Getting naked is part of the journey toward true confession.
~ tweeted by Denver Community Church

During this season of Lent, I’ve tried to think in terms of nakedness.  Not as in without clothes, but in terms of my soul’s exposure.  What do I need to change?  What do I need to remove and not include in my persona going forward?  I’m trying to open myself up and not hide. 
Confession is good, right?  Good for the soul?  Isn’t that what [they] say?

Friday morning I went to the post office.  I had a letter to pick up that wasn’t mailed with adequate postage.  The USPS is not willing to front me the .45 necessary to successfully deliver it, so I headed in with my little “attempted delivery” slip.  There were a few people in line.  There was one postal worker behind the counter.   The worker was enjoying a conversation with the customer she was assisting.  While she [ever so slowly] worked, she chatted away with him.  He was a senior, as in citizen.  He had a young girl with him.  I commented to the lady behind me in line.  I pointed out the customer didn’t seem to be in any hurry.  The lady behind me agreed and seemed agitated, needing to get her little girl somewhere before heading to work.  As time continued to pass [again, ever so slowly] I became more impatient.  Then it hit me.  I realized who the elderly gentleman and the girl were.  They’re in our program.  As in one of the initiatives  my workplace offers.  He’s a grandpa raising his granddaughter.  Just the two of them, on their own.  I drove the girl to a Christmas party this past December.  I took her home, found out her grandpa had taken public transportation to Walmart, and wasn’t able to get back until the bus schedule allowed.  I escorted her to a friend’s for safe keeping until he could return.  

I can’t imagine being raised by my grandpa.  No mom.  No grandma.  No sister in the house.   There have to be some major difficulties there.  Yet they’re doing their best.  I was at the post office at 8:20 a.m.  I’m guessing the girl should have been in school by then.  

Needless to say, I felt crappy when I realized who was holding up the line.  I know a bit of their story.  Not much of it, really just a very small part.  Yet enough to know frustration toward them is unmerited in this situation.  I need to extend some grace.  So I confess that.

Confession is good, right?  Good for the soul?  Isn’t that what [they] say?

I know, as in absolutely know, I need to become better acquainted with my neighbors.  I’ve lived in my house for just over a year, and I’ve not bothered to do this.  I wave if I see them outside.  I say hello, maybe chat a bit.  But I’ve never purposefully set out to get to know them.  The four houses closest to us are filled with folks that are very different from each other.  Different ages, different races, different backgrounds, different stories altogether.  I know that much, yet I need to find out more.  Not just so I can say I did, but because I really should know my neighbors, right?

Confession is good, right?  Good for the soul?  Isn’t that what [they] say?

I worked the gate at a high school band fundraiser yesterday.  Which means I took $8 from everyone over the age of 6, who came to watch an indoor percussion and color guard competition.  Many people grumbled about the cost.  Many obviously lied [in front of their child] about their child’s age so they could get in free.  Senior citizens asked about a discount [there isn’t one].  Military people asked about a discount [there isn’t one].  People with eight year olds complained they had to pay full price for their kids.  I tried to smile.  Despite what many seemed to convey, I don’t set the prices for these things.  I’m just a band mom.  A band mom who doesn’t care to work in concessions and deal with nacho cheese all day.  One lady grumbled about tax dollars.  I don’t believe this event had anything to do with taxes, although she was there to watch a private school perform, so maybe she feels everything that occurs in a public school has to do with taxes.  Strange.  A mom dropped off her son to watch his girlfriend perform, yet didn’t bring money for him to get in.  She asked if we could locate his girlfriend so she could pay.  What a cool mom.  Asking a 15 year old girl to loan your kid $8.  Again, they were from the private school.  I’m seeing a theme here. . . . Anyhow, seven hours filled with public interaction.  A day that can make one dislike most people, a bit more than usual.  Yet, thinking back to the above mentioned grandpa and granddaughter, I realize everyone has more of a story than I know.  A grumbler over $8 might have gotten laid off last week.  A grumbler might be dealing with a teenager with major issues and challenges.  A grumbler might be dealing with a husband who hit her last night.  

So, I once again confess.  I’m not always patient and I’m not always kind.  I don’t always have a lot of hope for people.  Sometimes I don’t feel like I can make any real difference or that anyone really cares if I even try.  Which of course, is not a positive outlook.  So, I confess again.  And attempt to try harder.

Confession is good, right?  Good for the soul?  Isn’t that what [they] say?

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