Can I tell you a secret?

[The following reflection was first published in “The Evangelical Friend” in 1984, but the concepts are still relevant. It’s part of a book of collected stories and essays that will be published in 2026 under the title, “The Richest Kid on the Block: reflections from an ordinary life.”] 

In a conspiratorial tone of voice, my seven-year-old daughter asked, “Mommy, can I tell you the stupid part of a smart secret?” Intrigued, I nodded, and Kristin cupped her hands around my ear and whispered, “Timmy Smith likes me.”

There. It was out. The stupid part of a smart secret. Another shared bond between us.

Secrets are important. Children instinctively know this. I remember often saying as a child, “If I tell you this, will you promise not to tell anyone? Cross your heart?”

I belonged to a secret club in the fifth grade. We had secret names, a secret written code, and a hiding place for our buried treasure (a huge collection of popsicle sticks). We sent secret signals to one another across the classroom and engaged in a secret post-recess contest to see who could hold a mouthful of water the longest. Our club had no theme or purpose; its most crucial element was its secretness. It said, “We belong.”

Secrets have their negative side. They can be used to exclude those who don’t belong. Whenever Kristin invites a group of friends to the house, sometime in the course of the day, some little girl inevitably whines, “No fair telling secrets!” And she’s right. Secrets used to exclude other people are definitely no fair.

Knowing a secret grants a certain superiority. I like Robert Frost’s little poem:

We dance around in a ring and suppose,
But the Secret sits in the middle and knows.

Have you ever been in a group of people who are pondering something that you know the answer to? You’ve pledged not to speak, so can only sit there and silently know. I may be perverse, but that’s my idea of fun, especially if the secret is a pleasant one.

I’m not a child anymore, but I still believe in secrets.

Just the other day I was thinking about a past experience, remembering how important it was to me. I suddenly realized that almost none of my current friends even knows about that experience. There are areas of my life—people I’ve loved, places I’ve been, adventures I’ve had—that are still my secrets. For some reason that knowledge gives me satisfaction. People don’t know all there is to know about me. I have a few surprises up my sleeve.

But having secrets is probably not as important as appropriately sharing secrets. Shared secrets create bonds between adults as well as between children, although we don’t use the same vocabulary. I belong to a small accountability group in my church. Our closeness is measured by the degree to which we openly reveal ourselves within the group. James 5:16 says, “Confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed.” We try to do this in our meetings, not only confessing our sins and faults, but sharing our joys and dreams as well. The bond between us is growing.

I don’t believe in telling all my secrets to everyone I know. That would be inappropriate, and I would soon have no secrets left to tell. But as I make a new friend and we begin to grow in our friendship, being open and honest about ourselves is part of the process. And keeping confidences is one measure of loyalty in a friendship.

The depth of a relationship usually equals the degree of shared secrets. My husband knows me better than any other person. We’ve talked together, prayed, walked the same paths, wrestled with the same problems. He knows my ups and downs, my pettiness, my joy, my hurts, my dreams. And I know his. Just as with children, sharing secrets is a part of our being best friends.

This carries over into our relationship with God. Although he relates to all of us in community as the church, he also knows and loves us individually. My relationship to God and awakening into his love are unlike anyone else’s. He’s my closest friend and our friendship is intimate and secret.

David writes of the wonder of the intimacy of a relationship with God:

“O Lord, Thou hast searched me and known me.
Thou dost know when I sit and when I rise up;
Thou dost understand my thought from afar.
Thou dost scrutinize my path and my lying down,
And art intimately acquainted with all my ways.
Even before there is a word on my tongue,
Behold, O Lord, thou dost know it” (Psalm 139:1-4 NASB)

In Revelation God promises that to the person who overcomes, “I will give … a white stone with a new name written on it, known only to the one who receives it” (2:17). For all eternity we’ll have a name that will remain a secret we share only with the Father. However our other relationships in heaven will be (and I imagine they’ll be wonderful in the full sense of the word), each one of us will still have a unique relationship with God. We’ll share a secret no one else knows.

If you see me looking somewhat inward, smiling to myself, you’ll know it’s because—I’ve got a secret!