Defining My Line

"It would be so easy to lie." That's what I said to myself last night as I stared in the mirror while brushing my teeth. It's not the first time this thought has crossed my mind, nor will it be the last. It seems I am frequently presented with opportunities to lie and even steal. Opportunities that would no doubt succeed so that no one would ever know what I had done. 

I don't actually remember what I was thinking I might lie about. I think it had something to do with one of my classes and an assignment that would have been easy to ace without doing the work. Gratefully I already have a thought response prepared for situations such as this. Whenever I consider lying about something I immediately tell myself, "Esther, you don't lie." But last night, instead of moving on from that thought I started wondering, why don't I lie? Not that I'm looking to become an untrustworthy, lazy, and dishonest person, I'm just curious about what keeps me from lying when dishonesty would be so much easier. 

At this point in my life I'm sure a large part of it is that it's simply habit to not lie. Every day I practice honesty, dishonesty becomes less and less likely. But why is it that Esther doesn't lie? If I look beyond habit, beyond current mental constructs, there must have been some reason I chose to be honest, no matter how hard it was. I'll be honest now, I used to lie a lot. I was good at it too. I got away with a lot of things, and if I hadn't chosen to confess, I'm pretty sure people still wouldn't know everything I hid from them. So what happened to me? When did honesty become less about convenience and more about character?

I doubt it happened all at once, but the more I pondered my history of deceit I remembered one year, filled with lies, that defined my life and character. I was in elementary school. Well, I was supposed to be in school. The problem was, that I wasn't. I grew up home-schooled. My mom and my aunts worked together to bring me a well-rounded education in science, math, writing, and history. But one year, I wasn't at school with my aunts. It was just my mom trying to teach four children in four different grades the most important academic subjects. And, she was very busy and rather stressed, and needed to spend a lot of time with my younger brother. As time went on, she became less and less concerned with how I spent my time. I started "grading" my own math homework, and took my science education into my own hands. What this really meant was that I simply reported to my mom that I'd done my homework, and she took my word for it. I was supposed to be practicing my piano and violin every day, but eventually I figured out a way to get out of those as well. Every day of that glorious summer, I would be done with pretending to do school by nine-o-clock in the morning, and then I'd race outside and spend the rest of my morning with my best friend, my bike named Mountain. 

 I was actually pretty proud of myself. While my older brother, the epitome of academic perfection, paced himself through hours of musical studies and mathematics, even completing science experiments and projects of his own volition, I was outside living the dream with not an academic care in the world. My world came crashing down one day in August. My aunt came over to visit and I listened while she talked to my mom about school. I discovered that day that my mom was going to start taking all of us over to my aunt's house for school and they were trying to figure out where to place me. At one point my aunt asked, "What math lesson is she on?" My mom, of course, didn't know, and unfortunately, neither did I. I ran to my long-forgotten math book and tried to remember the last thing I'd learned. Lesson 86. That number has stuck with me.

As I watched my aunt leave, I remember feeling extremely relieved that my secret was safe. But I also remember feeling so disappointed in myself. I realized then that if I'd just done a little more work and a little less lying, I would actually know something. I'd be smarter. I'd have something that would last longer than a day. I had loved my days filled with sunshine and bike riding, but the memories were suddenly filled with the regret and guilt that comes with a dishonest secret.

A couple days ago I had the thought that in order to know where the line is, you have to cross it. Now, do not take that statement too far. I am not advocating that one needs to cross the line of chastity, or break the commandments of God to know that there is a line you should not cross. Here's what I am saying - you will never know your personal line, your boundary between right and wrong unless you have crossed over that line at some point. Until you feel the pain of regret, guilt, and shame, it's impossible to understand the beauty of a clear, light conscience. It's this whole idea that good cannot exist without evil and right cannot exist without wrong.

That day in August, I found my line. Up to that point I don't think I'd really understood the importance of honesty, but as soon as I realized I'd crossed a line, I knew I didn't want to do that again. I can't say I was perfectly honest from that day on. I wasn't. But with every dishonest act I narrowed and defined my line until I knew exactly where it was. The more I discovered the boundaries of my line, the less I wanted to cross it because I didn't want to feel ashamed of myself. Taking credit where it wasn't due or garnering respect on false pretense meant nothing if I couldn't respect myself. 

There might be an easy way out. But taking that route doesn't make me smarter or bring me self-respect. It doesn't last longer than a day. So, I don't lie.

I wish that meant all life decisions were easy, but I discovered something else recently. There are a lot of areas in life where someone can mess up. I might have found my line between honesty and dishonesty, but I still haven't found my line in relationships, morality, or boundaries (particularly setting them. I need to work on that). I know I haven't found my line because I'm still messing up and feeling guilty when I realize I've crossed the line again. Some days I'm filled with such regret that I wish I didn't have to remember the times I've messed up. But when I'm most discouraged I try to remember that I'm defining my line. Each mistake, every misstep is one step closer to knowing exactly what is and what is not right for me. And every day I can be grateful that there is a line to cross so that I can know the difference between wrong and right, bad and good, evil and divine.