I got pruned the other day. There were some dead, unfruitful, suffocating branches that had grown up out of me, making me ugly and overgrown. And God came over to me with some big sharp clippers and pruned those dead branches right off and threw those useless pieces into the fire and burned them to ashes.
My pruning happened on a retreat I went to a few weeks ago, led by a woman named Tilda Norberg. At one point, Tilda asked us to do something called “Speaking Truth to Lies.” And she asked us to write down two or three lies about ourselves that we needed to get rid of. Not ridiculous lies like: “My hair is blonde” or “I’m a professional body builder.”
But the kind of lies we tell ourselves—lies that we know in our head are not true, but that our hearts hang onto.
If I give you some examples, I think you’ll recall some of these kinds of lies knocking around in your heart at some point.
“If I weigh more than 120 lbs, no one will find me attractive.”
Or this one: “Because I have cancer or because I can no longer move the way I used to, I will never be whole or well again.”
Or this: “I don’t have a problem with drugs or alcohol.”
Or this: “If I weren’t so needy or noisy or nosy, the abuse would stop.”
Lies that we live our lives by. Lies that we die little deaths by. These are the kinds of lies Tilda asked us to write down. Read more