Confession is Good for This Soul

I'm getting ready to go to Confession tonight. I remember making them when I was a little girl and I was hidden behind the screen. I lived in a small town and our parish had only one priest. I told Mom that I was relieved to have the screen. She scornfully replied, "You don't think Father knows your voice??"

I made my first face-to-face Confession at a high school retreat with a---can I say this without impure thoughts?---hunky priest. [They're sometimes known in Catholic circles as "Father What-a-Waste"]. Confessions for me have been face-to-face for the past 25 years, though never again with that same priest.

Oh, sure, I still get sweaty palms and palpitations before Confession. Who wouldn't in a dress rehearsal of judgment day? But now I see this as a process where my ship comes to port and gets all the barnacles knocked off the hull. The barnacles won't sink you, but they sure do slow your progress.