I'm sorry.

I'm sorry I lied to you recently, at least a bit.

The truth is, I don't trust you or feel comfortable with you, and I certainly don't really believe that you'll treat me fairly or honestly. That may be unfair on my part, but I've learned to be cautious around you from experience.

You're like a pearl - all beautiful, iridescent, and with a little grain of scratchy grit that has been covered and smoothed over as you've walked with God through all the years. But when you turn over there's still a sharp piece of grit sticking through, and when people get close they get scratched.

I know God's doing something about it, how He wants His love to flow out of your heart and cover that part of you too, and I'm praying for you that it will happen: for your sake as much as everyone else's. But I still feel the scratches, and some are quite deep, sore and a bit festery. Healing isn't instant, even in ideal circumstances, and we aren't ideal.

So I'm sorry I didn't tell you the complete truth, but I don't think it would be helpful to drag up now. I hope one day I'll trust you again, and we'll be friends.

And hope is a good sign.