The Confession

“Apologize?” he asked, “But you—”

“Just listen,” she replied, “It’s a long list and I need you to understand.” She took a deep breath before continuing, “I’m sorry for lying, lying about loving you. I mean, I do love you, but not how I say I do. I’m sorry for letting people and things get in the way of time with you. I feel like I grasp your hand in one moment, but when I need you most, I let go. As I’m falling I helplessly and hopelessly grab for anyone’s hand, yet to no avail: I fall without you. And that’s what really matters—that I’m without you. I’m sorry for going without you. I’m sorry for promising to change, but I keep falling and the scraped hands and bloody knees are enough to keep me broken on the floor.

“I’m sorry for failing to find my strength and complete joy in you. I ask you to strengthen me, yet when you do, I complain and ask you to stop. I know you’re strengthening me but I hate feeling so weak. Your joy is the only kind that satisfies, yet I’ve left it to a side, expecting to find more elsewhere. I’m sorry. Your joy should be enough for my pain. I’m sorry for taking your love for granted, for allowing my fears—” her voice broke and after a pause she continued, “for allowing my fears build walls that try to keep your love out. I’m sorry for basing my idea of you off of my relationships with others. I’m sorry for doubting your goodness. I’m sorry for expecting you to let me down. You never have, yet in my heart I keep waiting for the day that, you too, will fail me. I’m sorry for not making time to be with you, for waiting until the end of the day, if there’s time to spend time with you. I’m sorry for not making you first in my life. I’m sorry for lying as I sing. I tend to forget the value of the words that I’m singing, so I’m sorry for proclaiming things that are not true in me.”

She pursed her lips and closed her eyes, “I’m sorry for pretending to follow in your footsteps. I say pretending because I tell you I do, and I tell others I do, yet I fail to see your footsteps in front of me before I take a step. I don’t wait to find your path; I’m too impatient to wait for your timing. There’s a selfish beast inside that snarls when you ask me to follow. I’m sorry for that—for keeping the beast inside, instead of doing everything possible to kill it. I’m sorry for saying that I trust you, yet I withhold the most basic aspects from you.”

She sighed and he began to interrupt, “But you don’t—”

“No. I need to finish. I’m sick of keeping this inside and letting the secrets and shame rot within,” she countered. Another breath. Pause—as if pausing would erase reason to voice the thoughts that were going through her mind. Pause—as if pausing would make this not be as real as it was. Her mouth opened, a tear slipped down her cheek and with her eyes still closed, she continued, “I’m sick of being broken and I’m sorry for telling everyone that only you can heal, yet I seem to be ashamed of showing you all my shattered pieces. I look for any magnet to hold, a magnet that will pull me together, but without you in the center, I’ll always be a body hosting a broken heart. I’m sick of being independent and self-sufficient, but most importantly I’m sorry for trying. I want you to pick up every piece of me, and I want you to put me together. I want you to hold my hand every day, and I want you to guide each footstep I take. I’m sorry for lying about what I want with every single action I take.”

The tears the streamed down her face continued, but the silent crying erupted into gasping sobs. He reached over to comfort her, but she pushed him aside and sat up abruptly.

“I’m not finished. There’s more,” she stammered. “I’m sorry for misrepresenting you time and time again. I’m sorry that, because of me, some won’t want to come to you. I said I wanted to be like you and follow you, and bring others to you, yet because of my stubborn selfishness, I’ve pushed many away. I’m sorry that you asked me to love how you love, yet I fail to even love myself. I’m sorry for saying I believe you, but when you tell me I’m yours and I’m fine the way I am, I’m sorry for not believing. I’m sorry for not feeding the poor or sacrificing myself for others. I’m sorry for not making you evident in every single area of my life. I’m sorry for being a broken mirror that’s trying to reflect you, but fails”

The sobs overcame her once again and this time, when he reached out and hugged her, she didn’t resist. Everything within her was collapsing. As he comforted her, a strange sense of peace, a peace that surpasses understanding began to fill her. The broken, sharp pieces inside suddenly didn’t seem so sharp. In Jesus’ arms, it didn’t matter that she was falling apart. He seemed to be the only one who could hold her together anyway.

“My daughter, this is why I died for you.”