By Kevin B. Howell
Family gatherings can be dangerous. Yeah it’s great to get together to share laughs and love, but sooner or later, people start to tell stories of yesteryear. Sure it’s fun to travel down memory lane of your childhood and reminisce with your siblings about all the crazy stuff you guys used to do. But, there are also plenty of embarrassing stories. Mine is the infamous “spaghetti tale.” And apparently, no talk of my childhood is complete without it. Here’s what went down:
One night, when I was about 5, mom cooked spaghetti for dinner (by the way, mom makes the best spaghetti this side of Sicily). Later that night, around the witching hour, when everyone was sleep, I crept to the kitchen for another, unauthorized helping of the aforementioned spaghetti…actually, I stuck my head in the fridge and hand-fed myself some of the meat sauce. As soon as I was satiated and closed the fridge, the kitchen light came on and my dad was standing there, looking rather menacing in his PJs. Then he asked: “Kevin, have you been eating the spaghetti?” Trap question. If I told the truth, then I would be in trouble…yet if I lied, would he really buy it? Of course this dilemma was too daunting for a 5-year-old, so I instinctively responded “no.” Not a bad response…if there hadn’t been pasta sauce dripping down the front of my white T-shirt! Needless to say, what proceeded was the worst beating of my life.
Fessing up has never been easy. It’s like surrendering your fate without a fight. Maybe honesty brought leniency, but I wouldn’t know since I didn’t choose that path too much. It just seemed like admitting a wrong brought inevitable punishment, not to mention humiliation and shame. Concealment seems easier than confession. At least that’s what comes natural to us (see: Adam & Eve, circa the beginning of time). I guess old habits die hard, because I brought that same mind-set into my relationship with Christ. In a faith built on forgiveness, I still find it hard sometimes to face my (heavenly) Father.
It’s not that I’m trying to hide something from God—and really, has anyone ever been successful doing that?—it’s more of a guilt complex. I’m flawed. And I’m perpetually in the process of trying to fix my flaws. But some of them persists, and therein lies the problem. How can I be forgiven for this…again? How can I admit to this…again? So I don’t. I live with this complex, knowing that He knows that I screwed up, but not coming to Him. So the relationship is severed, not because of my sin, but because of my shame.
These guilt trips are a trip, because the longer I stay on them, the farther I get from God. If I’d come to Him with my fault right away, I’d start fresh right away. Instead, I wallow in regret for a week, wishing the weight could lift off me. It’s a rather silly predicament when you think about it, but it’s all too common, because we perceive God the wrong way. We tend to think of Him in human terms, so it’s hard for us to comprehend someone accepting us after we screw up so many times. But God knows who He’s dealing with, and for some reason, He delights in us coming to Him to get cleaned up. So this year, I vowed to get off the guilt trips, and go straight to God. That’s what He’s always wanted anyway.
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