On apologies

It is possible, of course, that I am simply losing my mind. Perhaps it is a consequence of experiencing Groundhog Day over and over through the pandemic. Or perhaps it is a whisperer whispering into my heart.

Back in February I similarly felt compelled to apologise to my mother for my behaviour as a teenager and young adult. She had to remind me that I had already apologised numerous times previously, and that all was forgiven and forgotten.

A friend this evening suggested I might be over-thinking things. They reminded me of a day I had once apologised to them too for something they did not know about and could not understand. Perhaps that is the story of my life: a man of perpetual regrets, overburdened with inner remorse.

Have I been over-thinking things, or should I truly fear my accounting on that Awesome Day, the like of which is fifty-thousand years? Well, for sure, I am certain that I have much to repent for, even if we mere mortals have forgotten all that happened in the dim and distant past.

I am still trying to work out how I make up for a decade during which I constructed great carbuncles that my heart repeatedly petitioned me to deconstruct. These apologies too difficult now, but if I leave them to fester for another two decades, will those I wronged likewise respond: “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Ironically, to fall down on my face in prayer and to repent before God is easier somehow. He knows my inner secrets, witness to every crime and rotten intention. He is the Most Merciful, the Gracious. He knows the tears and the sleepless nights intimately.

But those we wronged? To confront them and admit to all we did? Perhaps that is preparation for that awful day that awaits us, when finally we will truly be held to account. Perhaps in their reaction, we sip a taste of divine justice. Perhaps we are not so forgiven as we think we are.

Yes, it could be a madness of my mind. But it could also be a foreshadow of all that is to come. Perhaps it is fear of that Day.

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