I stand in the kitchen, cheeks hot with shame, eyes barely holding back tears, and I stir. I stir the dinner that simmers on the stove—just like I stirred the pot with my husband as I simmered in the laundry room just a few moments earlier. I vigorously mix the food and little bits of sauce splash out of the pan—just like I carelessly mixed all my frustrations of the day, allowing them to spill over into the busy night we had planned.
It’s a Wednesday evening and it’s been one of those days. You know, the kind of day where every little thing seems to go sideways? The to-do list at work had to be reorganized several times to account for the unexpected. The preferred schedule for the day fell apart completely. The drive home took longer than usual. The husband and the wife reconnected just in time to leave for the next step in the day and the wife, with her already overflowing “tank of overwhelm” snapped at her husband when he wasn’t close to being ready to walk out the door… for an event the husband thought he wasn’t going to, hence the lack of being ready. It’s one of those days that is full to the brim and has no room in the schedule for impromptu arguments or crying in the kitchen, and here I am, crying in the kitchen.
I hover over the stove stirring the dinner, watching the steam rise, and I sigh. I turn around and I look at my husband, sitting patiently at the table, scrolling on his phone. My heart aches as I think about how undeserving he was of my sharpness and how undeserving I am of his forgiveness. “Honey?” I nearly whisper, not realizing the lump I felt in my throat has taken root in my vocal cords. He looks up and with a peaceful look says “Yes?” And I burst into tears. After a moment, I manage to get out the words “I’m sorry” and ask for forgiveness. Without hesitation, he jumps up from the table and wraps me in a hug as he consoles “All is forgiven, don’t worry. You’re having a hard day and we had a miscommunication.” My “tank of overwhelm” gets a lot lighter but that lump that was in my throat has now settled in my heart. I’m left still wondering if I’m deserving of the forgiveness my husband so freely gives.
A short while later with makeup freshly touched up and a mind far more relaxed, I slip on my shoes and head to tell my husband goodbye as I prepare to head to the final event of this never-ending busy day. As we part ways, I say to him “I truly am sorry for how I treated you earlier. I shouldn’t have been so rude, especially over such a silly little thing.” And he shakes his head and grabs my hand and looking in my eyes reassures “You’ve been forgiven. One of the good things about me is I’m quick to forgive and I’m good at forgetting.” He hugs me tight, and I walk out the door.
As I drive alone in a silent car, I feel immense gratitude for the blessing of a husband who is so good to me, often better to me than I probably deserve. I’m struck by the parallel between my husband and God, in the way the events of the evening played out. My husband teaches me so much about who God is in countless ways each day, but this lesson feels somehow more profound. As I park my car and head into church, I hear God say the words echoed by my husband “You’ve been forgiven. I am quick to forgive and I’m good at forgetting.”
“Lord, you are good and forgiving, most merciful to all who call on you.” Psalm 86:5
When was the last time you went to confession? I apologize for turning the tables and putting the spotlight on you so abruptly, dear reader, but stick with me here. Seriously, when was the last time you went to confession? Last week? Last month? Last year? If you peer into your heart for just a moment, what does it look like? Are you in need of some forgiveness?
Over the past year, I’ve fallen in love with the sacrament of confession. Actually, that statement isn’t totally accurate. Rather, I’ve fallen in love with the merciful God who runs to scoop me up in his arms in the confessional. I’ve developed a thirst for the endless stream of His mercy that flows straight into my heart when I kneel behind the partition in humble prayer. I’ve grown to long for the way the wattage of illumination in my life seems to be turned up each time I leave the church after confession. I’ve fallen, in life and in love, and right into the arms of mercy.
I haven’t always been a fan of confession. In fact, it’s only in the last couple of years that I’ve stopped dreading confession altogether and only recently that I’ve begun to look forward to confession at all. For someone who is already and has always been incredibly hard on herself, the concept of speaking all my failings, shortcomings, and downright ugly messiness aloud, used to send me into a spiral. I had the blessing of attending a Catholic high school where we’d have a communal penance service once or twice a year. My stomach would churn all morning leading up to the moment where I’d inevitably shuffle to the line of the priest I knew the least and bite my cheeks while I stood there waiting for what felt like an eternity. When I finally made it to the priest, I’d run through my list of sins as fast as I could, “rip the band-aid,” right? I always felt better after going, but I never seemed to remember that until after I went.
Now, as an adult, I strive to go to confession once a month, or more often if necessary. If you had told my high school self that my future self would go to confession regularly and actually look forward to it, I would have said “Wait, did I become a nun or something?!” I truly had a false notion that going to confession was something to be ashamed of and only done when absolutely necessary (in other words, when you were highly encouraged to by your high school Theology teacher—thanks Mr. C. and Mr. V.—and gently pressured by the fact that everyone else was going, so you should probably go, too). But confession isn’t something to be avoided or ashamed of. Don’t let fear, shame, or apathy keep you away. And especially, don’t let a false belief of being undeserving of God’s forgiveness prevent you from going to confession. God awaits us in the confessional, ready to pour out His mercy. He runs to meet us, even when we don’t think we’re worthy of His love.
In confession, a priest once told me, “By the grace of God you’re here in confession today not just to tell God your sins, but to allow Him to take the sins away and make room for the goodness He wants to give to you.” Those powerful words totally changed the way I look at confession. Our God is rich in kindness and generosity. He has a plan full of wonderful things for each and every one of us. In Him, the deepest desires of our hearts will be satisfied. Even when we mess up, and in our humanness, choose things contrary to God, even to the point of offending Him, He looks at us not with anger and condemnation, but with mercy and unfailing love. And when we come to Him, hearts full of sin, He swiftly takes those sins away and doesn’t leave us empty. Instead, he fills every nook and cranny with all that is good.
God has so much goodness he desires to give to you, dear sister in Christ. Do you have things that are in the way? God has an endless ocean of mercy ready to spring forth on your soul. Will you humble yourself and receive it? God loves you, even in your messy, broken, human condition, dear sister in Christ. Will you meet him in the confessional and believe it? Will you listen to him as He says, “all is forgiven?”
“Eternal God, in whom mercy is endless and the treasury of compassion – inexhaustible, look kindly upon us and increase Your mercy in us, that in difficult moments we might not despair nor become despondent, but with great confidence submit ourselves to Your holy will which is Love and Mercy itself.” – Divine Mercy Chaplet
Note from the Author: This blog post was originally written for Women at the Well and was published on their blog in October of 2022. Women at the Well is a nonprofit organization dedicated to supporting and empowering Catholic women to grow in Faith + Community. Women at the Well has been such a blessing in my life. Check them out at Women at the Well to find out how you can bring Women at the Well to your parish!
