I'm happy to welcome my friend, Deborah Prum, as a guest columnist this week.  Debby's award-winning fiction has appeared in The Virginia Quarterly Review , Across the Margin and other literary publications.  She is the author of several books including Fatty in the Back Seat, and First Kiss and Other Cautionary Tales.  She’s written on writing for Writer Magazine, The Writer’s Handbook, and the Society of Children’s Book Writers & Illustrators Magazine. --Debie

When my sons were little, we’d give them chocolate at Easter.  Nothing fancy.  Usually they’d find a basket with one cheerful bunny reclining on a pile of Hershey kisses.  I’m sure there must be some scriptural basis for this custom, right?

After Easter, in deference to admonitions from our family dentist, we’d ration out a daily allotment of kisses for each boy. One day, three-year-old Ian, broke into his older brothers’ cache of chocolate.  I caught him, in flagrante delicto. He sat in the middle of his bedroom, surrounded by crumpled foil, his face and hands smeared with chocolate.

I knew he knew I was standing there.  He sat perfectly still, eyes scrunched shut, one Hershey kiss still grasped in his chubby fist. He looked so silly that I had to stifle a giggle. Surely, he’d open his eyes any second and admit his breach of family policy. I decided to wait him out.

Nope. He continued to stay motionless for several minutes.  Not a muscle twitched. I could read his little mind, “As long as I don’t open my eyes, none of this is real, not the wrappers, not the stolen chocolate, not Mom. I didn’t break any rules. Zippity-doo dah, it’s a wonderful day.”

Well, I have all the patience of a fruit fly, which is to say no patience at all. I broke. I touched his shoulder and insisted he open his eyes. Then we had our “Did you eat this chocolate?” conversation during which he pleaded plausible deniability. Okay, not exactly. After all, he was only three. But let’s just say he wanted to speak with his lawyer before admitting to anything.

Why am I telling you this silly tale? It occurred to me that I am much like Ian. Sometimes when I think unkind thoughts about a friend or gossip or sin in any number of ways, I sit motionless with my eyes shut and fists clenched. Even though I am be surrounded by the evidence of my sinful heart (bitterness, envy, anger) and the consequence of my sinful behavior (broken relationships), somehow I believe that if I don’t acknowledge my sin, it does not exist.

Sometimes it helps to have a trusted friend gently point out the error of my ways, although initially I may not always accept their observations as accurate. Let me give you an example.  When Ian’s older brothers were three and five, we lived in Durham, North Carolina. One day my good friend, Margaret, said: “Debby, every time your three-year-old fusses, you fold and give him what he wants, even if it means favoring him over your five-year-old.”

Harrumph. Margaret didn’t understand our family dynamics. Yes, my three-year-old often acted loud and demanding, but I told myself that I didn’t want to crush his “creative” and “exuberant” spirit by disciplining him. Let freedom reign, or something like that.

Flash forward a few months to a visit from my father who is an inveterate videographer of family events.  He indiscriminately records both the memorable and mundane moments. For example, he doesn’t think twice about catching you roll your eyes as your least favorite uncle rambles on about how global warming is an invention of leftwing liberals.

He happened to film a particularly telling episode of our family life. As I played the mandolin, my five-year-old contentedly accompanied me on tambourine. Out of the blue, my “exuberant” three-year-old came around the corner and grabbed the tambourine out of his brother’s hands. After a robust but bloodless altercation, I handed the tambourine to my insistent three-year-old.

Later that night, I watched my father’s documentation of my stellar parenting.  I’d said, “Here you go.  Take the tambourine for goodness sake, and just be quiet!” There I was, appeasing the rowdy child just because he happened to be making the bigger fuss. Viewing my behavior in living color left no doubt in my mind; Margaret was right.

Fortunately, in addition to getting feedback from trusted friends, there is another way to be aware of the sin in your life. Sometimes, if I can quiet myself (no small feat) and listen, I hear wisdom that does not seem to emanate from my own little brain. It’s a voice that often whispers but also occasionally shouts messages that are revelatory. Frequently, this occurs when I’m reading scripture.

For example, remember that account from Exodus when Moses is leading the Israelites out of Egypt? God very kindly feeds them by dropping manna from the sky. After a while, the Israelites get sick of manna and want a pizza or a burger or maybe just one Snickers bar, already.  When I first read this story, my reaction was, “What a bunch of whiners! How ungrateful.” Then, that pesky still small voice reminded me of my own lack of gratitude. Or, another time when I read the New Testament story about Peter lopping off that guy’s ear, I thought, “How could Peter have done that?  That man had no impulse control!” Once again, I heard that still, small voice pointing out my own impetuousness, thank you very much.

Why are we so resistant to acknowledging and dealing with sin in our lives? I’ll bet there are a zillion answers to this question. One possibility is that nowadays we feel ever so slightly squirmy about “sin.” Admit it — the word makes you think of a bug-eyed preacher shaking his fist and screaming about hellfire.

Another reason we may have an aversion to dealing with sin may be rooted in an identity problem. That is, we don’t understand who God is and who we are in relationship to Him. If we base our self-worth on what we can produce, on the status we’ve achieved, on how well we’ve managed to control our behavior, it is terrifying to take a good, long look in the mirror. We falsely believe that in order to accept ourselves, we must be perfect. Invariably, if the light is bright enough and our eyes are open, the image we see in that mirror never coincides with the ideal we’ve imagined. If our self-worth is based on being perfect, admitting the truth about ourselves can be a shattering experience, one that we avoid at all costs.

Fortunately, God loves us. He valued us enough to sacrifice his son. God accepts our imperfect selves.

Additionally, we do not have to do anything to be of value to God. Our worth is based on the value he already has assigned to us. We don’t have to prove a thing. If we are guided by that knowledge, looking into the mirror is not a fear-filled process. When we understand that he accepts us and that we are covered by his love, we are likely to want our image to coincide with his. We will not be lured by those Hershey kisses. Instead, we are filled with a desire to rid ourselves of all encumbrances and walk toward restoration.

Some verses from I John seem to be applicable here.  I’ll paraphrase: Regardless of whether the word “sin” makes us feel squirmy, scripture says, if we claim we don’t sin, we deceive ourselves. Plain and simple. We all are surrounded by those crumpled foil wrappers. Everyone can see the evidence. However, if we confess our sins our Father is faithful. He will forgive us because we have a Savior who is the atoning sacrifice for our sins. And if we repent, if we head in a new direction, we are released from the shackles of our sin and are free indeed. And, as much as I love chocolate, the allure of those Hersheys pale in comparison to the joy found in that freedom.

Image credits: (1) Hersheys.com.