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I tend to be a stealthy sinner—a cloistered screw-up. For most of my life, I've managed to fly just under the radar of blatant rebellion.
When I was 12, I made obnoxious prank phone calls and covertly removed (read: stole) a dog-eared copy of Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex But Were Afraid to Ask from the local library. The dean of women at the college I attended failed to appreciate the fact I mooned a fellow dorm mate. As a 22-year-old, first-year elementary teacher, I came "this close" to my principal catching me entertaining fellow colleagues with an over-the-top impersonation of said administrator.
A few years later, my screw-ups took a more serious turn when as a mother of two children, I blew up in anger and acted out in a manner that terrified both the children and me.
I'm no saint—not by any stretch of the imagination. But as hard as it is to believe, I somehow managed to keep 99.9 percent of such things hidden. As someone who regularly attended church and who appeared to manage a happy family, I avoided any glaring attention to the shadow side of my life—but not without great cost.
My lying about my spending led to financial problems in my marriage. Covetous thoughts robbed me of friendships and contentment. The teenage anger that sent me reeling into a fit of self-mutilation exploded 12 years later in outbursts of rage and abusive anger toward my two oldest children. And when alcohol beckoned me during periods of loneliness and depression, I heeded its call.
So there she is, Julie Barnhill in all her glory.
Maybe you're thinking, Yeah, so you told us a few secrets from your life—none of them can compare to mine.
I'm sure if we played a game of "Top This!," many of you could beat me hands down. But seeing who has the most horrifying secret isn't the point. The point is, we need to embrace the truth that we aren't alone in our secret places. No matter what hides beneath layers of deflection and defense mechanism, God is there, in our midst.
The longer I live, the more desperate I become for a revolutionary forgiveness that up-ends the hidden, surreptitious elements of my life. But here's the proverbial rub: Confession for confession's sake easily turns into a tabloid moment not unlike daytime television talk-show tell-alls. It's not enough to spill the beans. Genuine confession leads us to radical forgiveness, available only through Christ, which covers whatever we've done, no matter how bad it seems.
Jesus Christ knows our secrets, and they can never stop the love he directs toward us. They do, however, create a barrier between us and the shame-free life of freedom he desires for us. We tell Christ our secrets so we might find redemption, rescue, and ultimately, eternal life. We share our secret places with trusted friends so we might know the reality of divine healing through the flesh-and-blood relationships of those we love on earth.
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