I was raised Catholic. Not strict Catholic, but I did attend mass and catechism until I was confirmed in high school. One thing I remember clearly was receiving the Sacrament of Penance, otherwise known as confession, at a very early age. As a kid, this idea of confessing my sins, all the things I had done wrong, to a priest, an adult, was so crazy to me that I usually lied. Under normal circumstances, if you told an adult what you had done wrong, you’d get in trouble, right? So I would usually make vague things up, like “I was mean to my little sister” or “I was mean to my friend,” things I thought they wanted to hear. I could have said, “I sneaked into my neighbor’s garage and stole a sticker from her sticker collection” or “I trapped a cat under a box by luring it there with bologna” (both true, by the way), but I didn’t want to get nailed.
As an adult, I think I understand it a little better. Other than the religious underpinnings which were far too complicated for me to understand as a child, it seems like a form of therapy. I could use a little of that today. I have a confession that would go a little something like this:
Me: Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been…well…a very long time since my last confession, and even then, I think I was probably lying so maybe I’ve never even done a true confession.
Priest: There is no better time than the present, my child.
Me: Something has been eating at me, poking me in the head whenever I have a moment to myself, making me feel guilty for doing other things in my free time. I know I should do it, but then other important things take priority like laundry, cooking, cleaning, or even unimportant things like checking my email or writing blog posts. I imagine I’ll get to it, but then I don’t.
Priest: What is it? You can tell me.
Me: Well, we have all of these wonderful friends and family who have gotten our son, Griffin, all of these amazing things like clothes, toys, and books. We are SO thankful for them, and I think of each person when we put him in those clothes, or read him those books. I really am so appreciative for all of the care and thought that has gone into each gift, but…I just haven’t written the thank you notes. I mean really, it was a miracle I wrote all of them for our wedding, and now with a baby, free time has taken on a whole new meaning. I even bought them all and they’re just sitting there staring at me saying, “Write me! Write me!” My whole life I’ve struggled with the Thank You Note. In my head and heart, I’m so utterly thankful. It’s the writing it and sending it that is some sort of block for me. I want to. I really do. But…
Priest: You want to be absolved of writing thank you notes?
Me: Yes.
Priest: I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do for you.
Me: Come again?
Priest: Ms. Manners trumps all in this case. No matter how late they are, you just have to write them. You can say a few Hail Marys and Our Fathers while you’re writing them, but it’s got to get done. Have you thought about developing a schedule? Do a few each day? Get your husband involved? That way it won’t feel so overwhelming.
Me: Uhh…This isn’t exactly what I was expecting. But you’re right. A schedule. Andrew involved. I can handle that. Thank you, Father. I feel much better.
And then I’m sure the priest would want to talk to me about my lack of church attendance in the past 15 years.
Anyway, this is all to say that I truly am thankful for everything – the gifts, the time, the love, the support – that Andrew and I have gotten since Griffin came into the world. The thank you notes are coming. Eventually.
