The Repentance

Dad and Mom when I was born.

I tried to look nonchalant as I mosied my way into the living room. Dad was in the kitchen and Mom was running bath water. Fast as lightning, I slipped the chapstick up on the window and sat down to wait. I slowly rubbed my feet on the carpet...back and forth...back and forth.

Dad walked down the hallway and into the kitchen. He was singing a church song and His black hair was wet and sticking up all over. He smelled like something deep and spicy and he looked happy.

My back stiffened, but I tried to look relaxed. As hard as I tried, I just couldn't push away the heavy feeling around my heart. "It's not fair that Dad is so happy this morning," I mused. "On this morning when I feel so terrible" - more terrible than I'd ever felt before, truthfully. What had I done? Oh, what had I done to deserve this?

I leaned against the arm of our big chair and looked at my feet. "O-oh," Mom bent down to give me a big hug. "What's the matter with miss Anna today? Are you still sleepy?" Her voice wasn't the serious one she used for talking to Daddy or any of the adults; this was one especially meant for cheering me up - but it would take more than a light tone of voice to make me feel better.

She let go, and I decided to play the I'm-too-tired-and-grumpy-to-talk-right-now trick, so I buried my face in the arm of the couch and moaned. "Mmmmm..." in the tiredest voice I could muster. Mom straightened up, and a long curl of pretty brown hair fell over her shoulder. "You'd better get a move on, girly; breakfast is almost ready!"

"Hey, Lily." Dad stopped singing and was calling from the kitchen.

"What, Hon," Mom stepped through the entry way, but I stayed where I was, insides quivering.

"What smells so good?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I smell something really sweet...Do you have new perfume?"

"No..."

I wanted to faint or be sick - no, maybe I could just die. Surely death would fit the terrible feeling that lay so heavy on my chest, like a big wool blanket.

"Well, I don't know, Hon," Mom was saying, and Dad started humming again.

He walked to the door and looked down at me. "He has no idea what I'm suffering..." I thought, feeling very alone and very terrible. He mussed my hair with one of his big hands, then turned down the hallway again.

This was too much; if they didn't find the chapstick soon I was going to have to show them.

Slowly, I stood to my feet and, slowly, I tiptoed to the kitchen. Putting my hand on the doorway and leaning in, I called very timidly. "Mom?" But she didn't hear me and kept working.

 I said it louder, "Mom." She didn't stop what she was doing but replied, "What, sweetheart?" At my silence, she turned. I watched her bare feet come over the blue and white linoleum, then leaned forward and threw my arms around her skirt. Agony and despair swirled inside me, and I couldn't help myself; tears slipped down my cheeks, and I shook all over.

Surprised, Mom bent down and took me in her arms. She carried me into the living room and sat down in the big chair. She rocked me back and forth, patting my back. "What's the matter?"

How could I tell her. I buried my head in her shoulder and bawled.

Finally, when Dad had come back, and I had calmed down enough to talk, she pushed me gently back, so she could see my face, and put her hands on my elbows. "Now. What's the matter?"

Furiously, I rubbed my wet eyes. "W-well," I started, "Last night - when we were at Hannah's house..." and the whole awful story came out between hiccups and bursts of tears. I felt relieved when I was finished, but still had to look away from their eyes, ashamed of what I had done.

Pensively, I waited for what they'd say. Almost as much as that, I dreaded the thought of how I'd be punished. Surely, most definitely, I'd be spanked.

Surprisingly, they weren't angry - not at all; just a little bit sad. I was confused and relieved all at the same time.

"Anna," Mom said, "Do you remember the Ten Commandments that you've been memorizing?" I nodded, solemnly.

"What does God say about stealing?"

The mood didn't feel right for me to talk yet, so I just looked at the floor and squirmed - it seemed adequate.

"Thou shalt not steal," Mom quoted, slowly, looking into my eyes.

"So, what do you think you should do to make it right?" Her brown eyes were wide-open, waiting.

I wasted a few seconds before making a reply - talking too soon would spoil the affect of my repentance. "Give it back?" I quavered, sincerely frightened by the very thought of having to apologize.

"Mmhm... But you need to ask Jesus to forgive you, too; it hurts His heart when we don't obey His plans for us."

I nodded.

"So let's kneel down here, and you can pray."

And we did; there in front of the chair, I told God I was sorry and would try not to take anything that wasn't mine ever again. Before church, we drove back to Hannah's house where I relinquished the treasure that had caused me so much pain. I was ashamed, dreadfully ashamed, but, when I finally gave it back, relief washed over me.

There's a freedom that comes with making things right. Through my growing-up years, there have been a lot of times when I've had to stop and apologize. You never stop making mistakes, but Jesus is always ready to forgive a repentant heart and make you free from the guilt that comes from wrongdoing - no matter what you've done.