Truths

The word truth sounds so pure, almost freeing—
but in reality, it can be one of the scariest things we face every day.

Truth isn’t always light and clarity;
sometimes it’s heavy, uncomfortable, and hard to look at.

We all carry our own perceptions of reality, yet within them, truth still exists.
The problem is, we don’t always see it clearly.
Trauma, shame, fear—all of these can cloud our vision.
And honestly, it’s usually a mixture of all of them, tangled together.

When life hands us something painful,
our first instinct is to react to how it affects us.

That’s human.
That’s survival.

But if we want to grow—if we want to build a life rooted in purpose—
we have to be willing to seek truth anyway.

Your heart has to want it, even when it hurts.
Even when people don’t understand.
Even when the cost feels too high.

Because the pursuit of truth is the path back to peace.

And when you begin to seek it for yourself,
it has a way of stirring the people around you to do the same—
not out of vengeance, but from a deeper longing for honesty, clarity, and freedom.

I also want to talk about silence when it comes to truth.

Scripture reminds us to be slow to speak, slow to anger, and quick to listen—
and that’s wisdom I hold close.

But I’ve also learned that silence isn’t always the answer.
Especially when it comes to truth.

We don’t need to scream it from the rooftops to those unwilling to hear,
but we can hold truth inside us
and let it shape the way we live, speak, and move through the world.

Our actions can carry truth louder than words ever could.

Still, when people around us choose silence instead of honesty—
when they avoid transparency—
it can feel like a dagger to the heart.

It can leave us feeling victimized, blamed, embarrassed,
or even punished simply for standing in truth.

That’s why boundaries become so important.

Boundaries protect your heart as you continue to walk in truth,
even when it’s not welcomed by others.

We’ve all heard the sayings:

“The truth is rarely pure and never simple.”
“Half a truth is often a great lie.”
“The truth will set you free, but first it will make you miserable.”
“And you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.”
“God reveals more of himself to us as we obey his truth.”

Each one reminds us that truth is not always easy at first—
but in time, it brings clarity, freedom, and deeper purpose.

Choosing a life of truth often feels like walking through the woods,
standing at a fork in the trail.

One path is smooth and worn down because it’s where everyone else has walked.

The other is rocky, uneven, full of branches that snag your clothes,
uncertain in how long it will take.

And yet—that is the path of truth.
Harder, yes.
But richer.

Along the way you begin to notice the simple, sacred blessings
you might have missed otherwise.

For me, it’s realizing I can’t control the lies swirling around me,
but I can anchor myself in one truth:

I am doing an amazing job with my little person.

That truth grounds me.
It gives me peace in the chaos.

It lets me treasure the moments that matter most—
their small body leaning against me on the couch,
their “perfect kiss,”
their little hand clutching mine in the school drop-off line,
or their voice calling across the house just to shout,
“I love you the most, Mommy.”

When those around you notice the peace you’ve rooted in truth,
it can feel contagious—like a light they want to draw near.

But be careful.

Not everyone is ready to step into truth.
Some are only prepared to accept a version of it
that feels easier to swallow.

You’ve already walked through the storm,
through the hardest, most painful parts.
They have not.

They may be drawn to your light,
but their lies can dim it if you’re not careful.

Take time to be a lighthouse—steady, grounded, shining from a distance—
rather than the small candle someone clutches,
one gust away from being snuffed out.

Be a vision they aspire to,
not a flame they can drain.

Every day I live in my truths,
I feel both weaker and stronger at once.

My heart aches, and that’s okay.

The heart is a muscle—stretching, straining, and strengthening
through the weight it carries.

In living truth, I’ve also developed a sharper eye for others—
their hesitations, their silence,
their resistance to seeing what’s real.

I don’t call it out.
I don’t hound them in frustration.

Instead, I pray their hearts will one day
catch even a glimpse of the freedom waiting for them
if they choose to walk in truth.

Because truth reveals itself everywhere.

When a leader at work stands before me and tells a lie so simple
I can see right through it—
I don’t slander or judge.
I feel sorrow that they’ve grown so used to speaking falsehoods.

When parents refuse to acknowledge the hurt they’ve caused,
covering it instead with excuses—
I grieve that they can’t find the humility to say,
“I was wrong. I’m sorry.”

When outsiders invade relationships
and carry on without owning the damage they’ve done—
I wonder what brokenness made them so desperate
for a love rooted in shame.

When my own person can’t admit mistakes for fear of judgment—
I ache for the pain they must carry in hiding.

So, what do I do?
How do I show them what living in truth looks like?

I stay calm.
I pray for them daily.
I love them anyway.
I empathize with how heavy it must feel to live behind lies.

And I remind myself—
God is the one who heals.

My role is not to fix,
but to stand as His example of living in truth.

I view their hesitation to face truth
like standing at the edge of the deep end of a pool, clinging to the side.

Do they have the skills to swim?
Are they reaching for a life raft?
Are they willing to sink to the bottom and push themselves back up?

Letting go the first time is terrifying—
you swallow water, lose your breath, fear you won’t survive.

But if you seek Truth—God’s Truth—
He will not let you drown.

Getting to a place of seeing truths wasn’t easy.

For a long time, I told myself not to ask questions I didn’t want the answers to,
because I knew they would hurt me.

And yes—they would have.

But the truth is, it hurts either way.

Now, when I see things clear as day, it still hurts,
but I’ve learned I can measure words against actions.

Do they align, or do they contradict each other?

Contradiction doesn’t always mean the worst,
but it does give you a heart-check on what you’re allowing yourself to believe.

When people live in lies,
they can get so lost that their actions stop reflecting what’s truly in their heart.

And until words and actions align,
we can’t dress up half-truths to make them feel acceptable.

Truth is truth.

When someone says they love you, their actions have to show it.

For me, love in action would look like the removal of inappropriate relationships—
not as an ultimatum, but as a sign of respect
for my feelings and my hurt.

Does my pain matter more to them than the discomfort
of having a hard conversation with someone else?

Does the love they have for me matter more
than holding onto a friendship rooted in distraction from truth?

Those are questions I can’t answer.

Only my lost person can.

They have to choose whether to show love in action
or let it slip away.

Either way, I gain truth.

And the truth may be this:
they didn’t love me enough not to lose me.

My hope is that more of us, as a society,
begin to choose this harder, braver path of living in truth.

Because when we do, we create space for healing—
not just for ourselves, but for those around us.

We cannot rewrite the past, undo the traumas, or erase the hurt we’ve caused.

But we can choose to face truth,
to grow,
and to become better for it.

That’s what God intends—
not perfection, but progress.
Not flawless lives,
but hearts striving each day to be more like Jesus.