The following entry was originally written in August 2006

I wonder what it is that makes a person afraid of the truth. I think that perhaps at its marrow it has a great deal to do with having to acknowledge one’s own inadequacy to survive independently of the rest of the world. There seems to be a great need for people to prove themselves as strong… or beautiful… or powerful… or wealthy… or of great character… or anything besides the honest reality…

…The reality that we have moments of weakness… of mediocrity… of inadequacy… and that, by and large, these are elements that remain with us throughout our time on this planet. It is our nature as human beings to fall short of perfection (and, most often, immeasurably far).

One might argue that there are certainly people with strength or beauty or power or wealth…

…but how long does it last? A moment? A lifetime? Is it timeless? Was it earned? Was it given? Was it taken?

I received an email from my ex-wife today. She wrote to tell me that our entire marriage was a deception—that I’ve caused her so great a wound that she may never trust a man enough to be able to marry him. She wrote to tell me that the cassettes that I sent her recently were too much a reminder of our marriage, so she threw the entire package in the garbage. She wrote to tell me that, in short, I ruined her life…

Is this the truth?

I think that, perhaps, if she were to truly consider her life before she met me, she would find that there were other individuals in her life who also failed her, or fell short of her expectations, or did things which caused her to feel betrayed. She would find that her trust issues didn’t spring forth at the end of our marriage. Perhaps — just perhaps — she would discover that I have become the safe place for her to project all her anger, sorrow, grief, and even guilt. “Safe” because I am no longer in her life and, therefore, am silenced from pointing out that I, alone, am not the source of all her problems.

But, more than this, I also know that upon careful scrutiny she would find that there was, indeed, genuine affection woven throughout our marriage. That there was compassion. And love. And many moments of joy. That there was a man who wanted to love her as completely as she deserved to be loved… but who was afraid of the truth.

I think I know why I’ve been afraid of the truth. I’ve been afraid of the truth because I have believed that the truth will reveal to others the “unattractive” parts of my persona: undisciplined, needy, unconventional, selfish, controlling… all the things that I dislike about myself. Or perhaps that they will find some other “flaw.” Something that they deem to be undesirable but that I don’t… thereby making me undesirable by default – because I don’t find that part of myself to be an area that requires reform! I’ve been afraid that the people who mean the most to me will find me undesirable, and thus, unlovable.

And so, I’ve worked to polish and to make presentable the parts of myself that I consider attractive—my intellect, my personality, my music—in hopes that I might be lucky enough to have them outweigh or perhaps even completely overshadow (and thereby “eliminate”) the things about myself that I detest. I sometimes find myself working to change the parts of myself that others say need to be changed, even though I never found anything wrong with them. I find myself allowing people—even people I hardly know—to believe certain things about me because it involves less risk of rejection than it would to correct them.

I’ve been afraid of the truth because so many people who claim to know and love God don’t treat others in a manner consistent with the notion that God’s love has been poured out for ALL those who would receive it, regardless of who they are or what they do. They practice this inconsistency because, deep down, they themselves don’t believe it’s true. If people believed with even the smallest part their hearts that their sins were forgiven and that God loved them immeasurably, there would be no need to fear the truth.

I have fallen short of the expectations of people whom I considered dear friends and, because I was afraid of the truth, I have lost their friendship. I have fallen short of the expectations of those with whom I once worshipped and, because I was afraid of the truth, I no longer have their camaraderie. I failed to embrace my homosexuality as God-given and, because I was afraid of the truth, I married my best friend only to later have the marriage called a ruse and counted as worthless.

I suppose the hope is that God’s love is steadfast no matter how we may disappoint God (assuming God can be disappointed). Sometimes, though, it’s hard to find that encouraging when the ones you have grown to love and depend on are gone, and you fear that it’s only a matter of time before you hurt the ones who are left.

My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me: And I give unto them eternal life; and they shall never perish, neither shall any man pluck them out of my hand. My Father, which gave them me, is greater than all; and no man is able to pluck them out of my Father’s hand. (John 10:27-29)