Accidentally deleted the last one. I got a bit behind, because I was busy…but while I’m waiting for my rice to cook (curry), I’m doing Day 4.
Today’s thing to squee over: the whole confession thing.
And as to why it’s something to squee over, I’d like to share the story of my first confession. I was in 2nd grade. This was when I was having problems in school, and my teacher had discovered that the reason why I was having problems in school was because I was horribly bored. I loved my second grade teacher. But there were still problems. One such problem happened, and (as is wont to happen), my parents found out about it. Now, in hindsight, it wasn’t a big deal, and my teacher wasn’t overly bothered about it. But my parents (who weren’t winning any parenting awards), raked me over the coals for it. Like I still have nightmares about that “discussion.” Every time thereafter when I’d annoy them or do something wrong, they’d bring it up.
So when it was time for our first confessions, I was scared. Now, forgiveness isn’t a concept that exists in abusive families. There’s nothing that you can ever to do mitigate the consequences of your actions. You are always at fault, no matter what. Love is also conditional upon how good you are. When I had to tell my parents what I had done, it was literally hell on earth.
So when it was my time, I was terrified, and I confessed that incident. I remember crying, when the priest asked if I were sorry. I remember him telling me that God still loved me, which made me cry all the more.
After that day, my parents never mentioned that incident. I never told them what I confessed, either. I don’t remember the priest’s name, but I wonder if he ever knew what a grace I’d received.