Last night, sometime after the baby screamed for an hour and another child wet the bed, and my thoughts went from Black to Blacker, it occurred to me that it’s probably time for Confession again.
We all know that as mothers and fathers, there is nothing more important and effective we can do, than to model the faith. Let your children see you pray. Let your children see you receive the sacraments, especially Confession.
Now this is no easy feat for our family. Not anymore, anyway. Back in the D.B.C.* it was never a problem, though. If I wanted to go, I’d go. At the time I lived in St. Paul, MN, where it seemed Catholic churches sat at every corner, offering confessions at all times. No lines either, that I can remember. Sin on Tuesday night? Not a problem. Confession on Wednesday.
It’s a whole new ballgame now, however. Those of you with bigger families will understand. The confession lines where we live are always long, and I’ve got three children that need to confess too. And four others that need supervising. So, it’s load them up Saturday afternoon – we certainly cannot make it before a week day Mass – and stand in line for an hour.
This is always an interesting hour for any lookers-on, for my husband and I dump the three little ones in a pew to fend for themselves, while we rush to get a spot in line with the three older ones and the baby. Yep, the six-year-old takes “care” of the one-year-old, while the four-old-year sings and giggles. I can tell you, we’ve been humbled again and again.
But you know what? God understands. No, it’s not easy, but it’s worth it.
So, go to confession.
*D.B.C. Days Before Children. You know, that magical time, when you could sleep in. And go to the bathroom by yourself. And go to confession willy-nilly, just about anytime.