Life is a Revelation…be encouraged

First Lie

I still remember the first lie I ever told.

I grew up in a tiny farming community population 650. I was in the second grade and the class  consisted of about 28 students, so we were divided into two classrooms each with their own teacher. Although I am now foggy as to the exact nature of the issue, as best as I can remember it involved something of one the teachers turned up missing. At the end of the day each teacher addressed their students on the subject of honesty and asked for whatever was taken to be returned and there would be no questions asked.

When I got home from school I told Mom about the missing whatever, but I added something. I told her, as I was leaving school, the other teacher said, “Why don’t you return it? We know you took it.” What possessed me say that, I don’t have a clue. I don’t know if I was trying to show off, which is something I was known to do from time to time. I didn’t dislike the other teacher. Maybe I was just trying to inject a little drama into my small town, second grade life. Well let me tell you, drama I got.

My Mom was mad. Nobody messed with her one and only child, nobody. Who did this teacher think she was? She had no right to accuse me. She didn’t have any proof and besides it wasn’t true. For Mom, I was simply incapable of doing such a thing. In this case Mom was right. Later in life, however, I sorely abused my parents trust, but that is another story (and much, much longer). My Mom decided to call in the ultimate fire power, my Dad.

This was before the age of emails and cell phones. My Dad worked trimming trees underneath electrical lines for a rural power company and the only way to reach him was call his company’s office, leave a message, hope they would give it to him, and wait for him to call back. My Mom called and asked for the operator to notify my Dad to call her when he arrived back at the end of the day. This time the procedure worked like a charm, Dad called a few minutes before four o’clock. I heard Mom heatedly telling him the lie I told her and then lots of “hmms”, “that’s right”, and finally “sounds good to me.” When she got off the phone she said Dad was on his way to the school and would talk to the teacher and set this straight.

I broke out in a cold sweat.

I had never lied to my parents before. I had never even embellished the truth. I hadn’t told a white lie. I had never told a lie of any sort, for any reason, ever. Until now. Now I was sweating. I didn’t know what to do. I went outside. I walked around the yard. I don’t remember exactly what I was thinking, but probably something along the lines of wishing for a car to veer off the street in front of our house and run over me, or a plane to crash-land on me. Anything to get me out of this jam. I couldn’t think of a single way to get my butt out of what I had heard my Dad refer to as a “rock and a hard place.” Suddenly, I had a whole new appreciation for that phrase.

About an hour (seemed like an eternity) later my Dad drove up. Everyone at the school had been gone except the school secretary. Dad was one of those type of guys who only talked to those he had a problem with. If the next door neighbor’s son was a problem, Dad only discussed it with the son. The parents would never know. So when the teacher wasn’t in, Dad simply made an appointment to see her after school the next day.

I don’t know if this is when I first began to believe in a Higher Power answering the pleas of us sinners or not, but it had to be close. I would live and breathe for another day.

I ate dinner in a stupor. Rather than going outside to play, I went to my room. My bedtime was 8:00 pm, I was in bed, pretending to be asleep by 7:00. I didn’t know what to do and I couldn’t think of a single way to get out of this mess.

The next day I was a zombie at school. I had slept less than a couple of hours. I was exhausted, my insides had liquefied, I wasn’t talking to my friends, and I had no appetite. I was still hoping for the car or plane to hit me.

As I was dragging my self home wracking my brain for the 1,670,942,428 time, I had an epiphany. It was like in the midst of all the darkness a sudden spark of light erupted. I was in shock.

I would tell the truth.

I would tell Mom I lied, she could call Dad, Dad wouldn’t go and confront the teacher, and when he got home they would take turns beating my butt into bloody oblivion, but it was better than what I was currently feeling. I wanted physical pain. Especially if it would alleviate this internal hell I was going through.

I got home and before I kissed Mom, or threw my books on the bed, or asked for milk and cookies, I looked her in the eye, opened my mouth…and began to cry my eyes out. Tears shot out of my eyes like a horizontal water fountain, snot started running out my nose, and I began to shake all over.  God, why didn’t that car run over me? Mom was stunned (to say the least). She came across the room, bent down on one knee and pulled me into her. Let me tell you, there are few things in life that feel as good as your Mom hugging you, especially if you are a lying little snit and you wonder if your parents are going to kill you when you confess.

After cooing over me and getting a tissue out of her pocket (Momma was old school, she always carried tissues) to attempt to clean me up, she held me out at arm’s length, looked me in the eye, and asked in that soft southern draw, “Honey, its okay, what’s the matter?”

In between my sniffles and shaking I blurted out, “Momma, I lied! The teacher never said I took nothing!”

End of cooing, end of wiping tears from my face, end of soft voice, end of being on one knee. Mom jumped up and shot me “The Eye.” The one where you know you’ve done wrong and all that remains is your execution. I remember a flash going through my mind wondering if that would be the last time Mom ever hugged me (thank God it wasn’t).

Her voice was like ice-cold hardened steel cutting through warm tender flesh (to be read: my heart). Her eyes narrowed and through lips you couldn’t have pried apart with a crowbar she hissed, “I hope I can reach your Father.” and off she stomped to the phone. I went into the living room sat down and whimpered some more. God, I’m not doing this again I thought, no matter what. This is crazy, stupid and dumb. I hate feeling this way and it looks like I’ve got a long way to go before things start getting any better.

I don’t know how long it was before Mom came into the living room and said in the same hissing voice, “They got hold of your Dad, he is on his way home.”

I figured that would be when I would die.

Dad came home, we set down for dinner, and Dad talked about everything under the sun, except my lie. I picked at my food like a condemned man awaiting his final walk. Mom and Dad talked, I kept my eyes glued to my plate. After dinner Dad helped Mom in the kitchen and I went to watch TV with my eyes, while my ears stayed tuned to the low soft murmuring coming from them as they stood in front of the sink. I knew they were talking about me, but I couldn’t make out a word they were saying. Later they both came in and joined me in front of the TV. Nothing was  said to me, their son, the liar.

Next day, and the next, and the next, same thing. Dad came home, we did the family routine, and I did not get massacred.

On the following Saturday afternoon Dad and I were wrestling around on the living room floor. There was brief lull in our tumbling and goofing and he said, “You know Bud (he always called me Bud, don’t know why and he never said) you really ought not to lie.” I mumbled something back like, “OK” and we went back to rolling around, but my little seven-year old mind was reeling.


I’ve been spanked for traipsing into the kitchen with mud on my shoes. I’ve been set in the corner for bouncing a rubber ball off the side of the house. I’ve not been allowed to play outside with all my friends because I rode my bike off the sidewalk into a neighbor’s yard. But for telling my first biggest whopper ever in my young life, I’m told not to do it again?, while Dad holds me in his arms?


For four days of sheer terror, in which I thought the life I loved was going to end for all eternity I get told not to do it again.

Hmm, this is different. I’m going to have to think about this. To my pea brain this could only mean one thing.

Telling a lie wasn’t all that big of a deal.

I figured it was kind of important. But nothing like having mud caked on your shoes, while standing at the sink getting a glass of water, and the water somehow dripping down on your shoes causing the mud to turn into this kind of oozing dirty slime, or riding your bike a few feet into the stupid neighbor’s precious yard through her yucky flower beds. It wasn’t even as bad as bouncing a rubber ball off the asbestos siding on the house and chipping out a couple, or more, silly divots. Heck, if you were a few hundred feet away you could hardly see them.

Telling a lie wasn’t all that big of a deal.

That is what stuck in my seven-year old mind.


First a few clarifications. I am not laying the blame for all the lies I’ve told in my life at the feet of my parents. Seeing as how my mind developed during my teen years, I am quite positive if they had sawed my tongue out with a rusty corroded razor blade, I would still have went on lying either by writing or conveying them via ASL. I would have found a way. I take full and complete responsibility for every deception, lie, and half truth (if there is such a thing) I have ever told. Nobody held a gun to my head.

Second, my parents would have been horrified at the way I have interpreted these events. This was never their intention, nor could they have ever imagined such an outcome. They were loving parents with a rowdy child. They had been married for thirteen years when I was born and I am an only child. So they were set in their ways, so to speak. They did everything possible to insure I had what I needed for a well-rounded life. It just took until I was in my late thirties for it to all take effect. I’m afraid I am a card-carrying member of  “The Late-Bloomer Association.”

I want to foster a conversation about why we start lying. Why did you start? Do you remember your first lie? What was it? How did it make you feel? Think about it and let me know. And if this is one of those things you don’t want the whole world (not that this blog has quite that large of a readership, but you never know) to know then send it to my email and I will keep it private.

Again, thank you for reading these long posts. God, I wish I could write 300 words and they would hit like a sledgehammer, but I don’t think it will ever happen.

Be encouraged!

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57 thoughts on “First Lie

  1. Karen P. on said:

    I don’t remember my first lie (my memory isn’t that good) but I remember the nature of my early lies. They were similar to yours. I lied to make myself seem more interesting. I had an active fantasy life and my mom let me watch too many soap operas!

    • Yeah, I think those soap operas got more than just yourself into the active fantasy life…Susan Luce played an important part in my early hormonal development…but that is a completely different post…lol.

      Be econcouraged!

  2. This is quite a story. You tell it well.

    • Anybody who has a blog entitled “Writing Your Destiny” and believes I tell a story well has moved to first place on my Christmas gift buying list.

      Thanks, Karen, I appreciate your gracious praise.

      Be encouraged!

  3. Ha ha! Loved this! 🙂 I could envision the torture you went through awaiting your horrible destiny and nothing…nothing…nothing…LOL I’m not sure I remember the first lie I ever told. The first one I remember was when I was probably about 10 or 11, and it was similar to yours. It was a boring summer day with school out, and we lived across the street from the school. I had been walking around the school grounds…and mind you, this was a very small town, so it was pretty safe there and I wandered around freely all the time. I got home and announced to my mother in a winded way, this horrid story of how this man had jumped out from the basement stairs by the gym that lead out of the dressing room. He had grabbed me and I struggled and managed to get away and ran home. (Talk about a horrid lie.) I think Mom didn’t really know what to do. This was a small town and she never did anything about it…never spoke to anyone or anything, thankfully. Anyway, I was well into adulthood when I approached her one day and said, “Mom, do you remember that time I came home and told you about the man who grabbed me…” Before I could go any further she said, “Yes…and I should’ve done something. It’s always bothered me that I never did anything about that…” She was kind of going on about it, and I stopped her and said, “Mom…Mom…I lied!” She just stopped and looked at me, and with a disappointed and disbelieving tone, said, “You lied?” I said, “Yes, I lied and I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did it. I was just bored or something.” I’m glad I came clean about it in the end, but I went through torture for all those years until I was 20-something, feeling horrible for lying to her. I still think it was just an awful thing, and could’ve turned out really badly, had she contacted anyone about it and then I’d have to keep the lie going to outsiders, or shame myself in front of them by admitting it was a lie. 🙂

    Lying is torture. I don’t do it anymore. LOL I think there’s truth serum running through my veins now.

    Blessings, Anne

    • A man reached out an grabbed you, but you wrestled away…whew…you need to cut back on the caffeine…lol. Isn’t it funny how when we look back on those first early lies, they always look so ridiculous. I wish I had truth serum running through my veins. I do know when some distortion is about to escape my lips I get this huge warning sign from within that says, “Stephen is this really worth it?” That is usually enough to shut everything down…but I still struggle.

      Anne, thanks for writing. I have been reading several your posts today and I want you to know I am touched by everyone. I’m not always able to write a comment, because I follow about 150 blogs, but I read them. I hope and pray God will sustain yu during these times. When you come out on the other side…what a day of rejoicing that will be.

      I write these words at the end of every post/comment/email…and I mean them…be encouraged!

      • Thanks Stephen! I noticed those words at the end of every post of yours…and I appreciate them. Actually, I always smile when I read them. I am farrrrr behind on reading other peoples’ posts. I follow a lot of them too, and was doing pretty well at keeping up until just the last week or so I think. I can’t get caught up. My focus isn’t all that great though the last few days. I really appreciate your reading my blogs, and the responses you leave. And as for the lie…that was a biggie. I actually wrote a short story based on it, years ago. My kids loved it. It turned out differently, and was a little different scenario than my reality was. Maybe I’ll post it. You have inspired me to do so. Ha ha! But I don’t think I’ll tell everyone that it was based on a lie that I told. Or do I have to…lie of omission and all?? 🙂 I might. We’ll see what keys my fingers wind up poking out. Ha ha! Blessings…Anne

      • Got to tell…that is part of the truth serum…

        Be encouraged!

      • I didn’t tell. (Hanging my head in shame) But I did link your blog, so they can find out if they read this and find my comment! 🙂 I have told people before though, so someone’s bound to tattle on me, and I’m okay with that. Ha ha! I don’t have many secrets, or haven’t you noticed? I still do have a few…keeping ’em too.

      • I understand…I’m happy you posted it…and great writing.

        Thanks Anne for the tenderness in your writing, you have a gift and please continue to use it. In this world of super this and hyper that we need those voices of stability and truth.

        Be encouraged!

      • Thank you. 🙂

  4. I don’t think I remember my very first lie, but I can remember one around that age which resulted in my mum going up to school and the teacher moving the desks around in the class so I didn’t end up sitting next to a certain girl. And I’m afraid to say I never told the truth about it. But perhaps that made a stronger impression on me, to be honest, made me consider what I said with greater care.
    Thanks for the follow and I am enjoying your blog.

    • As I have studied this subject of lying (both first hand and through the lives of others) I am amazed at how each of us come to realize the importance of truth telling. Thanks for the comment and the following, I deeply appreciate both.

      Be encouraged!

  5. I love the vivid unfolding of this story. It brought to mind a similar experience of dread, worry and sleeplessness that I suffered through as an adult. It wasn’t over a lie though. It was over making a mistake in my work. I thought I messed up a project for a very difficult (read nasty and mean) client. In the end it was all fine but that same feeling of a sheep going to slaughter is etched in my psyche.

    • Don’t you hate that the absolute, all-encompassing feeling of dread? I’ve been there as an adult, also with work performance, although I must admit, mine did not always turn into beautiful rays of sunshine and roses, but that is subject for another dreaded post. lol

      Thanks Brenna for commenting, I appreciate it…hope you and your family are enjoying a great weekend.

      Be encouraged!

  6. Great Post, Stephan.
    I have to agree with Karen Wan, you do tell it well.
    I feel lying as a child has helped me become who I am today, it has made me realize what I did not want to be, and that is fake. All the stories I share are honest not embellished interpretations of my life and or experience’s and if they don’t make an interesting enough story that people want to read, well then, I’m sorry, I guess people wont read them because I wont change, but my fiction stuff is 100% made up ha-ha

    • You know the old phrase, “Truth is stranger than fiction”? Well that has certainly been the case in my life. I’ve got several more posts along similar lines and I hope they challenge the readers to look at their lives. Introspection is a bitch, to put it bluntly, but it is the only way we grow. Whether as child, sibling, significant other, or professionally we need to periodically shine that light back at ourselves.

      Thanks for writing Jim, I’ve been enjoying your posts as well.

      Be encouraged!

  7. You’re such a great storyteller. I could see this story appearing in a book of some of your nonfiction short stories or something. Keep on reading. I do love reading every word. 🙂

    • Amelia, thank you for all of your gracious words, you are much to kind. I only hope you will find as much enjoyment in future posts.

      BTW…your blog has had some great posts as well. I’m thinking of two recent ones, which I enjoyed immensely. One was Write On Despite the Rain…Susie, Jake the Wonder Dog and I live in a log home with a metal roof, which we love. When it rains the sound is deeply gratifying. Sometimes we all go upstairs, lay down on the bed, and just listen…it is a wonderful way to spend an hour. The other post of yours that touched me was Middle of the Night Writing. I suffer (and suffer is truly the right word) from insomnia and as a result I’m up at various times during the night, usually writing. When I read several of the comments it was comforting to know many other writers are up when I am doing exactly the same thing.

      Also you really need to eat at the Sunny Point Cafe…insanely, awesome food.

      Be encouraged!

      • I love hearing the rain on a metal roof. It’s such a comforting feeling. Also, I’m sorry about your insomnia. Though I don’t suffer from insomnia, my thoughts have the tendency to keep me awake into the night if I don’t get them written down.

  8. I remember my first lie. I felt soooo bad. It taught me so much. Great story. I love the way you tell it.

    • I was rather surprised at the number of people who could clearly recall the details of their first lie. I’m not exactly sure what it proves, other than when we veer off from telling the truth there is something within us that sends up a signal flare. I wish, as my I lived my life, I would have paid closer attention to those flares.

      Thanks for writing, I appreciate it. When I’m done here, I’m going over to your blog and read a few posts.

      Be encouraged!

  9. I have trouble with keeping posts short too. My brother is gifted at concise writing. Anyways, the post was good enough that I made it most of the way through 🙂

  10. I would have to say I don’t lie that much mostly because I’m not very good at it. My face turns red and I never seem to make eye contact when I’m telling a lie. But my first lie that I can remember was when my best friend was having a sleepover for her birthday and I really wanted to go. But it was 3 hours away in Eugene and my mom didn’t want me to be so far away from her. Once she found out there were going to be boys it was a definite no. Since I wanted to go so bad I told my mom that my friend changed her mind and no boys were coming. She ended up letting me go and to this day I still keep it to myself that they had boys at a party. I think I did it because I wanted to fit in so bad and get out of the house. My parents were very overprotective.

    • Thanks again for taking the time to comment. Your overprotective parents where probably the result of how many ways a young person can find themselves in deep trouble (even through no fault of their own). We as parents have this innate ability to fear all kinds of things our kids never even think of. But the fact that boys were involved in the sleep over…I’m with your parents…even if everything turned out alright. One of things I learned…the very hard way…was you don’t fall off the cliff, if you don’t go near the edge.

      Thanks again for taking the time to share…I appreciate it.

      BTW…this is absolutely none of my business…and you can always hit the “delete” button if you want to…whatever it was that caused the separation of you and your sister, I hope can be at least forgiven, even if it is never forgotten, and the two of you can move on together. Again, I know it is none of my business…but forever is a very long time, and hopefully things can change. Thanks for listening…I wish you and your son the very best.

      Be encouraged!

  11. I’m not going to fess up to my first lie, but I will tell you I enjoyed your story immensely! Cracked me up. I can just feel that sweaty upper lip, waiting for the wrath of Dad!! And then nothing! Parents are so funny. Don’t you wish you knew how they worked that one out?

    • Do remember when you were little and you would question how something was done and the answer would be, You’ll understand when you are older.”? We ll I’m older (a lot older!) and I still don’t understand. This is one of them. I can never remember my folks using this delayed onset approach for anything else I ever did wrong. My parents believed in the instant school of learning. You did something wrong, they INSTANTLY let you know about it. Didn’t make any difference if you were at the grocery store, restaurant, or hangin’ out with your friends, BAM, they let you know. I have no idea why this one and only time they chose to handle the situation the way they did.

      Last Saturday several friends (all men) and I went out pizza. After we ordered I led off the conversation with, “So tell me what was your first lie?” For the next two hours I listened (and laughed hysterically) as these guys told me all kinds of stories…a few of which literally caused my arm hair to stand straight up…let me tell ya (although you probably already know)…men can tell some real whoppers.

      But I am INTERESTED in your first lie.

      Be encouraged!

      • OK, I’ll tell you. I lied about my age to my first boyfriend. I told him I was 18. I was 16. He was 21. He lied to me and told me he was 18. We both lied to my parents. I ended up marrying him, when I was REALLY 18. No matter how old I really was, or he really was, my parents were not pleased. But I thank God every day for my two beautiful daughters, the result of that rocky start!!

      • Wowee!…(as my five year old grandson would say)…that is a good one. The best thing is…the two daughters…I can tell from that last sentence of yours that they are very special young ladies. I hope your parents and you have reached a place of peace in your lives…I know the hard way…the toll that can have on your heart.

        BTW…if any of this ever gets too personal for the world to read about…please feel free to email me at my private email…

        Here is hoping you have a great rest of the week.

        Be encouraged!

  12. Hi Stephen. First I would like to say thanks for following my blog. I appreciate it. This post about the first lie is really interesting. I don’t remember what my first lie was but I remember very clearly why I began to lie, for self preservation. I was about 6 years old, my mother had remarried and my step father was very violent towards me. I would get beaten for things I hadn’t done. No matter how much I protested my innocence the punches would continue until I realized that if I admitted to doing whatever it was then the beating would be less severe. To a 6 year old this was very perverse. Telling a lie by admitting to something you weren’t guilty of. But one thing I understood from a young age is that beating the answer out of someone is not the way to get the truth. When I joined the military, I specialized in interrogation techniques, specifically using psychological techniques. I was totally against using physical torture for the reasons given earlier. I had some really quite big arguments with my American counterparts, who were big proponents of waterboarding etc. It felt really good to be vindicated yesterday when I saw an article on Reuters about a US government study into the use of physical torture found that it was really quite ineffective at getting the truth out of people. I was telling them this years ago.

    • Russell, thank you for standing your ground…I am sure the pressure got very intense at times. Also thank you for your kind words about my “First Lie” post. The one I really want to write is about my last lie…but I’m not sure we are there yet.

      Be encouraged!

  13. LOL! Can’t wait to read more …a lot of similarities. Press on. 🙂

  14. I love the way you told your story…and I think it’s so funny how many people commented about their first lie. Truthfully, I cannot remember mine. Oh MY GOSH! I did NOT MEAN TO WRITE A PUN! Wonder if that means something – like I’ve closed myself off to my lie…Denying it to myself? That’s so weird…I’m not even sure how often I use the word “truthfully” in this manner. Too funny….

    • Thank you for your gracious words. The idea behind “First Lie” was to not only to get people to think about their first untruth, but to get them to think about why they ever started lying in the first place.

      BTW…I read your post about needing God’s glasses and you are absolutely right…we do. I have often remarked to my wife, that we have no idea what is going on in the lives of the people we see each day. When we are made aware of something in their lives via unkind words or angry reactions it is not there for us to judge, but for us to pray.

      Thanks again for your kind thoughts and be encouraged!

  15. WordsFallFromMyEyes on said:

    wow. I nearly forgot to leave a reply – I’ve been reading all the comments! This was so sweet. I can hardly believe you remember your first lie. My gosh, I must be on some hundredth or so anniversary of them all! So well expressed, the thought processes. Oh, gorgeous little boy you were! /

    • Thank you for your very gracious words, I deeply appreciate them. The post I really want to write is about the last lie I ever told…but I’m afraid I’m not there yet. In the years in between first lie and now I became a habitual liar. I lied so much that there are events in my life I no longer discuss, because I do not actually know if they happened or not. I got so good at telling lies that I was able to pass lie detector tests with flying colors. For the last 18 years I have worked each day on telling the truth. I’ve learned a lot about how to deliver the truth in different ways so as not injure the person on the receiving end.

      BTW…”words fall from my eyes” is an absolutely GREAT name for a blog…the first time I read it I just immediately clicked on “follow”, becuase I knew it would be something I wanted to keep reading…and I was right.

      Hug on Daniel…kiss him all over…tell him you love him…get down on the floor and play with him…tell him how proud of him you are.

      Be encouraged!

  16. omg, that is some really graphical and detailed account of your incident. My only clear recollection of a big lie was when my mother found out I had stolen a toy from a store to give it to my favorite cousin for his birthday. Looking back, I don’t think she was angry over the fact that I stole it to give it to somebody that I cared about, but rather of the way I tried to manipulate my little sister into taking the fault on my behalf, I knew pops would be less harsh with her than with me. I didn’t get off so easy, I remember getting the beating of my life that evening. My pops worked long hours, and he actually woke me up at like 1am to “discipline” me. man oh man, that was a really rough moment in my history.

    • Hey Chris, Thanks for sharing…I wish I only had a clear recollection of “one big lie” unfortunately wordpress’s data banks would shut down if I began recalling the full extent of my non-truth telling.

      However, the one you relate is a whopper. At least your Dad waking you up at 1:00 am left a good lasting impression on your brain. I’m glad you survived.

      Be encouraged!

      • rest of us were really antsy with my father during this period. But then again, I guess I would too, if I was working 90+ hours per week, 7days a week…

      • Amazing what our parents did that we might have a better life…all we can do is pass along the favor.

        Thanks again Chris for taking the time to comment…I deeply appreciate it.

        Be encouraged!

  17. Steve, so glad to be here. This is a wonderful, honest story. My first lie was actually propping up a lie my big sister told – she was a foot taller than I and swore she’d beat me if I didn’t back her up!

    She stole the cutest kitten from the barn of a neighboring dairy farm. I swear, the cat was pink. Never seen its like since then, either. She said, “I’m gonna tell Mom that the construction workers dumped it out of their car on the way home.” (The logic in this is so flawed, but whatever. She was sure it would work.)

    So she comes in the door, says she rescued the kitten. Completely straight face. (Don’t ever play poker with my sis!) I nodded and said, “Beth saved its life!” Mom says, “OK, you can go out and play.” We both turn around to exit, and Mom says, “Amy, can you help me a minute?”

    Beth left me behind with the kitten in her arms. “Where did Beth really get that cat?” she said, giving me The Squint. I burst into tears and said, “From Hogg’s barn. I’m sorry I lied!”

    I didn’t tell her that Beth was going to beat me to a pulp, I just apologized. Mom pulled out the end of her blouse from her jeans and let me blow my nose on her shirt! She said, “Amer, don’t ever lie to me or anyone else. It’s not about being a sin or anything. It’s about being a good person. You understand?”

    I nodded and sniffed. Beth had to give the kitten back AND apologize to Mr. Hogg for taking the kitten, and I went along with her.

    That was the first of many lies I have told in my life – most were for self-preservation, or so I thought. But I learned that if you always tell the truth, you don’t have to remember what you said. So much easier, no?

    Thanks for this, Steve. I’m a Prod but I feel like I’ve been to Confession! Peace, Amy

    Wanna get rid of that stupid box about follow-up comments via email? You should. WordPress auto-checked it for you. How helpful of them… not. Here’s the link:

    • Thanks Sharp…I appreciate all your gracious words…incredible how well we can recall our first lie isn’t it…thanks for sharing.

      BTW…also big thanks for helping me remove that disgusting follow-up box…wordpress did us no favors with that one.

      Be encouraged!

  18. Wonderful post! It is amazing what we put ourselves through in life, yet we still survive!
    God bless you!

    Walk daily with God at your side!


  19. I too write posts that are way too long and tend to tell a white lie every now and then. And I didn’t grow up in rural America, but I did grow up in Kentucky, where marijuana is the #1 cash crop and there are more porn downloads than in any other state. Thanks for all of your “likes” and your follow, I enjoyed reading this post and I’m headed to check out more of your site now. =)

    • Thanks Stacie, I hope you’ll decide to follow, but I must warn you, it is always best to prepare an ice cold beverage of your choice prior to reading my blogs. As you have already discovered they tend to go on way too long and the human body can go without food for an extended period of time, but not so for hydration… 🙂

      BTW…I use to live in Louisville, up in the Highlands, and it does not surprise me in the least that “there are are more porn downloads than any other state.” In fact I still go back about twice months just to hang out at Carmichaels and drink Heine Bros. coffee…Louisville is still the best.

      Be encouraged!

      • BTW Stacie…all those “likes” were because you earned them by the unique quality of your writing…keep your voice pure…we need it.

        Be encouraged!

      • No way! I go back every summer, just to remember what 1,000 degrees and full humidity feels like. Speaking of long blogs, check out my bestie’s: Cristy’s blogs are longer than both of ours put together, but well worth the read…

      • OMG are you ever right…that girl is the L. Ron Hubbard (The Invader’s Plan, 1.2 million words) of the blog world…but unlike Mr. Hubbard, she can really write. I started this reply 30 minutes ago, then I flipped over to read one of her posts…after nearly peeing my pants and calling my wife into the office six times to read excerpts, I finally finished. I immediately clicked follow and I’m rushing to get through this reply so I can get back to read another one of her posts. Thanks for the beta.

        Re: Louisville in the summer time…sweet isn’t it? Nothing like sitting at a curbside cafe table downing beers and sweating like a hog while trying your damnedest to look cool…which is especially difficult anyway, especially at my age.

        Be encouraged!

  20. BTW, as far as pure goes, hers is pure humor. Not always G rated, but super-funny.

  21. livvy1234 on said:

    I picked a flower from my mother’s neighbor’s garden when I was about five. My mother asked me where I got it. I lied. She took me to my neighbor, and made me tell her what I did. It was a deep and profound lesson for me about telling the truth.

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