Personal Blogs

"Integrity is doing the right thing, even when no one is watching." — C.S. Lewis 

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A friend's daughter some time ago embarked on a school assignment that left a lasting impression on me. She titled it, "My Father Never Lies." This phrase resonates deeply, serving as a poignant reminder of the legacy of integrity and credibility one can leave behind—a true testament to one’s character.

The Swedish word Trovärdighet captures this essence beautifully. It’s a term that signifies an internal consistency between one’s actions and character, a steadfastness that others can rely upon without doubt. This concept of reliability and trustworthiness is crucial in understanding what it means to be human.

Reflecting on this, I recall rekindling a friendship with someone I went to school with. We occasionally walk across to the Island of Bute, where we both spent our childhood summers. Over these walks, it’s fascinating to observe how we have evolved over the decades. One trait that makes him stand out is his trustworthiness. Confiding in him comes with an assurance that my words remain safe, a quality that epitomizes Trovärdighet.

In the last 24 hours, about 3,000 visitors logged onto my blog, and it comforts me to think that many of us share this path. In a world often driven by deceit for personal gain, finding solace in the company of those we can trust is a rare comfort. It reassures us, provides peace, and sets a standard for how relationships should be.

This brings us to a critical question—can our children, partners, or friends confidently say that we are people who never lie? Do they see us as embodiments of Trovärdighet? Whether it’s in the context of family, friendships, or even professional relationships, the quality of being trustworthy is fundamental.

The Biblical proverb, "The Lord detests lying lips, but he delights in people who are trustworthy" (Proverbs 12:22), encapsulates the divine appreciation for integrity. It is a principle that guides us, urging us to live lives that others can rely on, just as they would rely on a compass for direction.

In our quest to leave a meaningful legacy, let us strive to be remembered for our truthfulness and reliability—qualities that not only define us but also enrich the lives of those around us.

Note: 

In Swedish culture, as in many others, the importance of trust and credibility can be seen in social norms, business practices, and even in the legal system. Sweden is often noted for its high levels of trust in government and institutions, which is a testament to the cultural value placed on "trovärdighet."

In literature, credibility plays a crucial role in storytelling. A narrator's credibility, for instance, can significantly affect the interpretation of a story. Swedish literature, like that of many cultures, often explores themes of trust and deceit, and the credibility of characters can be a central theme.

"We cannot change the world, but we can change our own hearts and create ripples of peace and joy."

– Unknown

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It happened like this, I was packing stuff into my car and a carpenter came out and said, “Look! She never charged me for this.” He showed me a couple of cheap things amidst a trolley of stuff.

          I said, “You will never be happy going through life like that.”

He looked puzzled.

Now, why do I mention this? I will come right out and say it: I deeply loathe some of the culture I’m living in. Perhaps that sounds harsh, but my disdain isn’t for Scotland or its people in itself—far from it. I love this land: its rugged mountains, its misty lochs, the scent of bracken in the highlands, and the call of the curlew, the tap of the woodpecker and sound of the morning cuckoo. Scotland’s natural beauty and rich culture, with its song and poetry, its humour and resilience, remind me daily of what is good and worth loving including the people who are open and friendly for the most part.

But some people—ah, some of the people—that’s where my frustration lies. And it's not just Scotland, it's worldwide. 

I’ve been a victim, repeatedly, of dishonesty. Builders who charged for work they never did. Car mechanics who fiddled with repairs only to leave me worse off than before. Internet companies that quietly siphoned money from my account despite repeated cancellations. Each experience chipped away at my trust and fuelled my weariness of the world we inhabit. but it’s not everyone, of course. There are good people—many good people—who brighten this life with kindness and generosity. And yet, there’s no escaping the dark shadow cast by dishonesty, violence, selfishness, and exploitation. Those who dominate their fellow humans for personal gain. Those who wound and take without thought for the injury they leave behind. These are the ones who make me feel displaced, as though I don’t belong here, in this time, in this culture.

Our German friends have a wonderful word for this feeling: Fernweh. It can mean a homesickness for a place you’ve never seen. Can it be a longing for somewhere otherworldly? C.S. Lewis, with his usual eloquence, offered a similar sentiment: “If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that we were made for another world.” His words resonate deeply with me.

Perhaps that’s the crux of it. My frustration with this world stems not from its design—because the earth, with its endless beauty, is breath-taking—but from its corruption. We are creatures who long for truth, justice, and love, but we so often fail to uphold them. And in that gap between the world as it is and the world as it could be lies my discontent.

But that discontent isn’t hopeless. Rather, it stirs something within me—a sense of yearning, not just for escape, but for a restoration of what is broken. Maybe this dissatisfaction is itself evidence that we were made for something more, for a place where dishonesty doesn’t exist, where violence is a distant memory, and where selfishness has been replaced by generosity.

Until then, I’ll continue to love what is good in this world while lamenting what is not. I’ll walk the hills of Scotland, soaking in the grandeur of creation, and hold fast to the hope that one day we might find ourselves in that better world Lewis spoke of—the one we were always meant for.

As for the carpenter I spoke of, I don’t think he will forget what I said when I replied, “You will never be happy living like that.”

Hmm! Go ponder.

Blessed are the meek,

for they will inherit the earth.

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,

for they will be filled.

Matthew 5:5,6 BSB.

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Negotiating life as a Christian in today’s world is like driving on a potholed road; there are so many pitfalls. Avoiding aggressive speech, anger, resentment, hate, erotic images in advertising, and spiritual apathy to mention some. Decisions, both great and small, must be prayerfully negotiated.

Just the other day, well not really —it was years ago, that I read Psalm 119:133 that read something like “Fix my footsteps in your saying that no hurtful things domineer over me.” Wow! It bounced out the page. I like the way the Amplified Bible renders the verse,

Establish my footsteps in [the way of] Your word;

Do not let any human weakness have power over me

[causing me to be separated from You].

It’s a verse I find deep comfort in and is part of my daily prayer. In a world full of sinful noise, it speaks to me on a profound level. God and Christ through the Spirit can fill our mind with reminders that warn of potential potholes that may alienate us from the Divine.

I’m reminded of Peter who was forewarned by Jesus of one of these furrows when he said, “Before a cock crows…” What happened? Peter found himself denying Jesus three times and found himself hung out to dry.

C.S Lewis wrote “God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pain.”

Thankfully, Peter rubbed himself off and regained his balance. But can I tell you a secret dear friend? It is better to be spoke to than shouted at.

Take time to listen to God. Personally, I rise in the morning before my wife. I make some tea whilst she is dreaming of palm trees and the Mediterranean life a thousand miles away from our fixed 59 degrees north and I have my moments with God in gentle whispers.

“Scripture quotations taken from the Amplified® Bible (AMPC),

Copyright © 1954, 1958, 1962, 1964, 1965, 1987 by The Lockman Foundation
Used by permission. lockman.org”

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C.S. Lewis has always had a way of nudging me toward contemplation. His words, like a gentle hand on the shoulder, steer us to consider the larger mysteries of existence, drawing our attention beyond the surface. The quote in question, which speaks to a "controlling power outside the universe," tugs at a deep, instinctive awareness we’ve all encountered but perhaps struggle to define. This invisible, intangible influence that stirs within is as elusive as it is undeniable.

For as long as I can remember, I have felt the weight of this inner voice, a sense of guidance that quietly urges me toward right living. It never shouts. Instead, it whispers gently, persistently, often in the stillness of a walk in the hills or during a moment of reflection before sleep. Sometimes I’ve tried to drown it out with reason, dismissing it as my overactive conscience or the residue of some moral upbringing. But Lewis’ words suggest otherwise—that this voice is not simply a product of my psychology, but perhaps a clue to something beyond, something much grander and more profound.

As a child, I often wandered through forests or along the rocky Scottish shores, overwhelmed by the beauty and complexity of nature. I didn’t have the language to articulate what I was feeling then, but there was a knowing—a sense that I was part of something much larger than myself. I would sit and watch the clouds, or listen to the waves lap against the shore, and feel something inside me stir. At the time, I couldn't name this sensation, but now I understand it as that "influence" Lewis describes. It was more than awe or wonder; it was a connection to a greater reality, a whisper of the divine.

But as we grow older, life has a way of drowning out these subtler voices. We are told to focus on what we can measure, touch, and quantify. Modern life, with its emphasis on productivity and material success, leaves little room for the spiritual or the unseen. And yet, that inner voice never truly goes away. It continues to speak, gently reminding us to look beyond the visible, to behave in ways that reflect not just who we are, but who we were made to be.

I often think of Lewis’ analogy: just as the artifacts of a house cannot be part of the house itself, the divine cannot simply be another object within our universe, another "thing" to be observed or dissected. Instead, it reveals itself to us in the only way we could possibly understand—through the stirrings of our own conscience, the quiet promptings to act with kindness, humility, and love. These are not just moral guidelines; they are the fingerprints of something beyond the world as we know it, guiding us from within.

There have been moments in my life when I’ve ignored that voice—when I’ve let my ego or pride drown out its gentle guidance. These are the moments I look back on with a sense of regret, for they feel like missed opportunities to align myself with something higher. But when I do listen—when I act out of compassion, empathy, or selflessness—I find a sense of peace, as though I’m walking in step with the rhythm of the universe itself.

Lewis suggests that the presence of this inner voice should "arouse our suspicions." And indeed, it does. What is this force that seems to know us better than we know ourselves? What is this guidance that pushes us toward a better version of ourselves, even when we resist? It would be easier to dismiss it if it didn’t feel so personal, so intentional. But that’s precisely what makes it so compelling—it feels as though it is aimed directly at me, as though someone, or something, is trying to reach me through the only means possible: my own heart.

In my writing, especially as I reflect on what it means to be human, this theme recurs. We are more than the sum of our actions, more than flesh and bone navigating a material world. There is a deeper dimension to our existence, one that is revealed not through scientific discovery or intellectual pursuit, but through the quiet urgings of our soul. This inner voice is not just a moral compass—it is the divine calling us back to ourselves, and back to the One who made us.

Perhaps that is why Lewis' words resonate so deeply with me. He understood that faith is not about proving God's existence through external evidence, but about recognizing His presence within us. The "controlling power" he speaks of is not a distant force, but an intimate one, quietly leading us toward love, toward truth, toward the best of ourselves.

And so, as I sit here reflecting on this quote, I am reminded to listen more carefully, to attune myself to the whispering voice within. It is not always easy to hear, especially in the noise of modern life, but it is there. And in those moments when I do listen, I find myself not only more at peace with the world around me but also more connected to the One beyond it.

"I speak the truth in Christ; I am not lying, 

as confirmed by my conscience in the Holy Spirit."

Romans 9:1 (BSB).