I wonder if I could be brutally honest with God. I think I hide with Him as much as others. I hide the down dirty stuff. Everyone does, I guess, but I forget God knows all of it anyway. And I catch myself trying to deny what I'm feeling and trying to gloss over the truth in a prayer with requests and thoughts I imagine He'd like better. Not sure why I still do that.
I imagine God is somewhat like my mother was back when I was three; she'd purse her lips, trying not to smile while patiently unfolding the proof that I'd fibbed (badly). Or the way she'd say "Where's Jenny? I don't see her, she must be hiding," when I would press my face in the seat cushion of the armchair, still under the impression that if I couldn't see her, she couldn't see me, all while my little rear stuck up in the air.
Sure, it's cute when you're three. But at forty-three, I wonder if God is still amused.