There is never any final comfort in a lie. However closely we may have hugged a lie to our bosom, the moment we see it to be a lie, we should be wise to part with it. Those who take refuge in a lie are like those who take refuge in a flimsy storm shelter made of three-ply wood painted to look like stone. When they want the shelter most, it will let them down. ~ Leslie Weatherhead, The Will of God

I told lies because they were easier,
a pathway circumventing yelling,
a way to maintain icy silence called peace.
I told lies to look bigger (metaphorically)
and smaller – thinking they’d believe my numbers
and not their “lying” eyes. I lied easily,
naturally, sometimes when the truth worked better.
I lied to him, to the world, but mostly to myself.
When the hidden truths were augured out of me
and I finally excavated deep truths, I kept the lies
for the comfort, the commonplace, the role.
Yet little by slow I learned truth-telling,
truth owning, honesty. And the shelter, the refuge,
the security of truth opened my eyes
and welcomed me home.