Secrecy

There are at least two kinds of secret keeping.

For the purpose of this blog, the first kind is keeping the secrets entrusted to you by others. “Above all, keep fervent in your love for one another; for love covers a multitude of sins.” I Peter 4:8 This secrecy applies to the hidden thing someone has told me about themself, not my own secret. Telling someone else’s story isn’t my job. It’s a lack of love.

I have several choices when someone tells me a secret of theirs. I can stuff it in my brain closet and forget about it. Another possibility might be to discuss with them their motives for secrecy. Do they have to do with deception or discretion? Secrecy can be a tool of Satan when it keeps justice from being done. Deception is the kind of secrecy that hides the truth to get what we want. Discretion is telling the truth at the right time, and to the right person. Even when the two of you have thought these things over about the truth they are hiding, their secret is theirs to tell, or not. To respect them is to allow them the choice.

The second way we deal with embarrassing or hurtful truth is to keep our own secrets.

“Don’t air your dirty laundry.”

Common sense, right? However, let me suggest that common sense doesn’t always make sense. I understand that we worry that if our secret gets out there will be people who take advantage or twist the secret to make us look bad to the world, or hurt the people we love. I lived twenty years of my life in secrecy that I thought protected others.

We need a disclaimer here. There is a difference between complete secrecy and discretion. If I walk up to someone I don’t know and tell them my deepest secret, A. They’ll think I’m nuts, B. There’s no reason to be so forthcoming in a relationship that doesn’t even exist yet. This should be a no brainer. Figuring out that I get to know the person before I share myself is the beginning of discretion. If I listen to people, get to know them, and then share myself and a secret or two in areas where they struggle and I might help them heal, that’s discretion. But if I get to know them, trust them, but share nothing, that may be self-protective secrecy.

Keeping our own secrets may be pretending not to be who we really are, and sometimes it’s pretending to be sinless. Not only that, it avoids bearing one another’s burdens. Why? Because if I think I’m alone in my sin, that no one has ever messed up as badly as I have, or been as totally affected by wrong as I have, I’m not likely to tell anyone about my experiences. If no one knows what I’ve dealt with, how can they bear my burden? How can I bear theirs? In this situation, I follow God in faltering steps because I’m spending my strength covering up, and healing never happens. On the other hand, if someone whose been through what I’m going through keeps quiet, I’ll never realize they might have answers.

Telling my own story is encouraged in Scripture. “Therefore, confess your sins to one another, and pray for one another so that you may be healed. The effective prayer of a righteous man can accomplish much.” James 5:16

When I hear someone say they have struggled in an area in which I also struggle, the thought crosses my mind that they may know something that will help me find truth and healing. I’m freed to reveal my experience to them and find out whether they know something I need to know. And perhaps whether I know something they need to know.

So, who do I tell my secrets? The ones who struggle in the same areas I do. Without telling my secrets, there’s no way for me to know who those people are. That’s the strongest argument for transparency I can think of. Others who should hear my secrets are people who might be affected adversely if I keep the secret.

Though people can take advantage of knowing our secrets, it doesn’t matter. We belong to God, He loves us, and what others think of us or say about us is of no consequence. They are just people, like us. Satan loves closed mouths and hidden truths because they keep justice from being done, and all of us living in the dark. It’ll take courage, but God’s got plenty of that. Ask Him for some.

“Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, Who comforts us in all our affliction so that we will be able to comfort those who are in any affliction with the comfort with which we ourelves are comforted by God.” (II Cor. 1:3 NAS)

Red-Letter Day!

I’ve never hosted a guest blogger before, but authors need to support each other. So, Jennifer Slattery has a new novel, Building a Family (see cover below), releasing soon, and she has written a blog for me. Welcome, Jennifer!  Will you all please welcome her by writing her a comment.

BioPhoto

For years, I was a stale and stagnate Christian. Christ had deposited His living water within my soul, but it was more like a trickling creek than the gushing river He desired.

I wasn’t thriving. In many ways, I was barely surviving. Then one weekend, I went on a women’s retreat and heard the account of the Samaritan woman (John 4:1-42) who’d gone through a string of relationships and, I felt certain, lived as empty as I was. She may have been widowed numerous times, abandoned by her past husbands, or she may have chosen divorce. Regardless, she’d engaged in and lost five relationships, and that had to leave emotional scars.

Jesus saw her pain and He sought her out. Knowing she’d soon reach the community well, He arrived first, sent His disciples away, and waited.

Just as, each day, He patiently waits for us. Once she arrived, He initiated a conversation by asking for a drink of water, triggering a deeper thirst than any liquid could quench. “If you knew the gift of God and who it is that asks for a drink,” He said, “you would have asked Him, and He would’ve given you living water” (John 4:10, NIV).

In Ancient Palestine, water was rare, precious, and necessary. Rain only fell during a few months each year, and when it did, the previously brown and barren countryside became lush and green. Against this backdrop Jesus said, in essence, come to Me to come alive, fully alive. Speaking of the Holy Spirit, He later said, “Whoever believes in Me, as Scripture has said, rivers of living water will flow from within them” (John 7:37-39, NIV).

This felt confusing. I’d already entrusted my eternal salvation to Christ. But I had never learned to truly live in Him, for numerous reasons, many that took over a decade to unpack. However, much of it came down to this: I didn’t know how to live loved. Past hurts, fears, and a continual blanket of self-loathing covered my heart in scar tissue, and it blocked me from fully receiving the grace God continually poured upon me. Equally depleting, I spent so much time attempting to fill all my empty places in my own strength—through alcohol, social functions, food—I routinely distanced myself from the only One who could fill me completely.

I hadn’t a clue how to hold authentic relationships—with anyone, let alone the all-knowing, all-powerful, ever-present yet invisible Creator. So I asked Him to show me. To teach me. To heal me. And He did. For the next fifteen or so years, He soothed my hurts, removed my distrust, and helped me discover the freedom of living love.

Of living filled.

We receive God’s living water, the Holy Spirit, the moment we trust in Christ for salvation. But our experience doesn’t end there. As we deepen our relationship with Christ and our surrender, the streams God deposited within us grow stronger, soaking into every crack and crevice in our hearts, filling us so completely, His Spirit pours out in a refreshing, life-giving stream.

Let’s talk about this! Have you experienced God’s living water? How’s your stream? Is something slowing the waters of God’s Spirit? How can you give Him more access to yourself so that He can flow within and from you unhindered?

Jennifer Slattery is a writer and speaker who’s addressed women’s groups, Bible studies, and writers across the nation. She hosts the Faith Over Fear podcast with LifeAudio, is the author of Building a Family and numerous other titles and maintains a devotional blog at JenniferSlatteryLivesOutLoud.com. As the founder of Wholly Loved Ministries, she’s passionate about helping women discover, embrace, and live out who they are in Christ. Visit her online to learn more about her speaking or to book her for your next women’s event   and sign up for her free quarterly newsletter HERE  and make sure to connect with her on Facebook and Instagram.BuildingaFamily

As Welcome as a Trip to the Dentist

Have you ever kicked your shoes off in your dentist’s office? Up until yesterday, neither had I. After the truly technological marvel of having my teeth xrayed by this machine that moved around my head like R2D2 doing a waltz, one of my shoes litterally fell off, plunk, while the technician was cleaning my teeth. Next thing I know, my other shoe is on the floor, too. I actually wiggled my sock-clad toes.

business care clean clinic

Now, that “make myself at home” feeling isn’t all I like about my dentist’s office. My dentist NEVER hurts me, and neither do the hygenists. Past the really friendly staff, I love the music. On any given day, I can keep the rhythm of Jimmy Buffet or Billy Joel or a whole bunch of other wonderful. Not only that, there are cool things sitting on ledges and surf boards up against the walls – yeah, really. I have this huge space between a couple of my teeth that picks up everything except boys and money. Some dentists would say, “Man, we need to remedy this.” Mine said, “Yeah, my wife’s got one, too. As long as it isn’t bothering you, just keep cleaning out the food.” He also talks to me about books and travelling. I love it.

Once a year there’s pirate day. I actually got to go that day once. Everyone is dressed like a pirate, and the dentist sings the “Yo ho ho, and a bottle of rum” song on his way in to check your teefies. To join in the festivities, I placed a gold coin on my tongue just before he entered and displayed it when he asked me to open my mouth. That was fun.

Yesterday, I also got to pet Rasta, the therapy dog. Oh my lord, what more could you ask in a dentist? Dentist heaven, just sayin’. Thanks, Fletch!

The Odyssey of a Diamond

Way back in 1968, a thin, blonde, blue-eyed man asked a hippy, brunette, green-eyed woman to marry him, for the third time. This time, she said yes. Phew! The man was the hubs, better known as “Bake,” and the woman was, you guessed it, me.

I had had this principal in high school, Mr. Carson Wilcox, of whom I was terrified. He must have been ten feet tall, and he definitely had the brow ridges of a neanderthal. Bushy black eyebrows and jet black hair. I turned and hurried the other way every time I saw him coming down one of the hallways of Mariposa High. It was rumored he had been a wrestler before he went into education.

As life will do you, he became my Sunday school teacher. Correct, I had to sit within ten feet of him every Sunday. I found out on those Sundays that under that screechingly fearsome exterior beat a heart of compassion. He played devil’s advocate every Sunday to help us strengthen our faith in Jesus.

I bring Mr. Wilcox up because he and his wife offered to throw an engagement party for us. And we accepted. So the plan was that on the day of the party I would meet Bake at Judd’s Jewelers in Merced, where we had found my rings. We had looked in what seemed like every jewelry store in three counties. The ring I chose, and love to this day has three gold leaves, with the diamond set like a flower at the top of them. I love gardening, nature, the outdoors, and it spoke to me. Loved it then. Love it now.

But I digress. I drove down to Merced on the appointed day to meet Bake at the bus station. But he wasn’t there. so I thought maybe he’d walked over to Judd’s. But, he wasn’t there. So I asked Mr. Judd if he’d seen him, giving the above description. Nope, hadn’t seen him. So I drove back to the bus station, thinking I’d missed him. Searched all over among the benches and travellers. No Bake. Drove back to Judd’s, and asked again. This time, Mr. Judd said, “Oh yeah, a young man did come in here. He left this suitcase.”

About that time, the bell on the door rings, and Bakes slows from a dead run to a screeching halt. With a Mickey Mouse grin I have come to recognize as he’s been up to something, he said, “I lost track of time, sorry.”

“Where were you?”

He hesitated. … “Playing pool down on the corner.” He pointed in the direction he had come. We got the rings and headed for Mariposa.

Okay, so I got over it, we had a wonderful engagement party and a year later, a little earlier than we had planned, in the midst of his enlistment because of Vietnam, we got married. Two weeks later he was in boot camp. At Christmastime that year, I lost the ring. I looked everywhere. Turned out it had fallen off in the backseat of the car when I was bringing home a Christmas tree. I got it sized.

fb_img_1548512187741  You can kind of see my new diamond in this pic of our 50th anniversary party.

Time passes, lots of time, like 40 years. Bake decides the ring needs a new diamond. He wants to give me a marquis diamond for our anniversary. So we take out the old diamond and put in the new. I don’t see any point in having a daimond laying around in my jewelry box, so I give the original to Maryann, my oldest daughter.

More time passes, ten years, and this year, 2019, the year of our 50th anniversary, Maryann’s oldest son, Ethan, proposes to the love of his life Elena.

fb_img_1557591314642  He needs a diamond, and there just happens to be one. This diamond is the symbol of true, lifelong love, and we’re delighted that our grandson put it in the engagement ring he gave his fiance just the other day when he had graduated from Modesto Junior College. Who knows where it may go from here.