A Confession of Sorts

How odd.

I almost got my wish today.

I went to Wal-Mart. In the lane next to me, who do I see but Ireland. He darts off an access road. I continue down the main road.

Our cars meet back up in the Wal-Mart parking lot. He pulls a u-turn and leaves.

I stay.

And walk dazed around the store for about thirty minutes.

And I couldn't help but wonder, if this is  somewhat like how Jesus feels about us.

I know Ireland lied; I know he's cowardly. But still, I liked him so much, and weirdly enough, I still care about him quite a bit.

And more than anything, I want him of his own free will to come to me, to say I'm sorry. And then I would say, "that's all I ever wanted. Forgiven, forgotten." And I'd be there with wide open arms.

And while aimlessly wandering around the aisles of Wal-Mart, I thought, I wonder if this is how Jesus feels about us when we sin and don't go to confession.

When we almost get there, but then turn around because of our cowardice, because we're afraid of punishment, because we know what we've done is wrong and we're ashamed.

But on the other side, Jesus is just sitting, just hoping, praying, waiting, wishing to talk to us. He's not angry; he's upset and misses us. He just wants to forgive and forget and move on.

I would think that is somewhat what it is like.