Finding Forty

Today, I told my husband to lie to me—and I meant it.

If you know me, you know my number one pet peeve has always been lying. I hate it. I pride myself on honesty, even when the truth is uncomfortable. So for me to actually ask for a lie? That’s not something I did lightly.

I’m in my second pregnancy. Even before this baby, I had gained around 70 pounds since our dating days. My body is softer, my face rounder, my clothes fit differently. And still—maybe especially now—my husband never hesitates to tell me I’m beautiful.

Messy bun, spit-up stains, food on my shirt… even when I know I look exhausted, he’ll look me straight in the eyes and say it: You’re beautiful.

And as much as that should melt me, the truth is… it hasn’t always felt honest. In my head, flattery is lying. It makes me wonder: if he’s lying about this, what else could he lie about? Compliments start to feel like fiction.

But today was different. Today I realized that sometimes the lie isn’t really about the words—it’s about the heart behind them. When he says I’m beautiful, maybe it’s not about my hair or my weight or the laundry on my shirt. Maybe it’s about how he sees me, even when I can’t see myself.

And lately, there’s more at stake than just my reflection in the mirror.

A new school year is about to begin for him at his job, and for me in a brand-new position. We have a toddler in a new stage, a baby on the way, new expenses, new pressures. He’s overwhelmed. I’m overwhelmed.

The difference is—he speaks his fears out loud. I swallow mine. I tell myself, It’s all going to be fine. I tell him it’s all going to be fine. Logically, I know it will be. But when he says the very things I silently think but refuse to voice—when I hear them spoken into the air—it’s like my composure shatters. Suddenly, it feels like it could all come crashing down on us.

So today, I told him: If you can lie to me and tell me I’m beautiful in the most beastly season of my life, then you can lie to me and tell me it’s all going to be alright.

Because maybe that’s what love really is—not only telling the truth, but knowing exactly when to speak the kind of lie that holds someone together until they can believe the truth for themselves.

The right lie, in the right moment, can feel an awful lot like faith.