My wife has a good post up on honesty, commenting on a post by MckMama; I think she has a lot of good things to say (which would be one of the many reasons I married her), but I particularly appreciated this:
We want honesty, but we’re not prepared for it when we get it. It’s too raw. Too scary. Too boring. Too threatening. We want to think we understand. Honesty shows us we don’t. We want to think we have the answers. Honesty shows us we don’t. We want the world to be a safe, manageable, controllable place. We know that we ourselves are buffetted and thrown about, but we want to think that someday, somehow, we’ll get to a place of answers. But when we really interact with each other, we discover that none of us is one self-help book or one good sermon, or one inspirational song away from having it all together. We discover that giving or receiving a bellyful of honesty requires humility and commitment far beyond what most of us are willing to give most days. It means saying things like “I’d never thought of that before,” and “I don’t understand, but I’d like to.” It means expecting to find that we’re all sinful, complex, broken people in a sinful, complex, broken world.
Too often, when we say we want honesty, we just want to be voyeurs. Too often, when we get honesty, we try to trim off the edges so that it will fit back in the box. But we were made by a God bigger than we are, who placed us in a world too complex for us to understand. And he made each of us unique. Different. Should it be any surprise to us when other’s individual experiences and stories seem alien to us? When our finite interactions with an infinite God seem too big to handle and comprehend?