I have a relatively harmless addiction to jeans. Not an addiction. Just a strong preference. I wear them pretty much every day. Comfortable, casual, go with everything. Dress them up, dress them down. There were even a couple seasons of life where I slept in them. Ah, jeans. I love them and they love me.
Sometimes.
I think I have six or seven pairs of jeans. I usually only wear three or four of them, but keep the others around in case of emergency, like the very tiny chance that my top three are too dirty to wear. I say ‘too dirty to wear’ because I usually wear each pair several times before I wash them. (The first day is a little stiff, the second day is perfect, on the third day they start to sag.)
But there is one pair that’s my favorite. And they know it. It’s not necessarily the size or brand. I’ve just had them the longest. The very first time I put them on after being washed, they fit just right. It feels like a hug from an old friend.
After the holidays, I discovered (not surprisingly) that I had put on a few pounds. Now, no one in my life is allowed to talk to me about my weight. Not my husband, not my mom, not my sisters. If I’ve put on weight, I know it and I’ll do something about it when I’m good and ready. There are two things that tell me: the scale and my jeans.
At least SOME of my jeans do. The jeans I’m not as close to can be objective. They tell me the truth. So when I gain weight, I purposely do NOT reach for those jeans. I go for my favorites. They love me, so they’ll lie to me. Not so the others.
Dark jeans: Um, Lindsey. Can we talk to you a minute?
Me: No.
Dark jeans: Look, we know you don’t want to hear this.
Me: Then don’t tell me.
Dark jeans: But you need to know the truth.
Me: No, I don’t.
Dark jeans: Fine, we’re just gonna tell you anyway. Things are getting a little snug down here.
Me: Oh, they are not. I just put you on. Give it a minute.
Dark jeans: We’re not making this up and you know it. Don’t act like you don’t feel it. We know you’re as uncomfortable as we are.
Me: I don’t know what you’re talking about.
Dark jeans: Oh yeah? Sit down. Go ahead. How does that feel?
Me: Fine.
Dark jeans: Liar. The waist button is about to pop off.
Favorite jeans (from across the room): Don’t listen to them, Linds! You look perfect!
Dark jeans: Oh jeez.
Favorite jeans: We fit you just fine, which means there’s nothing to worry about!
Me (to dark jeans): See? Why can you be more positive and supportive like those guys?
Dark jeans: Because we’ll tell you the truth. Those guys are enablers.
Me: They are not. They love me and they accept me just the way I am.
Dark jeans: But it’s not the way you were. And if you’re honest with yourself, it’s not the way you want to be. It’s just how you ended up.
Me: Meghan Trainor says every inch of me is perfect, from the bottom to the top.
Dark jeans: Look, it’s not personal. It’s just a fact. Go buy some jeans in a bigger size, if you want to. But this isn’t working for us anymore. That’s all we’re saying.
Me: Fine. I’ll just wear my favorite jeans.
Favorite jeans: YAY!!! We love you!
Me: Although…you know, you guys are pretty stretched out. I can’t even wear you a second day anymore because you barely stay on.
Favorite jeans: Which just proves how thin you are!
So they say all the right things and I keep wearing them, while guiltily leaving my truth-telling jeans on the shelf.
I’m like my favorite jeans. I will sacrifice truth for love. I admit it. Protect the relationship at all costs. Textbook codependent. (I’m working on it. God, my therapist and I have a long list of projects. It’s on there.) My husband, on the other hand, will die on the hill of truth and love can just get in the way, when it comes to saying hard things. He’s almost always right. He’s just not always particularly gentle in his delivery. Typical grumpy prophet.
I spend my life looking for ‘the third way.’ Not this or that. Not black or white. Some kind of gray compromise, if at all possible. And you know what? Sometimes it’s not possible. (I hate those times.) But sometimes it is, and in this case, it’s straight out of the Bible. Paul refers to this in Ephesians 4:15: speaking the truth in love.
Now this third way is not an easy out, by any means. This takes some serious prep work. In my case (a sappy marshmallow), I’ve got to go to God for some courage and strength to say something hard and risk someone not liking me. But if I really love people and they need to hear the truth, I must tell them. Otherwise, I risk protecting my personal peace over their wellbeing.
For those at the other end of the spectrum (grumpy prophets), this also requires some prep work. Whenever Brad starts making plans to speak negative truth to someone that may, in fact, need to be said, I tell him, “Check your heart. Do you just want to be right?” Strong truth speakers must approach God and ask for humility and mercy for their delivery.
No, this third way is a lot more complicated, but it’s the only way to do it.
AND this third way comes with a 100% All-Time Guarantee that it will always work! You will NEVER be misunderstood, your truth will ALWAYS be easily received, and we will all live Christianly/lovingly/truthfully ever after. Oh wait. It doesn’t say that.
So after all that work of getting your heart right, working up the nerve or dialing down the ego, it still might fall on deaf ears. Or worse. They might hate you for it. Great. My pastor introduced us to this fabulous quote one Sunday. The truth will set you free, but first it will make you miserable. Amen to that.
I have been blessed to have a small number of mighty truth speakers in my life. The three that immediately come to mind have all gotten me through hell at various times. I never questioned their hearts toward me. I knew I was unconditionally loved and accepted. So when it was time for hard truth to be spoken into my disaster(s), it stung just the same, but love quickly matched, then overcame the hurt. I received it, and I was grateful. As Proverbs 27 says, “Wounds from a friend can be trusted.”
I know a lot of people, a lot of Christians, who get a kick out of speaking the truth with no filter. Some wield truth as a weapon to injure and crush. I would like to go on record as saying not all truth needs to be spoken. Just because it’s true doesn’t mean it’s necessary. And I believe truth spoken with poor motive is every bit as much a sin as lying. Paul refers to love as the most excellent way in 1 Corinthians 13, and if we don’t have it when we speak, we’re just more noise in an already noisy world. Sometimes the right thing is keeping your big truth-telling mouth shut.
But if God stirs your heart to inject truth into a situation and your conscience passes the test, you must speak it, come ruin or rapture. Goes back to that whole obedience piece. Blech.
Love without truth is just B.S. And truth without love is just mean. We’ve got to find, practice and master the third way if we’re gonna look like Jesus. Truth and love can and must coexist if we are to be those lights shining in the darkness.
So I’m back to letting Weight Watchers watch my weight so ALL my jeans can be worn without complaint or resistance.
(And even though my favorite jeans are worthless by way of shooting me straight, they’re still my favorites.)
