Lost in the Fog

Deception depends on our ignorance.

It succeeds because we are unaware and unsuspecting of it.

I am always surprised when I discover that I've been misled. I don't expect it to happen. Sometimes it is malicious, sometimes it is in fun, but often it's because the other person is just as deceived as I am.

In Mexico, kids line up to be blindfolded and handed a stick which they can use to swing wildly in hopes of hitting a pinata, while the rest of us make sport of him. We shout directions: higher, lower, to your right, to your left; some good, but most are misleading. How does the kid know who to trust, which voice is telling the truth? Why the blindfold? Well it wouldn't be funny if the swinger could see his target. Thus deception can be for fun.

I have heard that when a pilot flies through a storm, his senses tell him something totally different from what the instrument panel says. He has to fight against what his brain tells him to do and follow something else. His senses deceive him, they are untrustworthy. I think my feelings do the same thing to me when I try to navigate my way out of an emotional storm. They deceive and mislead me, they are totally untrustworthy.

Maybe if I share a story that happened to me recently, it will help you identify how the flesh blinds your eyes or clouds your vision.

I had just gone through a workshop where the discussion had a strange and troubling effect on me. It felt as if I had entered an emotional fog, where I couldn't see, but I could feel, and feel I did with such intensity that I wanted to cry. What was happening to me? I desperately wanted to get out of the fog before it turned into a black cloud. How could I expect to find my way out if I let my emotions guide me?

"Where are you taking me Lord?", I cried, "show me the way out; help me see the truth."

A sudden thought came to mind. Actually it was just a simple question, "What's the real issue?"

I mused on that for a while and a few things started to pop into my mind, things that I told myself were important, things I disagreed with. They all seemed like good answers, offering some issue to focus on, some possible explanation for my troubled feelings. Some made me feel angry, others made me feel justified in my anger. I would have gladly argued the point with anyone nearby. Maybe they could affirm my feelings by agreeing with me.

There was a vague sense, however, that I hadn't gotten to the truth yet. Wisdom told me to keep quiet and keep digging. So I did, until I finally uncovered the one thing that sucked the steam out of all the others. I could have easily stopped searching with any one of my earlier conclusions, but I would have still been lost in the fog. Admitting this last one swept away the fog, and I could see clearly. That's what convinced me that I had finally arrived. The real issue was a self-centered one, and my pride was written all over it, (which was another good indication that I had found the truth). The real issue was that I felt overlooked.

There, I said it. It was ugly and it was mine. I couldn't blame or push it off on anyone else now. There was no purpose in self-justification, in feeling angry, or in getting into a heated discussion about it. All that was left for me to do was confess my sin, and the confusion was gone.

Once the storm had passed, I started to see how so many things had been competing to appeal to my flesh. Where had that phrase, "appeal to my flesh," come from? I had never thought about it before, but it made perfect sense to me; explained why I always seemed to struggle but not get anywhere. I began to see how, during the storm, the flesh was appealing to me in ways that kept me from seeing the truth. My flesh had lured me into my foggy confusion, where I was easily disoriented and deceived, and it wasn't going to lead me back out. I had eagerly lined up to be blindfolded by my flesh and then trusted it to lead me out.

I think too often we assume that if we aren't indulging in promiscuity or addictions, we are not giving into the cravings of the flesh. But is that true? Doesn't that just make us more unsuspecting, unaware of being deceived? Isn't lust really just the act of wanting?

What had been appealing to my flesh? The truth shocked me. Would you believe that "feeling hurt" was appealing to my flesh? I wanted to be hurt. My flesh was attracted to feeling sorry for myself. I even got a sick sort of pleasure in self-condemnation, I liked feeling guilty. I had not expected to find that my flesh delighted in such things. I was shocked to see how enticing it was for me to entrust myself to these cravings of my flesh.