Posted on 04/07/2017 8:08:59 PM PDT by NYer
The memory still stings: there I was, age 7, the veteran of a splendidly moving and memorable First Holy Communion and graced with an oddball love of the sacrament of Confession in all of its velvet-curtained-sliding-screen ambiance, planning to steal a toy “lady’s fan” from a candy store, simply to see if I could.
The fan was red, and I had always been — and still am — a sucker for all things red. It was airy, lacy and flamboyant, and I had the 10 cents the thing cost in my pocket.
But the toy display was on the other side of the cashier, and the devil was on my shoulder: “Take it,” he whispered. “I bet you could slip it into your pocket and no one would know.”
Petty theft, which I had never before aspired to, became suddenly a tantalizing challenge.
And the fan was red.
I took it. I cleverly slipped the thing into my sleeve and casually walked out the door. It was so easy.
And so completely unsatisfying.
By the time I’d walked home, fanning myself all the way in a manner I was sure duplicated the graceful lines of a señorita, I had begun to feel a peculiar emptiness that was new, and throughout the day that feeling grew, until it threatened to become a black hole into which I could disappear. By eventide, I had thrown the fan away from me in disgust. It wasn’t mine; it was ill-gotten booty. I had sinned, and it was not good.
The next day was Saturday — confession day in our neighborhood, for in 1965 it was a rare Catholic who would receive Communion without first reconciling themselves to God. I frankly couldn’t wait to get the theft off my chest — and out of my heart and soul — and had barely gotten the “Bless me, Father” off my tongue before the full story came pouring out. The priest, spending another glorious Saturday within a small, airless box and — at that hour — listening mostly to the piping sins of children, had given a grumpy acknowledgement that my sin was a biggie. “Stealing is mentioned in the Ten Commandments; it especially offends God,” he said, and I thought, “I know, I know, it’s been eating at me.”
Thank God for penance. A Rosary decade on my knees felt sufficiently arduous, and I emerged from church feeling like I’d done my piece. And yet . . . it couldn’t be that easy, could it? Where was the justice? The man at the candy store was still out his 10 cents.
Walking home, I fingered the quarter in my pocket, given me by my grandmother and designated for an orange drink I craved. My sense of justice wrestled with my thirst. I did dearly love my orange drink.
Finally, conscience won out; stepping into the candy store, I approached the counter, meaning to confess my crime, pay the dime and be done. But I couldn’t. Serving justice on a coward’s tray, I waited until the man’s attention was diverted, and quietly slid the quarter on his counter and quickly left the store.
It was not a perfectly balanced redemption; it left me cleansed, but out 15 cents. But I had not yet explored the vagaries of fairness. I was ignorant of all but the most elementary theology, and it would be many years before I could distinguish between the unsophisticated notion of “Catholic guilt” and the heavy grace of a formed and mature conscience, but I felt better. My Catholic grounding had informed my sense of both justice and mercy. I had confessed regret to my God and made a generous, if anonymous, restitution, and the gaping mouth of emptiness so eager to swallow me had been resolutely snapped shut.
The red fan was never again a pleasurable toy, but it became a favorite possession, a reminder that whenever God is pushed aside, only emptiness awaits.
Catholic ping!
...The day I met the devil in a dime store...
I didn’t know Schumer, Hillary, and the gang hung out there.
A seven year old wants to give me wisdom? Really?
“...whenever God is pushed aside, only emptiness awaits.”
Too true. Took me a good many years to figure that out.
I have no idea what your relationship with God is, but this is a well written account of what it means to sin, and it shines with more wisdom than many people possess. This 7 year old boy, knew he’d committed a sin, knew he had to make it right with God and the storekeeper, and he knew that sin leads to separation from God and emptiness. Wisdom from a 7 year old? Yes indeed.
Brilliantly written.
FWIW.
Can God exist without Satan?
I think the answer is yes.
Which begs the question.
Can Satan exist without God?
I believe that answer is NO.
,
,
,
This is something that I had been wrestling with for a number of years. That, and Free-will.
Resolving the Free-Will question, since there are innumerable ways I can and likely have messed up God’s plan for me, I’m left to sort out my own desires. Left to myself to either spin along with no foundations for belief in anything at all or acknowledge the existence of Satan.
“The Devil’s greatest accomplishment was convincing the world he didn’t exist.”
I can’t square the math here.
The fact that “Objective morality” is a solid truth claim. The or our ability to even know this and use logic as we understand it to make sense of the world allowed me to come to Christ as my Lord and Savior in a process of elimination.
FWIW.
The confession that counted most was to the brother against whom she had sinned, and that confession was not made. Check your Bibles.
How true how true. We see that emptiness engulfing the globe like an out of control disease.
I can’t remember the last time I heard the term ‘dime store.’
She was 7 in 1965, and wanted to share a strong lesson she learned that day. One that stuck with her, and she thinks important enough to tell others.
I did the same thing. Once. I took a 10 cent plastic “Tommy gun” (not full size) from the local Ben Franklin 5&10. After three days I was so ashamed and scared that the police would come for me that I confessed to my mother and begged her to take me back to the store to return it before they could arrest me. It was my one and only venture into crime....
So Killary has quit hanging around in the woods and is hanging out in the Five and Dime store now?
Looks like she could teach you humility, and through that, wisdom.
thank you for posting..
Well written and it probes a deep truth with simple language - the best way to express important conclusions. Did anyone notice the author’s last name? I wonder if she is a distant relative.
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