confession is not (always) good for the soul

as you know i’ve been sleuthing about with the spirited mme ramotswe of the no. 1 ladies’ detective agency on zebra drive in the hauntingly beautiful country of botswana. i didn’t expect the LORD to reveal Himself so clearly in my fiction reading, but i must admit when He does (as He is wont to do--no surprise) i become nearly giddy. i love the idea of the unregenerate writer unwittingly exposing miraculous truth. madame detective relates a story of when she was in primary school and the head teacher was trying to catch a young thief. he makes everyone come to his office and swear on a Bible: “i am not a thief.” everyone comes in. everyone swears. the culprit is not discovered. precious ramotswe was not guilty of the theft, and so swears. but when she arrives home to tell “the daddy” and aunt of the events, she realizes that a week prior, she had eaten a doughnut that was sitting on the kitchen counter. she fears the head teacher’s promised lightening strike, and after a sleepless night, confesses the thievery. her aunt smiles and says: “but that was meant for you, that doughnut. you did not steal it.”

so maybe it’s just me, but sometimes when things go well, and the LORD gives me something (like a doughnut for example), i feel the piper paying is piping its way around the corner. that i didn’t deserve it, or maybe that i even stole it, and eventually i'll have to cough up a good deed or a confession. that maybe all this stuff about “unconditional” is just a well planned ruse to get me to steal the doughnut and then confess. but the doughnut is meant for me, and so i can’t pinch it. no confession or deed will make me any less or more worthy of the cream filled delight. my mantra today: i am not a thief--that doughnut was meant for me.