Scribed In Light

The classroom was silent as the teacher placed a single book on his desk. With a knowing smile, he divided the students—one half to the left, the other to the right. “Tell me,” he said, “What color is this book?”

The left side of the room answered in complete confidence. “It’s Black.”

The right side shook their heads, just as certain. “No, it’s white.”

For a few moments, the teacher let their certainty settle. Murmurs rippled through the room as students exchanged bewildered glances. Some chuckled, amused by the apparent mistake of their classmates, while others grew frustrated, defending what they saw as undeniable truth. A few even scoffed, confident that those on the other side were simply wrong.

Then, with quiet authority, the teacher lifted the book, opening it fully so that both sides could see.

Gasps filled the room. The cover, as it turned out, was half black and half white.

Neither side had been entirely wrong. And yet, neither had seen the full truth.

The Erosion of Truth: When Perspective Becomes DIstortion

At that moment, as the students stared at the half-black, half-white book, they weren’t just seeing the truth—they were realizing how wrong they had been in their certainty.

But what if the teacher had never revealed the full cover?

What if those two groups had left the classroom, each convinced that their version of reality was the only truth?

What if they went on to tell others?

Imagine one group spreading the claim: “There was a book, and it was black—anyone who says otherwise is wrong.”

Meanwhile, the others insisting: “No, that book was white, and I will argue it to the end.”

Each side believing they are protecting the truth, but in reality, they are guarding only a fraction of it. As their versions are retold—each time slightly altered by bias, emotion, or misunderstanding—the original truth erodes. The book, which was once both black and white, becomes a symbol of division rather discovery.

And so the cycle continues.

But, at what cost? People repeat what they were told, and with each retelling, the edges of truth blur. Those who weren’t in the classroom now inherit someone else’s certainty—without ever seeing the book for themselves. Eventually, what began as a single question transforms into an unshakeable belief, an identity, even a cause to defend.

And just like that, truth is no longer whole.

Integrity at Risk: The Cost of Defending a Fragment

This happens in our world every day.

• A story is shared, then reshared, yet the retellings carry only fragments of what actually happened.
• A disagreement arises, but no one steps to the other side of the room to see from a different angle.
• A reputation is formed—or destroyed—not by facts but by the limited version of events someone else believed to be true.

The danger isn’t just in misunderstanding—it’s in the insistence that one side’s view is the whole truth.

Integrity suffers when we defend something we haven’t fully seen.

And truth erodes when we refuse to acknowledge that there may be more to the story than what we first believed.

A Call to See the Whole Book

So, how do we prevent this erosion?

• Pause before speaking—Ask, Do I know the full truth or only my side of it?
• Listen before arguing—What if their perspective isn’t wrong but simply incomplete?
• Seek to understand, not just to defend—A commitment to integrity means valuing truth over pride.

The next time you find yourself in a conversation that certainly feels absolute, ask yourself:

Am I standing on the truth? Or just on the side of the room where I happened to be placed?

I want to share a personal experience.

At sixteen years old, I had already spent over 2 years as a live-in nanny. I absolutely adored the entire family, and I took my responsibilities with the utmost seriousness and respect. Caring for them wasn’t just a duty—it was an honor. I poured my whole heart into ensuring their every need was met, going above and beyond to provide nurture, care, and safety.

Beyond my expected role, I willingly took on additional tasks that weren’t required of me—housecleaning, laundry, mowing the yard, and tending to outdoor stock. In truth, I wasn’t just a caregiver; I was embraced as a part of their family, included in all aspects of their daily life.

Imagine my horror when a parent approached me, claiming that not only had jewelry gone missing, but expensive heirloom pieces had been damaged. One necklace, in particular, was bent in a way as to suggest it had been deliberately twisted and curled, as if forced into a small, compact shape to fit into a pocket. As this revelation unfolded, I initially misunderstood their intent—I thought they were simply sharing their distress, seeking help in understanding what had happened.

“What in the world? How could this have happened? How awful! Why on Earth would a necklace be twisted and curled up like that? Who would even do such a thing?”

I was eager to help them solve the situation. But then, I noted the looks between both parents and something shifted. It became clear that I wasn’t just being included in the discussion—I was being suspected.

The moment it was implied that I might be the culprit, my heart sank—not just a small, sinking feeling, but a full, stomach-dropping, air-rushing-from-my-lungs kind of disbelief. The weight that came with that accusation hit me hard. It broke me.

Not only was I accused of theft, but also of something far worse in my view.—a betrayal of trust, a lack of honor, and a disregard for the very things they held dear.

It was a strike to my integrity—not just as their nanny, but as a person who had been welcomed into their family.

And yet, there I stood, under their scrutiny, watching them question the very core of who I was.

At first, I was in shock. Then, heartbroken at being misunderstood. And finally, ashamed—not because I had done anything wrong, but because of the trauma I experienced of being forced into a place of defense over something I would never have even considered doing. Both parents looked me in the eyes, their judgment unwavering. I saw it clearly—their conviction that I was guilty. And that realization shattered me.

Eventually, they let the matter rest and turned their focus elsewhere. Yet, I could always feel that unresolved conviction lingering between us. It changed me. It changed them. And my heart never fully healed from the weight of that experience—I carried it with me for years.

Even now, I remain deeply aware of how easily the truth can erode and how misunderstanding can plant seeds of doubt that never fully fade. I never want anyone to experience what I felt—the pain of being misjudged, the ache of integrity being questioned, the powerlessness of not being believed.

Many years later—perhaps four—the truth finally surfaced.

Ironically, a former babysitter had stopped by to visit the family with her prom date, eager to share the moment with them before heading out for the evening. At some point, she excused herself to use the bathroom—but instead, she slipped into their bedroom and stole their jewelry.

She returned on multiple occasions, sometimes bringing pieces back, other times selling them for money. The family never suspected her. It wasn’t until years later—after she and her prom date had long broken up —that the young man, burdened by guilt, showed up on their doorstep.

He confessed everything.

And as relieving as it was to know they had finally seen the full picture—years later—the weight of what happened never truly left me.

I was forever affected by that moment, and so was our relationship. It had changed, shifted in a way that could never be undone. Never again would it be the same. That one moment of misconception defined the future of our relationship forever.

No matter how many times we saw one another over the years, I still carried a deep imprint of that experience within me—a lingering shadow of what had once been trust, now altered forever. I often wonder just how many times that story had been shared…and how many never know the full truth of that today.

And too— how many stories do we carry in our own lives? How many things have we heard, repeated, and believed with unwavering conviction, never questioning whether we truly saw the whole picture?

So again, I ask —at what cost?

At what cost to others?

At what cost to ourselves?

At what cost to the truth itself?

A Call to Rise Higher

Misunderstanding is easy. The assumption is effortless. But wisdom takes effort.

We must rise above the quick conclusions and seek the full truth before we stand in certainty. We must remember that our perspective is not always the whole story. If we have ever been on the receiving end of misjudgment, wrongful accusation, or eroded trust, then we already know—the weight of that is heavy, and it lingers.

So today, I challenge you:

• Pause before you assume.
• Listen before you decide.
• Ask before you judge.

Most importantly, when you share a story, be sure it is whole.

Because the words we speak carry power. They can either build trust or erode it, heal wounds or deepen them, illuminate truth, or bury it beneath layers of misunderstanding.

Let’s be people who seek truth—not just in what we believe, but in how we live, speak, and carry the stories of others.

That is how we step forward wiser, stronger, and more aware. That is how we honor integrity.

Final Thoughts

The truth is never as fragile as we make it—but our handling of it can be.

When we stand too firmly on what we first see, we risk missing what lies just beyond our line of sight. But when we step back, listen, and seek the truth beyond assumption, we not only sharpen our own vision but also honor the integrity of truth itself.

So, as you move through your day, carry this with you:“

Truth isn’t found in standing louder. It’s found in seeing deeper.”

Please remember:

“The greatest enemy of knowledge is not ignorance it is the illusion of knowledge.”

—Stephen Hawking

Because as Proverbs 18:17 reminds us:

“The first to speak seems right until someone comes forward and cross-examines.”

Let us be seekers of truth, not just defenders of our own viewpoint. Let us pause, listen, and seek before we speak.

Because when we do, we don’t just see more clearly—we become better, wiser, and more whole.

Go forward with open eyes, open hearts, and a pursuit of truth that honors its fullness.

“Perspective is a window—truth is the whole view.”

“We see the world not as it is, but as we are.”

—Anais Nin