Every day my past sins and offenses return to haunt me, and I hope I've been forgiven. Like the time I threw the telephone book at my son Jack. Fortunately, it hit my favorite milk glass bowl, a wedding gift from my cousin Nora, knocked it onto the tile floor and smashed it to smithereens. I think maybe that was punishment enough, but I'm not sure. If the thing had hit Jack, it wouldn't have hurt him much, as it was paper-backed and fanned out in mid-air. And he was already taller than me.
The time I was talking to someone, my sister Susie tapped me on the shoulder and my hand flew back and knocked her across the room. She says she forgives me, but how can you forget a thing like that?
The time I kicked Bobby Byrd on his sore leg.
The time I hollered at my mother. Oh, God!
Maybe, having set them down in black and white and acknowledged my guilt, maybe they'll let me move on to stuff I have to do.
By the way, I hate that Einstein poem. That happens a lot.
5 comments:
I know how you feel - I cringe at some things I've done, but I also understand that a lot of them have been forgotten by everyone but me. As an outside observer, my opinion is that you are more sinned against than sinning - you still have plenty of relationship credit with everyone who knows you.
And I like the poem.
:)
Thanks, Jed.
I can't believe you still remember that time you whopped me. I don't think it even hurt. Just sort of shocked me--and got me to leave you alone.
But I know how we tend to go over and over past sins. But you know, every time I start whining and pleading with God to forgive me for this or that, he says "I believe we've already covered that one." I believe our consciences are our hell. I'm not one bit worried about fiery pits.
Thanks, Susie. Wish I hadn't reminded you!
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