While digging for a pencil in my drawer, I noticed a thick layer of dust on my shelf. I brushed it off, sending a portion flying into the air, the rest sticking clumsily to my fingertips. The airborne particles hit my eyes, nose and mouth. I teared up, sneezed and coughed for a couple of minutes, the dust sticking to my lungs.
Lies remind me of dust. They collect in the corners, on the shelves and on the window sills of our lives. We avoid them or are too busy to notice until before we know it, the lies are everywhere. We brush them off, only to sting our eyes and scratch our throats. The lies aren't removed, in fact, sometimes they are more believable and painful. We breathe them constantly whether we know it or not. Before we know it, we are tossing white sheets over furniture, turning our lives into abandoned mansions while we live in the cramped spaces of the smallest, most comfortable rooms. We dare not explore beyond for fear of disturbing the lies.
We cannot remove those lies alone. Our fingers and flimsy feather dusters are useless, foolish. Sometimes what we need is a good wet rag to cleanse us. Truth feels like a wet rag sometimes. Especially God's truth.
But after we are cleansed, when the lies are swept away, we don't have to walk around on eggshells, trying not to disturb all this dust in our lives. We can dance and run around without worrying that we will sneeze, cough and cry as soon as we take something off the shelf. We can wander from room to room, each filled with His light and with potential achieved fearlessly. No more white sheets, our mansions are alive and we can have guests, and be able to make them comfortable, sitting together in His light.
We cannot dust the lies from our lives. But He can.