You will get burned

I often wonder what it does to my brain to be lied to so often, so outright, so, oddly enough, matter-of-factly.

When you touch a hot stove for the first time, impulses from the sensory cortex are conducted over interneurons to the prefrontal cortex of the cerebrum to be “recorded” as memories that associate the sight of a hot stove with pain. That way, in the future, you can learn from your past, make a different decision, and not experience the same pain again.

Giving the benefit of the doubt to teenagers is like touching a hot stove. You will get burned.

I’ve got some significant scar tissue from trusting teenagers when I’ve known better. I sometimes wonder why I continue to ever give the benefit of the doubt, why I keep touching hot stoves, assuming that I won’t get burned.

Because teenagers are so good at making you feel like a terrible person for questioning them, holding them accountable, for not putting your hand on the hot stove again.

It’s amazing how the pursuit of truth, the support of it, the telling of it — it’s dangerous. Might as well put a target on your back. Try to hold a teenager accountable who values deceit and they’ll go for your throat.

I get it, to some extent, survival of the fittest will cause you to think you need to be deceitful. That if you’ve done something wrong, telling the truth will for sure get you in trouble. But maybe if you avoid telling the truth you can also avoid the consequences.

When we do this, though, we risk our relationships with the people we care about and love. We risk the trust required for a healthy relationship with those that care for us and love us. We trade away our peace and integrity for what, continued access to our glowing dopamine machines, the keys to the car, a ticket to another night bad decisions?

I’ve been tempted to touch some hot stoves this week. I’ve wanted to give the benefit of the doubt to the teenagers lying to me, if for no other reason than it means an easier weekend for me. Maybe the girls would think they got one over on me. Or maybe they’d even think I was just being cool. But I can’t do that either.

What is this doing to me when I look into the eyes of yet another teenage girl bold-faced lying to me for the ten-thousandth time?

When this happens I feel my blood go warm. I feel anger because of their attempted deceit. Being lied to feels personal, even when it isn’t meant to be. And I have to remember that. It helps me get from a place of anger and frustration to grief and sadness, which doesn’t sound better, but it is.

When I’m in a good head space, I can recognize the privilege of being something consistent and reliable for these kids. I then give it over to God and say thank you for this privilege, even on the hard and emotionally defeating days. I don’t always need to be comfortable or to feel safe. Of course I desire that, I don’t actually want to die a martyr. But that seems to be what happens to a lot of people on the side of truth, figuratively and sometimes even literally. So I can’t be surprised by the name calling and accusation and gas-lighting. I’m generally dealing with some pretty low stakes, (but not always).

Jesus loved his disciples to the end. He knew he was going to be betrayed by his own closest friends. He knew he would be denied. He knew he’d be abandoned.

He loved them anyway. And he loves us anyway.

And for that, I am thankful.