I will admit that I'm a dork and here's the proof: I couldn't wait to do my first Confession! I was so anxious I think because here I was attending Mass and RCIA every week without this huge dirty cloud of sin and general ickiness hanging over me. Ugh, how could anyone sit behind me during Mass? Could they even see through that swampy mess?
Anyway, the priest and I finally made an appointment so that I could make my first confession. I was smiling going in but once I closed the door and sat in the chair across from the Father, I realized that I was now in a molasses nightmare. A molasses nightmare is where the guy with the chainsaw, jello shots, and baggy pants is chasing you and the atmosphere has turned into thick molasses, filling your nose and brain with sticky goo. The gift of a moveable let alone pliable tongue left me. I lost all sensation of peripheral vision.
Fortunately I had a list of sin hints to help me because I'd pretty much forgotten everything that I absolutely had to confess (except the big one, which the priest already knew about). For you cradle Catholics, let me just tell you that forty odd years (YEARS) of sins is overwhelming. Especially if your motto in your twenties and thirties was to live like you mean and leave an ugly corpse. So I read down the list, alphabetically. Mumbling. I'd say the word, sink a little deeper into my chair, squirm, say another word. I think I might have even confessed to something that was physically impossible.
I have to say that I've read how other people leave the confessional feeling awesome but for me, I've got to get out of the shadow of that little room and into a pew before I start feeling squeaky clean and filled with peace and light. It's the monster who lived under the basement stairs or in the barn at night all over again. I wasn't at all worried about the creepy green and putrefying claws until I turned out the last light and was heading back towards the light in the house or at the top of the stairs. Then I knew with absolute certainty that it was coming for me. I could feel the very tips of those poison-dripping hands reaching for the back of my neck. RUN!
"What's wrong?" Asked Mom as I slid into the safety of the light.
"Hmm? Oh, nothing. Nothing." Breathe.
I love going to confession, so if you're behind me in line, know that I'll be grinning and smiling encouragingly (dork-like) before I go in.
But don't stand too close to the door when I come out, I'll be moving quick.