Be Not Afraid: Confessions of a First Confession

By: Joy Frystak

       At the age of 33, I was happily going through my RCIA classes, eager to learn more and more and connect further and further with my faith. I really felt the presence of Christ in my heart and soul and anticipated the Easter Vigil when I was to be confirmed. Life couldn’t get any better. Until…

March 2, 2008 is a day that changed my entire life. I was informed that I had to make my first

confession. It was as though the record needle had scratched my entire existence. Immediately I thought of every pen I had swiped along the way, the Avon calendar Chapstick I took from my sister (Christmas 1982), and the Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups that

inadvertently fell into my pocket (spring 1979). I broke out into a cold sweat, my hands trembled and I immediately felt like running for the door. I was told that this “confession” was to happen the morning of my confirmation. My fellow peers asked me if that was going to be enough time. I gave my nervous laugh and shrugged my shoulders. I left class that day with a piece of paper that was to assist in my examination of conscience. Just what I needed, instructions on how to hang my dirty laundry!

Up to this point, I was content with my skeletons in their appropriate closet. I knew that God knew what I had done, and somehow I felt that on my judgment day, he and I would do a little cleaning with an understanding that I didn’t really mean to hit my brother in the eye with that plastic bat, it just kind of “slipped” (summer 1987). And certainly by no means did I intend to elude that I hadn’t participated in a little incident that involved toilet paper, shaving cream, a school bus and eventually a squad car. It was nothing more than being in the wrong place at the wrong time (fall 1991). But there I was, forced to come clean.

So I took out my instruction guide, a pen and a notebook. Then I thought twice and decided to ditch the pen and notebook. That was evidence and I’m a mother of 3 daughters. No way was I going to give them a trump card to pull on me. I went through each and every question and thought out my answers as best as I could. I mean, how do you sum up 33 years?

My big day arrived. I was so scared. I felt nauseous all morning. I wanted to be anywhere except in that room. I kept getting out of line and letting the person behind me go in front of me. Heck, I was going to score a few points by being polite beforehand. When there was no one left behind me, I took a deep breath, reached out and turned the knob.

      Inside the room, a kind voice started talking to me. Father asked me the simplest of questions, “Why are you here today?” With those words, it was as though I was standing in front of the closet and everything had fallen right on top of me. I started talking, then I started rambling, then I started crying, then I started sobbing, then I started blubbering. I was a complete wreck. Chronologically I was going through my life verbalizing every sin I could remember. At one point I paused, to wipe my nose on my sleeve as I hadn’t anticipated the mess I turned into and failed to bring Kleenex (by the way, who can I talk to about getting some Kleenex for that room?) And with that pause, the kind voice behind the screen actually said to me, “are you done?” It was as though I had been slapped back to reality. I quickly responded with a yes and awaited my fate. The kind voice again reminded me of why I was there that morning. He said the slate had been wiped clean. I could go forward with my life knowing that my foolishness was forgiven. And for the first time that month, I didn't have to drink a cup of Pepto-Bismol with my lunch.

      While my closet may not be completely empty, I can honestly admit that it has been decluttered significantly. There are still a few things on the top shelf way in the back that I haven’t quite gotten to, but I’m working on it.  Be not afraid my friends, if I can confess, anyone can.