Tommy was a curious little boy who sat next to his granny in church every Sunday morning with his hands folded like hers. He liked the music, the stories, and the fact that it was quiet and mysterious. “Tommy, you’re old enough now,” As they were leaving church one day, Grandma spoke softly. You need to confess right immediately. Tommy’s eyes got bigger. He had heard people talk about confession before, but they had always done it in solemn, quiet voices. Now it was his turn, and he wasn’t sure he was ready.
But he still went to the confessional with her because he believed he could trust her. She bent down and said in a low voice, “Just go into that small booth and tell the priest what you did wrong.” He’ll get it and go on. That’s how it goes. Tommy nodded slowly. He didn’t know what to say, so he went into the booth, sat down without saying anything, and his heart raced. A quiet voice greeted hello a few seconds after the small wooden window opened.
Tommy whispered softly, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” just like he had seen other people do.
“Go ahead, my son,” the priest said in a sympathetic voice. “What have you done that is bad?”
Tommy thought about it for a long time. “I took a pencil from school.” I didn’t have it. I thought that was great.
The priest chuckled quietly. “That’s not so bad.” What else?
Tommy shook his head. “I told my mom a lie. I told them I was done with my work, but I wasn’t. I told my sister that I threw her Barbie out the window by mistake, but I really did it on purpose.
There was a little gap, and then the priest quietly laughed. “Is there anything else?”
Tommy ran his fingers over the back of his neck. “Oh!” I put toothpaste on Grandpa’s dentures last night while he was sleeping. He laughed when he remembered it.
The priest tried hard not to laugh. “Okay, son. Say three Hail Marys and try to be a better boy.”
Tommy nodded and felt better. When he came out of the booth, his grandmother was waiting for him with a proud smile. “What happened?”
Tommy grinned. “Simple as pie, Grandma, but I don’t think that guy behind the screen knows half of what I’ve done!”
A week later, Tommy’s goal shifted. He wanted a bike. But his mom told him softly that they couldn’t get one just now. “Maybe Jesus will help you if you write to Him and promise to be a good boy,” she said next. Tommy sat down and began to write.
“I promise to be good for a whole year, Jesus…”
He stopped. That looked 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 said, “Jesus, I’ll be good for a week.”
That even seemed like a stretch. Tommy got angry, crumpled up the paper, put on his shoes, and went for a walk to calm himself. As he passed by the church, he observed the nativity scene in the front yard. It was peaceful, quiet, and nice. But there was something in his broken heart that made him feel.
Tommy hastily took the small statue of Mary from the display, hid it under his coat, and rushed home. He looked around to see if anyone was watching. He stepped inside, took a deep breath, retrieved 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 speak the truth.
Tommy heard a family member make fun of the groom during a cousin’s wedding that year. “How many wives can a man have?”
The young kid didn’t think twice and said with confidence, “Sixteen!”
The adults were shocked to see him. “Sixteen? How did you get there?
“Easy,” he said with a smug grin on his face. “Four better, four worse, four richer, and four poorer!” the bishop said over and over again during the service.
Tommy had a lot to learn, but one thing was clear: people loved him and thought his view of the world was humorous.
