We Wait, Eyes to the Ground
“No,” she pulls a blanket up over her head. I know you want to hide, I want to say. Confession makes us feel naked even with all of the weight of hiding on top of us. I know where she is, but I ask for her to show herself anyway. Coming face to face with the one you’re confessing to is important. I know it from the garden. I know it in my bones. Her six-year-old voice whimpers below the Anna and Elsa blanket. “You’ll be mad at me.”
The Father’s Not Tsk-Tsk’ing
He's not sighing or sulking. He is more eager to forgive than we are to sin.