My First Confession

I remember my first time of hiding from God.

Rewind the memories to the first confession in the Catholic church of childhood. Walking shaking from the jubilant stained glass colors into the back room dark and awaiting the utterance of my sins.

A priest asks my 7-year-old self what I would like to confess to God. I had been taught that He already knew, but somehow I waned to belittle the sin. Wrap it in a nicer package, tie it up with a bow, paint over the rotting in brighter colors, spray fragrance on the stench.
I carefully confessed a silly story about how my mother told me to pour some milk and I went to fast and spilled it.

I did not confess the screaming matches we would get in as she combed my knotted curls.
I did not confess the lies about making my bed, nor the times I had laughed at the less popular boy in my second grade class as my friends made fun of him.

I purposely sugar-coated my confession to the God who knows it all, sees the nastiest of my thoughts and darkest of my sins.

I stand now in this 20-year-old body struggling to wrap my feeble mind around this knowing.
This frightening knowing. 

Realizing that God even saw right through that my fearful plan meant to hide, to still seem good to the God who loves me anyway, constructed on that day of confession.

Realizing that God sees every time I turn away from Him for something else.
Realizing that God sees every less that lovely intention.
Realizing that God knows every moment I've doubted His capabilities.
Realizing that God knows every time I've consciously turned my back as He pursues me in passionate love.
Realizing God is well aware, knows intimately every thought I've had where I believe a size 0 pair of jeans or a career in the Air Force would replace the real joy indulgent, His real joy.

But after all of this, I find comfort in something that I did not fully know seated in that dim room, confessing to some man in a robe, antsy and palms sweaty.

Knowing the love spread on a cross and a Savior who willingly bled in humiliation and felt every pain known to humankind and felt separation from the Creator of love and joy and freedom.

Knowing He chose to do that despite all these sins He completely sees and understands.

What need I hide? Jesus victorious conquered any condemnation, trampled any punishment for what I've done. In confessing the dirt that inhabits my soul, I need not fear. I need not play my games of deceit with my Creator who knows my heart, my soul, my pains and what sets my heart on fire with joy, better than I ever will.