I have recently read two novels in which one of the protagonists is unreliable.  The unreliable narrator is a term coined in the 1960s to refer to a narrator in a novel who gives false information, either through insanity, naiveté (as with a child) or deliberate lying.  Having just finished Gone Girl and The Girl on the Train, I found myself enmeshed in their characters’ unreliable narration.  Fascinated. Disturbed.

But before I read either of these novels, I myself contemplated writing a novel with an unreliable narrator.  Perhaps I will. It’s a story with a great twist or two. A story I dreamed up because it was a story I could work myself into. 

As I contemplated this, I came to a startling conclusion.  I am an unreliable narrator. I don’t mean this in my novels.  To date, I have presented protagonists who are pretty much telling the truth of what they see.

No, it’s not in my novels that I find unreliable narration; it’s in my life.  I, in fact, am an unreliable narrator of my own life. That’s a little scary to admit, considering the above definition of unreliable narrators.  That means either I am insane, naïve, or a liar. Ouch.

Surely not!

And yet, and yet.  I repeatedly remember things in the past with a skew.  I am very good at hearing ‘lies’, those whispers of the self-conscious that say what I’m doing isn’t good enough or the yanks of false guilt that throw cold ice on my best efforts.  I think I am telling myself and others the truth, but in fact, I am not.

I am an unreliable narrator.

A case in point.  I have just returned from a book tour in Holland in which I spoke in two churches and five bookstores, before fairly large crowds.  But one bookstore canceled my signing because not enough people had signed up. So what do I tell myself about the whole book tour?  Um, it wasn’t that great. Or to spiritualize it, God couldn’t really use me. 

Ah, but he did.  And it was ridiculous for me to narrate this successful tour as a failure.

Fortunately, I have a very reliable narrator in my life: the Holy Spirit.  He knows truth and lies and he points out in my spirit when I have truly messed up.  He convicts me of sin, no pudgy half-hearted feeling of unrest, but a sharp pang of guilt.  So I must run to him constantly throughout each day so that my narration doesn’t become self-pitying or filled with debilitating self-criticism, as Eugene Petersen puts it (see I John 3: 20-21 in The Message).

Humans are, in and of ourselves, unreliable.  We state truth from our own points of view. At different times in the history of the world, it has been in vogue to believe that all truth is relative.  We can each make up our own truth. We can each narrate our own stories however we see fit.

But it doesn’t work.  History is filled with the errors of men narrating their own lives to the hurt of others.

Reliable narration comes when my truth and God’s truth intersect.  I come to him with my story—however I perceive that story—and then I let the Holy Spirit shed light on the real truth.  Sometimes it is excruciatingly painful to admit. Other times it brings enormous relief. But almost always, the Holy Spirit shows me a part of myself or of the events I am remembering that are not in fact totally accurate.

I long to become a more reliable narrator of my own life.  I long for my mind to race quickly to truth, to God’s Word, to confession and repentance, to grace.  

I see progress over the past decades of being a child of God.  And I know my story isn’t fully written, will not be fully written until eternity.  And I also know that I can rely on the Great True Narrator to put adventure and twists into my story in a way that works for my sanctification, for my soul’s good.

That is the truth I hold onto in the midst of the unreliable whispers from the world and myself.  That is the way I will finish the story. A story well-written and ultimately filled with truth.

Can you relate to this idea of being an unreliable narrator of your life? I’d love to hear your thoughts!

***Author’s Note: I wrote this journal entry several years ago, and the novel I was contemplating writing at that time is When I Close My Eyes. And yes, there is a bit of unreliable narration in the new novel=).

*Photos taken during my Dutch book tour during fabulous tulip season.