I am a liar.
I lie to my daughter.
She calls to tell me her birth father covered her car with balloons on her birthday, and I say, "That's really funny." and "How nice of him."
She calls to say she's meeting her birth father's family, and I say, "Wonderful, Honey. I'm excited for you."
She calls to say her birth mother's parents are going to be in town and want to have lunch but she has class, and I say, "See if they're staying overnight. Maybe you could have breakfast the next morning."
When she calls to say it worked out for breakfast, I say, "Great! I'm so glad."
These are the things I want to think. They are NOT the things I DO think.
When she tells me her birth father said he's going to pick up his kid from school, I think, "No, you're not, buddy. You're going to pick up MY kid from school."
Here's what saves me: at 54, I don't think as fast as I once did. It's like having my own little 7-second delay. By the time I organize my thoughts to speak, reason sets in.
Every day, I lie.
Every day, I pray for the grace to keep on lying until I believe what I'm saying.