Yesterday, some friends were helping me paint my kitchen when it was decided that we should pull out the refrigerator.  Shame covered me.  My heart sank.  It was worse than going to confession.  My sins of omission and commission lay in greasy, dusty tangles and lumps on the floor–not even within a darkened stall, behind a door or curtain, but out in the sunlight for all to see.

(Forgive me, for I have sinned.)

“How long has it been since you’ve done this?” they asked.

(Through my fault, through my most grievous fault…)

They laughed and vacuumed away the filth, washed the floor (whiter than snow), painted the wall, and gave me a fresh start.  Forgiven.

3 thoughts on “Forgiven

  1. Me thinks you have got something here in your writing. Please keep it up but don’t let the local paper editor see it.

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