Putting out Fires and Forgiveness

We had quite the dining experience on Sunday night.  We won dinner at a fire house in a silent auction a few months back at a school fundraiser.  We had such a memorable experience. . .leading them in prayer, eating a great meal along side them--which would not have been complete without a spill, taking a ride on the engine to Uncle's house, getting a grand tour, plus heading to the police station to hear the dispatcher answer some 911 calls.  The highlight of the evening came when they got a call during dinner and they sprang in to action!  The chief and another fireman stayed behind to visit with us, where we stayed for desert and waited until the crew came back.

In all my 37-years, I've never been inside a fire house.  It was such fun to see the engines up close and personal and to ask questions about their daily lives and routines.  I think I had as much fun as the kids!  We pass by the fire station now and all the kids have a very special and specific memory.  Pretty neat of those guys to open their fire house that way and invite us in.

It was neat to listen to them talk with Ernie about line work.  My old car used to have a sticker that said, "Even Firemen Need Heroes," and apparently it's true.  When it comes to electricity they call in the linemen.  All I know is that we all appreciated the time they took with us, but even more importantly, the job they do day in and day out in saving lives.

Last night I ventured to a meeting at church to provide us with information about Bubba's upcoming Reconciliation.  There's something so comforting to be sitting in a church I've grown up in, surrounded by a former third and fifth grade teacher, and a pastor who I could listen to for days.  It seems the Catholic church that I grew up in has changed and is continuing to do so.  I remember clearly my first confession--boy, was I scared.  So scared in fact that my dad went up on the altar, explained my fears, sat me close so I could see and proceeded to say his own confession since I was too petrified to do mine.  Eventually I did go and when it was done I felt relieved. I don't think that's the adjective to be striving for.

Last night listening to the Pastor I was overcome with emotion that he never tries to guilt us into the church's beliefs. For once, I didn't feel guilty that I don't believe exactly what the church tells me to believe about reconciliation.  My stance on the sacrament now?  I can go to God first and foremost to have my sins forgiven.  I don't "need" the priest to tell me I'm forgiven.  He doesn't make it happen; however, the healing and joy that confession can bring to me or anyone seeking it--is a gift. Sometimes the simple conversation that the priest may exchange with you during the confession is worth the effort to go to confession if you want to.

 Last night Father called  our homes "domestic churches." The place in which I model love--and explain how sin hurts our relationships with each other.  It's the place where I model forgiveness and we share in the bread together nightly.  We read His word, we share our hearts, we pray aloud, and ask ourselves and each other if something was done in love or if it lacked love. What does love look like?  Show it.  Say it.  Do it. 

The line that stood out to me above all else, "We're all great pretenders."  Aren't we though?  Maybe it's at work.  Maybe it's on the field.  Maybe it's at home or in marriage. But for me, it struck a chord because I pretend I know what I'm doing, when really I haven't a clue.  There is no guide on how to do this parenting thing.  I fall short day in and day out and I sin repeatedly.  Often, the same selfish sins.  The only one who really knows me, who loves me despite my million and one flaws, is Him.  There is no need to pretend.  I never have to be more than He made me to be.  He loves me anyways.  That thought filled me with grace last night.  That thought stuck with me through today as I try to love with that same abandon, to serve without expectation, to love unselfishly.  "The days are long, but the years are short."--I don't want them to slip away.