was breaking up with my own denial – kicking it out; refusing its advances; telling the lie – you don’t belong here.

It was quite liberating. When we can look honestly upon our circumstances and our inability to work any good of them, we free ourselves from needing to carry things; we free ourselves from needing to find answers; we free ourselves from needing to resolve problems; we free ourselves from needing to save the day; we free ourselves from needing to be or do what we are not and cannot.

And it is in that moment… when we step away from the mirrors of distortion and perceive things as they truly are… this is where we find truth.

Because I can’t, friends – I can’t carry my mother’s disease. I can’t carry my own struggles. All I can do… is fall into Jesus. Therein is true rest. True hope. True life.

My mother has dementia.

My sweet, gentle, gracious, strong, intelligent, hilarious, faithful mother… has dementia.

It is not being kind to her.

I am grieving.

But Jesus promises beauty even for these ashes. And that is a truth which can hold all the pieces of my world together.

Amen.

From the shores of Wicket Lake;