Sometimes I feel like I'm hiding . . . in plain sight. Not seen or heard. Or understood.
When I attempt to translate what someone has told me to someone else for the sake of conveying information, and am told that what I have said is not true, I find myself becoming invisible. Again.
So as a good journalism student, I go back to the source and wonder if what I was told was true. True according to what happened or true according to how she remembers it? Truth as viewed through her particular lens? Is she near-sighted? Is there a smudge on her glasses? Are her eyes even open?
When someone tells me that no, I do not know what I am talking about, I have a tendency to laugh. Out of disbelief. So in essence the person does not believe me so I am laughing because I no longer believe her either. This does not promote communication. This makes me want to solve the mystery of what really may have happened. Gathering clues and taking the testimonies of those who may have been present at the scene, I piece together a convincing narrative. But convincing to whom?
Who, what, when, where, why and how. And does it matter?
We are told in our teacher meetings that we are to ask three questions before we say anything: Is it true? Is it kind? Is it necessary?
This sort of attitude sends my journalistic sensibilities into screaming fits. The where is truth part affects me on a theological level. Kindness may or may not have anything to do with what the truth is. And, yes, it is necessary. It is always necessary. Because to keep smiling in the midst of deep sorrow is not being at all truthful. What your mother said about if you can't say anything nice, do not say anything at all was wrong. She merely wanted to keep you from fighting with your siblings so you could all eat your dinner and give her a little peace at the end of another trying day.
Perhaps the real questions we should be asking each other are: Who is the source of the information? What is that person's philosophy? How can we understand each other better?
It takes a great deal of love to tell someone the truth. It is that kind of love for another that breaks through the assumptions, the contrived scenarios, the inevitable judgments, the what ifs, and marches straight into the heart of the matter. It peels back the self-protective veneer we hide behind. It makes us feel wounded, but then binds our wounds so healing can take place.
It is worth pursuing the truth. It may not seem kind at first, but in the end it sets us free.
It is necessary.
When I attempt to translate what someone has told me to someone else for the sake of conveying information, and am told that what I have said is not true, I find myself becoming invisible. Again.
So as a good journalism student, I go back to the source and wonder if what I was told was true. True according to what happened or true according to how she remembers it? Truth as viewed through her particular lens? Is she near-sighted? Is there a smudge on her glasses? Are her eyes even open?
When someone tells me that no, I do not know what I am talking about, I have a tendency to laugh. Out of disbelief. So in essence the person does not believe me so I am laughing because I no longer believe her either. This does not promote communication. This makes me want to solve the mystery of what really may have happened. Gathering clues and taking the testimonies of those who may have been present at the scene, I piece together a convincing narrative. But convincing to whom?
Who, what, when, where, why and how. And does it matter?
We are told in our teacher meetings that we are to ask three questions before we say anything: Is it true? Is it kind? Is it necessary?
This sort of attitude sends my journalistic sensibilities into screaming fits. The where is truth part affects me on a theological level. Kindness may or may not have anything to do with what the truth is. And, yes, it is necessary. It is always necessary. Because to keep smiling in the midst of deep sorrow is not being at all truthful. What your mother said about if you can't say anything nice, do not say anything at all was wrong. She merely wanted to keep you from fighting with your siblings so you could all eat your dinner and give her a little peace at the end of another trying day.
Perhaps the real questions we should be asking each other are: Who is the source of the information? What is that person's philosophy? How can we understand each other better?
It takes a great deal of love to tell someone the truth. It is that kind of love for another that breaks through the assumptions, the contrived scenarios, the inevitable judgments, the what ifs, and marches straight into the heart of the matter. It peels back the self-protective veneer we hide behind. It makes us feel wounded, but then binds our wounds so healing can take place.
It is worth pursuing the truth. It may not seem kind at first, but in the end it sets us free.
It is necessary.
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