there's a candle lit for you

An old friend once said, "Confession gives the heart a chance to know that it doesn't have to hold it all in." I have never been more nervous about confessing.

10 December, 2009
I was sitting in homeroom when seniors with last names beginning with N through S were called down to the gymnasium for Confession. Reluctantly, I made my way through the crowded doorway and trudged down the stairs. I remember marveling over how many seniors were heading towards the gym, until it hit me that it was still homeroom, and they sold bagels in the commons. The lonely road began when I passed the cliques near the food lines and entered the gym lobby. I signed in at the table and followed the candlelit pathway through the gym doors. A powerpoint played with reflection questions following the Commandments and the Beatitudes. The first slide I saw read, "Why do we skip Mass?" This was my chance to leave. I don't skip mass. I attend weekly with my parents. If this doesn't apply to me, then I don't need to go, do I? Besides, I asked Fr. Tim about it once during my independent study and we learned that the Church only requires Confession once a year if you've committed a mortal sin. I haven't murdered anyone lately and I'm pretty sure I haven't consented to any moral failures, so technically I could have gone back to class. However, my upbringing dragged my conscience into a chair and I sat down to wait my turn.

Between the two seatings of chairs was a multi-candle holder, holding about fifty candles, lit and unlit, with a lighter underneath. Some students had lit candles for deceased parents, grandparents, or anyone for whom they had a particular special intention. I had done this type of thing before, but I had lit candles for all of my special intentions, so I did not get up to light a candle. I sat, waited, dreaded the moments to come.

Another wave of seniors came in before the juniors were called. I waited for the courage to go. It did not come. The bell for fifth hour rang. I sat. The late bell rang. Still, I sat. A list began forming in my mind of all I had to say to the priest. But my mind wandered and I had to begin again numerous times. As the list got longer, my mind wandered further. I began to think about my fellow drum majors, particularly how I treated Joe. He and I had talked about my behavior in the past three months, and I had apologized for being such a censored word. I added that to my list. Further yet, I thought of two of my closest friends, Justin and Lauren, and how much I had hurt them in the recent weeks. I hurt Justin in the worst way possible, and treated Lauren as though she was worth nothing. I added two more items to my list. The last two seniors got up to see an available priest. I took a deep breath, lifted myself from the chair, and somberly walked first to take a votive candle, then to the priest I had been eyeing for a few minutes. He had just arrived, and had yet to hear a Confession. No judgements. I wouldn't be compared to anyone.

I set the candle on the floor next to me and recited the opening prayer. My first Confession was that I didn't know when I had last confessed. I don't remember having gone last Lent or the Advent before, and I know I hadn't confessed in between. After an awkward pause, I realized the priest was waiting for me to continue. The list spilled from my mouth in a whirlwind of stuttered words and fear of embarrassment. I forgot things; I said the same things twice, three times. I couldn't look him in the eye.

He didn't even ask if i was sorry. Not even a wink of curiosity. he already knew I was. A part of my penance was to perform a random act of kindness or two. After saying my Act of Contrition, I couldn't breathe. My head bowed nearly between my shaking knees as the priest spoke the words of absolution. The final words broke me. "I absolve you from all of your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit."

I shook the man's hand and left the confessional in tears. After returning the candle to its table for another student's use, I hobbled to my chair bawling.

I don't deserve forgiveness, I cried to my Father. Why did you give this to me? I don't deserve it. I don't deserve Your forgiveness. I hurt him, Father. I hurt him deeply.

Just as I was beginning to calm down, a friend of mine came down in a group of juniors and sat at the end of my row. I tried not to be obvious about my crying, but I was shaking too hard. He slid down the row, put his arm around me, and asked if I was okay. I nodded, then burst into tears for the second time that day. But there was no point in hiding it any longer. Someone had noticed, so I let the tears come. I cried in his arms for what seemed like hours, but was only minutes. Someone gave him a pile of Kleenex for me. I was finally calmed, and he allowed himself to confess himself. He returned momentarily to pat my leg, pray, and head back to class. I sat in a solemn silence for too long. The two bells rang for sixth hour, but I didn't get up. Another friend passed my chair and asked if I was okay. I nodded with a convincing "yes." She said, "You sure? You look like you're crying." I laughed. "I'm not crying." It was the truth. She went to Confession and left the gymnasium.

Sixth hour was my religion class, and my teacher was hearing confessions so I had nowhere to go. I just sat there watching the powerpoint repeat itself over and over again. The same ten Commandments, the same eight Beatitudes, the same reflection questions. I answered each one of them to myself. The more I read, the more I answered, the more I thought.

As I left the gym, I lit a candle for him. For how much I hurt him, for how much I loved him, and for how much I wished it did have to end the way it did. That day at lunch, I bought cookies for Joe. He did a double take. I tossed them across the table to him, and he said, "Oh, thanks!" But after I said, "you're welcome," he didn't realize I actually meant it. I told him to go ahead; I bought them for him. He ate them with a smile on his face.

So if you're reading this, know that I miss your friendship. I miss the laughs we had together and even the crying we shared. I wish that things would clear up between us. But until then, there's a candle lit for you.

Thanks

I woke up this morning feeling strangely confident and happy. I have no idea why. The night before, I had had a conversation about some things that aren't exactly perfect in life right now. For some reason, I just couldn't shut up about them. I kept bringing these two topics up at any possible moment. Last night, a very good friend of mine told me that he noticed this, and I was slightly caught off guard. I think I knew that I kept talking about these topics, but I wasn't ready to admit that I was becoming a little bit obsessive. Well, after being caught off guard, I started thinking about it. By the time I had gone to bed, I started feeling bad for acting so obsessive about these topics. In the morning, when I woke up, I was completely over it. I felt so happy and confident; I felt like nothing was wrong. And nothing is wrong. Life is good. I'm glad I have the life I was given, the family and friends that I have, and especially the people that tell me to shut up when I need to. Thanks, guys.

Exhaustion

Out of curiosity, how many of you check the dates of which I post these things? Or do you just read them? I just read yours, if you have one. Though sometimes they are very important.

If you are trying to make a point, then later change your mind, it is good for those reading it to see that when they wrote a blog post on this date, it was before some other happenings, which is why there is a contradictory statement a few days (or the next day, in this case) written in a new post on the blog.

Sure, logic is not always the best thing. But sometimes you need it to get through some things. You don't want to hurt anyone, but sometimes that is necessary in order to make amends. And if you do it only for that reason, the person you have to hurt won't be hurt for long.

And then sometimes the person is only hurt because of exhaustion. After a good night's sleep, they will feel much better. And because I'm Anne, I have to throw in something random. That leather jacket was really soft.

I skipped dinner for THIS?

So I found out today that I have a non-commenting reader of my blog.

Logic is evil. Why are we too logical? I mean, logic is good in small quantities. But any more than a slightly-more-than-normal amount is not very good for healthy... healthy anythings.

Well, hiding things is bad, too. But that's a different story that hasn't reached the press yet.

High School Relationships

Some people say they're fun.
Some people say they're pointless.
I say they're both.
Not that I would know.
But from other people's experiences,
One can figure it out.

Mom says that when you're in college, dating is different. You don't have to give his entire family history to your parents, and you don't have a curfew. Your parents trust you enough to figure out who you can date on your own, and be smart about it. She says you might look for marriage material, but just going out for dinner with someone who you don't expect to marry is really okay.

In high school, your mom asks who he is, what extracurriculars he's involved in, what kind of grades he gets, if he has siblings, and if so, how many, if his parents are still together, does he do drugs or drink, who he's friends with, do I know him, and be back by 11:30pm sharp! (even though I'll be asleep by then...) High school relationships rarely last, but if you have the harmless type, it can be fun while it does. For everyone who told me this, I'll take your word for it.