Confession is good for the soul

The actual quote seems to be An open confession is good for the soul, a 17th century Scottish proverb.  Answers.com  If the quote is in fact from the 1640's, the idea of confession may well have had one of two meanings, or perhaps both: (1) the modern-day common understanding of admitting fault or wrongdoing; and/or (2) confession as public proclamation, as in a confession of faith.  The History of the Church of Scotland  Given that the quote originates in Scotland where the conflict between Protestants and Catholics was on-going well into the 17th century (some would even say into today), “open confession” may well also have meant a repudiation of the Roman Catholic practice of private confession, penitent to priest, in favor of admission of fault before the Kirk, but that meaning is for another time.

It’s raining today in the Virginia highlands and rainy days lend themselves to the admitting-fault kind of confessing; it is most often the sunshine that calls forth the heralding-of-faith kind of confession, the joyful proclamation, “I believe . . .” bursting forth adoration into The Cosmos which seems poised to adore back.

But rainy days also invite faith confessing – without the need for reciprocation.

And so it is in a rainy day meandering way that I confess . . .

I confess that I am a work in progress . . .

I confess that I am filled with pride . . .

I confess that I love God and that I believe that God, for no good reason that I can understand, adores us, adores me . . .

I confess that I can’t take what I dish out . . .

I confess that I lack many of the skills necessary to be good at my job . . .

I confess a desire to be loved . . .

I confess being surrounded by a beautiful creation that ever bids my attentions heavenward toward the Divine Hand which made all things . . .

I confess to having absolutely no idea how to achieve even my own microscopic part of God’s kingdom in the here and now . . .

I confess that birdsong sometimes moves me to tears . . . cello music too . . . and the deaths of strangers as well as friends . . . and sunshine on a fall day . . . and getting my feelings hurt . . . and hugs . . . and a black cat named Sidney . . .

I confess that my sins are both lesser and greater than I own . . .

I confess that though cracked, my walls run high . . .

I confess that Jesus is the Lord of my life, but I don’t often act as if He is . . .

I confess that hard as it may be to get out of bed, there’s no place I’d rather be on Sunday morning than in church . . .

I confess that I do not aspire to mountain-tops and their experiences – I am a woman of the hollows and valleys in between . . .

I confess that I was not the mother I should have been and am only slowly becoming the woman and mother I would like to be . . .

I confess that I want more time but often do not use the time I’ve been given wisely or well . . .

I confess that meetings and groups defeat me . . .

I confess that when I'm angry, there's lots of collateral damage . . .

I confess that I suck the air out of a room (so I’ve been told often enough to believe it to be true) . . .

I confess that I am a woman blessed beyond measure . . . graced with a God who cares as well as saves, loves more than judges, guides more than leads, and forgives before being asked . . .

I confess that God is God and I am not . . .