Confessions...

I was maybe 5 or 6 years old at the time, and it was a typical balmy late spring in south-central Texas. San Antonio was already a "big city" then, the suburban sprawl had just begun, and my grandparents lived in a new subdivision, with big lots and too many neighborhood kids to keep track of.  When we got in the way, the adults just sent Melisa and me outside to play without a worry for our safety; there were plenty of older kids outside to keep track of us.

The details are necessarily vague, but the story I've been told goes something like this:  We came in the house after being gone for a long outside play-time.  Dad reports we looked positively green and were obviously distressed.  The adults noticed (that's a comfort...) and took to getting out of us what the matter was.  As I understand it, Melisa tearfully burst out with The Confession, "I Smoked!"  The adults may have jumped out of their seats in alarm (Mom) or covered a chuckle (Dad and Paw Paw) or just laughed outright (MawMaw) but saw our real penitence and sorrow for the sin we had committed and our accompnying physical distress, and soon sympathized and consoled and wanted to know all the details of the big, buck-toothed down-the-street neighbor pre-teen who brought out her parents' cigarettes just to tease and bully the little innocent children.  We were comforted and told it would make us sick, it was bad for us, we should never do it again (the story has never been too clear on my part in all this, but I am reported to have smoked too, but not to have been as forthright as Melisa. Surprised?)

Last night one of my dear ones came into my room with many tears and so much distress and passionately confessed a troubling error and sin which had been weighing on a little heart and soul...I didn't feel an urge to spring from my bed in alarm or cover a chuckle, but as I took that child in my arms to comfort that sorrow, I felt so many feelings... gratitude for a relationship of trust, sorrow for the pain we suffer as the consequence of mistakes, such great love for my beautiful children, my parents, my grandparents -  a whole ancestry of people watching over them , and I dare say fear for the future they will face, even the present they face each day.

They are strong, and they have so much courage that today I'm left to reflect on the integrity they are growing, and on my calling as their teacher here. This child's confession isn't an isolated incident, and while I'm taking a lifetime to develop the moral courage to face my faults and sins, my kids come to me regularly and tell me what they've done and thought and how they want to change.  They give each other advice and ask me not to do things they think are wrong.  Sometimes I am amused (sometimes saddened) at all they still have to teach me.  I should probably try a confessional with my children.

I think I'd feel better.