Truth

"Speaking the truth in love." I have been poring over this phrase here lately, and I wanted to flesh out some thoughts.

The truth is always right by nature, by definition of the word. It wouldn't be truth if it weren't right. The delivery of truth, however... well, that has disaster written all over it. Now, don't hear me say that we should abound in fluff and never have the hard conversations. Those of you who know me know that 'fluff' and 'avoidance' aren't in my vocabulary. But I don't advocate truth vomit, either. I don't see how that does any good.

So what is truth in love? What is "seasoned with salt" anyway?

Do any of us have the gall to assume so readily that we know the truth enough to speak it AND know the plumb line of the love in which it swims? OR...

Have we been speaking fragments of truth dipped end-only in love?

Truth IN love. It is not with, not companion.

Love is host.

Life-giver.

Daddy's arms.

Without it, truth either makes a break for it like a rebellious child runaway, or it crumbles in a corner of the basement right along with the old set of encyclopedias.

So, can we maybe abandon our fascination with truth as a solo act? It works better enveloped by the symphony. It has one note, one solitary note that cries when left alone but sings when part of the whole. Truth is vital, but love makes it beautiful.

Talk to me...

Have you been the victim of a truth-only attack?

Have you been the assailant?