The other day I was getting ready to go on a date with my boyfriend and as I was thinking about what I was going to wear and how I was going to do my hair, I realized Lent is less than 10 days away. I felt a little bad that in my last 10 […]
Every couple of weeks I solemnly walk into a small room where another person is sitting. It kinda feels like a closet, kinda looks like the smallest grandmotherly-parlor-sitting-room you’ve ever seen (complete with appropriate seating and decoration).
We sit there, me and this other person, and have a nice little conversation that consists of me telling them all the things I’ve done wrong recently. It’s a varied, and unexciting list that doesn’t change nearly as often as I change the tone of voice I use to disguise myself. (Don’t judge me. You know you’ve done it too.)
“I can’t go to Confession! I don’t know how to start! I don’t know my Act of Contrition!” If you blank on how to go to Confession, just let the priest know. He is there as a representative of God’s love and patience. Plus, he went to school for this. Even if you don’t know how it’s supposed to go, he can walk you through it.
We walk into confession as spiritual lepers, wounded and scarred by sin. In the case of mortal sin, we’re even spiritual outcasts of heaven, living outside of the state of grace. But we walk out of Confession as people brought back to life and made new.
If we were to truly recognize what God is doing in us, our reaction would be one of wonder and awe followed by humble gratitude.
When we stand in line waiting to enter the confessional, it’s natural to sometimes feel a little fear, a little anxiousness, a little nervousness. After all, we’re standing in line to speak our sins aloud! Sometimes though, we walk out of the confessional and we might still feel guilty, or ashamed of what we’ve done […]
One older lady gasped, 'Well, I think that that would be the worst. It would be so depressing; hearing all about people's sins.'
I told them that it was the exact opposite. There is almost no greater place to be than with someone when they are coming back to God . . .
That was a tough question, but the next one worried me:
'Was I afraid to talk with God, to be honest with Him, and listen to Him even if I didn't like it?'
I had to think about it for a while. I realized that while I trusted God with most things, there was still one thing that I avoided … Confession. I would go to Mass every Sunday and pray throughout the day asking for help or thanking Him, but I didn't like sharing my weaknesses with Him.
I was just thinking about mothers and how much I love the moments when I’m able to call my mom and just tell her how I feel . . . she's so good at listening to me. I love my mom and couldn't be more happy with having a mother who does everything she can to be a good mother. She doesn't even know how great she is.
There's a hole in the side of my parents bathtub and it's all my fault.
I was 11 years old. We had only lived in our newly built house for 2 years. On this particular evening my siblings and I were getting ready to go to a square dance. Yes, I just said square dance. Leave me alone. It was cool.