Confess to God
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When I was a child we had a round ottoman that typically sat in front of my father’s favorite chair for him to rest his feet on. When dad was not in the room my brothers and I would often sit on it to watch our TV programs. At one point, someone left a safety pin on the end table next to my father’s chair. Safety pins can be dangerous weapons in the hands of child. Without thinking, I picked up the safety pin and pushed it through the vinyl of the ottoman. It made a satisfying popping noise that compelled me to do it again and again.
When my father discovered that his footstool had become a pin cushion he rounded up his children. We stood in a row in front of him knowing that someone was about to get it for something. He described how disappointed he was in one of us for putting holes in his ottoman. He then asked the guilty party to step forward and confess their handiwork. He promised he wasn’t going to punish the offender, but he did want the guilty party to have the courage to take responsibility for what he had done.
I froze in place, as did my brothers and sister. I looked at my feet afraid to make eye contact for fear dad would see the guilt that resided there. After no one confessed, he said, “I want you to stand right here until the one who did it confesses. I’m going in the other room where I’ll be when you are ready to tell me the truth.
He left, and I began to sweat. I wondered if his promise not to punish could be trusted. I was ashamed of what I had done and didn’t want him to think poorly of me. Despite those fears, I finally broke down and walked into the other room. I confessed to my father what I had done and asked for his forgiveness. He started to tell me how wrong my actions were, but how happy he was that I had taken responsibility.
Before he could finish this wonderful speech intended to teach me a lesson, my older brother came in the room and interrupted our conversations. “Joey, didn’t do it, Dad. I did,” he said. I was shocked. Of course I did it. Dad then turned his attention to my older brother, and I very quietly (and quickly) exited the room. As it turned out, both of us had been guilty of this wonderful little game. We both confessed, and we were both forgiven.
My father wasn’t as concerned about the destruction of his footstool as he was that we, his children, take responsibility for our sins. Ottomans can be replaced, but character is something we live with for a life time. I think God’s request of us is quite similar. God knows we mess up. He knows how guilty we are. However, when we have the courage to stand before God and confess our wrong, I think it brings God great joy.
One of the snapshots of love I continue to carry in my mind is this confession to my father. I showed him love and respect by telling the truth. He showed me love through his forgiveness. God desires the same kind of confessing love from us. In return, God is ready to demonstrate a wonderful and divine forgiving love toward us.
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