Tommy was an inquisitive little kid who sat next to his grandma in church every Sunday morning with his hands folded like hers. He liked the music, the stories, and the quiet mystery of the place. “Tommy, you’re old enough now,” Grandma murmured softly as they were leaving church one day. You need to go to confession straight away. Tommy’s eyes got bigger. He had heard people talk about confession before, in quiet, serious voices, but now it was his turn and he wasn’t sure he was ready.
But he still went to the confessional with her because he knew he could trust her. She leaned down and whispered in a quiet voice, “Just go into that small booth and tell the priest what you did wrong.” He’ll get it and move on. That’s how it works. Tommy slowly nodded. He didn’t know what to say, so he went into the booth, sat down silently, and his heart raced. The little wooden window opened a few seconds later, and a calm voice said hello.
Tommy said softly, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” like he had seen others do.
The priest answered in a kind voice, “Go ahead, my son.” “What bad things have you done?”
Tommy thought about it for a long time. “Well, I took a pencil from school. I didn’t own it. I thought that was great.
The priest laughed softly. “That’s not too bad.” What else?
Tommy shook his head. “I told my mom a falsehood. I told them I was done with my homework, but I wasn’t. I told my sister that I threw her Barbie out the window by accident, but I really meant to.
There was a little pause, and then the priest laughed quietly. “Is there anything else?”
Tommy brushed his fingertips over the back of his neck. “Oh!” Last night, while Grandpa was sleeping, I placed toothpaste on his dentures. He laughed when he thought about it.
The priest did his best not to chuckle. “Okay, son. “Say three Hail Marys and try to be a better boy.”
Tommy nodded and felt better. His grandmother was waiting for him with a proud smile when he walked out of the booth. “How did it go?”
Tommy smiled. “Easy as pie, Grandma, but I don’t think that man behind the screen knows half of what I’ve done!”
Tommy’s goal changed a week later. He wanted a bike. But his mom gently told him they couldn’t get one right now. “Maybe Jesus will help you if you write to Him and promise to be a good boy,” she stated next. Tommy sat down and started to write.
“Dear Jesus, I promise to be good for a whole year…”
He came to a stop. That seemed like too much.
He crossed it out and tried again. “Jesus, I’ll be good for a month.”
Not quite right yet.
He wrote it down again and added, “Jesus, I’ll be good for a week.”
That even seemed like a reach. Tommy became mad, crumpled up the paper, put on his shoes, and went for a stroll to calm himself. He saw the nativity scene in the front yard as he walked by the church. It was calm, quiet, and pleasant. But there was something in his damaged heart that made him feel.
Tommy quickly grabbed the miniature statue of Mary from the display, hid it under his coat, and ran home. He looked around to see if anyone was observing. He went inside, took a big breath, got a new piece of paper, and wrote, “Dear Jesus, if you ever want to see your mom again…”
Tommy was smart, but he didn’t always tell the truth.
That year, at a cousin’s wedding, Tommy heard a family member make fun of the groom. “How many wives can a man have?”
The little kid didn’t hesitate and responded with certainty, “Sixteen!”
The adults were astonished to see him. “Sixteen? How did you get there?
“Easy,” he responded with a smug smile on his face. “Four better, four worse, four richer, and four poorer!” the bishop said over and over during the service.
There was a lot Tommy needed to learn, but one thing was clear: people adored him and thought his view of the world was funny.