Secrets. Transparency. Stuff it and Move On. Confession. Not Hurting Others. Only Hurting Self.
I have heard the theme of these all week long. Betrayal. Addiction. Relationship. Sin. Theft. Greed.
Do you realize that Satan holds the players in his hands too? Through Shame. Guilt. Fear.
He tricks us into hiding. Building on the story line of embarrassment and guilt. How many days will build into years – as we hold on to the sins of the past. Maybe of those no one could ever know about? We tuck it away. Silent. he has tricked us into believing we are safer this way. Our families are safer.
I write. I used to journal more on paper. I have learned the truth of James when he says to confess your sins before man.
Sometimes when we confess our sins to the Lord in silent prayer – it keeps the sins selfish. When we confess our sins to man – it is a release. What is released? They are already forgiven – forgotten from the east to the west. - It is us. We give it up. Give up the hiding. Give up the struggle. Laid down. Empty of what we are holding.
And when we are empty – then – He can fill us up.
The Lord asks us to become like children – Sometimes it makes me roll my eyes – more often though I know. I spend enough time listening to learn more from them than they will ever glean from me.
A little boy comes up to me yesterday. Sounding overly chipper. A fake chipper. “I’m going to make a card!!!”. Ok, I answer. He heaves his craft box onto the school desk. Not the right card in there. May he use some of my fancy paper? It needs to be fancy I’m told. Yes – my reply as I reach for my card stock. Behind us several bins store years of my passion of sending note cards out.
Who is your card for?
I smile wide – waiting for the the expected answer of his Mimi. She sent a flyer about sea glass tucked in with a Happy Beach Day Card ad some monies for some salt water taffy and a bright round swirled sucker.
“It’s for my Friend. . .” He speaks slower. Quieter. I owe him a card.
Oh his friend. Again I wait for the expected remembrances retold of the great cards and objects they have mailed back and forth this past year, and even when we lived in the same town.
“I told him about the coin. Last week. He didn’t even remember.”
The paper sits on the table. I wait on the table as well.
Quickly, it comes out – “We were digging at the rock – and I saw the quarter – but he saw it first – but I grabbed it first – and it was old.”
“Do you think I’ll need double sticky tape or glue?”
He runs off, and comes back with the coin - how great the coin is. The value. The Differences. The Age. The Composition. It’s monetary auction value – that he supposes it must be. And he confesses.
“I told My Friend about it. His dad could really do something great with this. I have to mail it back. Could you write the note? I can’t write it.”
He pours out his little heart in a paragraph. If his friend remembers – the paragraph will have meaning. But none as great as on this little boy’s heart. I lay down the paper, it is shorter than his told story. And urge him to write it. To form the words. And he does.
Spirit lifted – he asks to choose brighter paper. The Paper Cutter. The gift will be given. He’s concerned about the tape on the Coin.
I address the envelope and he rushes out to the mailbox. I do not hear about the coin all day.
But – I do. I hear a story about family secrecy. Of the need to say a simple I’m Sorry. I hear it over and over. From each person I speak to today. They can tell their stories to others. Over email. On the phone. But not in person. Not to the one that needs to hear it.
And I ponder this morning. What coin are you holding today? This coin was found at a week long camp, a year and a half ago. In Mr. Messy’s Room. And yet, The Spirit must have been bringing it to the surface. Each time the enemy attacked a tiny boy’s heart – and told him to hide it away.
Are you listening? FIVE MINUTES of obedience. VERY FEW WORDS are needed. How long would you be embarrassed after? How long have you been holding your coin already? How heavy has it become? Give it back. Let it go. Make an empty space. Give Him the yoke.
Tell your story. Out loud. Say you’re sorry.
I think a little boy would tell you it was worth it.