I stood daydreaming as the bank teller processed my Canadian check.  

“PIN number, please,” she said. 

The four digits rattled off my lips, feeling strange. 

“Ma’am, please enter your PIN.”

Sometime, despite two bachelors and one masters degree, I’m an idiot. 

Photo courtesy of WillPaul MacDonald via Creationswap.com

I sped out of the bank parking lot and toward the grocery store. About two miles down the road, I started to worry. I just broadcasted my PIN number in a rough part of Dallas. Maybe I should have asked her to change my PIN. 

You’re just paranoid.

I recalled the iPhone I lost at a movie theater a couple months ago. A little paranoia then would have saved me several hundred dollars. Before grabbing a shopping cart, I checked the balance in my account.

Yikes! Maybe I should transfer that into my savings—just in case. 

By the time I loaded the asparagus and pasta into my trunk, I knew I needed to do something—something that did not include showing my face in a bank and admitting my stupidity. I decided to call the the number on my debit card. 

Joe—or maybe his name was Eric—gave me two options. Changing it over the phone meant I couldn’t use an ATM for about 2 weeks. Or, I could go to a bank. I disliked both options.

Finally, I confessed. “At the bank this morning, I said my PIN number out loud. Now I’m freaking out that someone will drain my account.”  My stupidity dangled between our phones, exposed. 

I dislike confessions—they’re like taking a selfie that features a close-up of a zit. I prefer hiding my imperfections. I’d rather zoom out and blur the details. If I hurt a friend, gossip, or hedge the truth, I’ld rather photoshop the ugliness than admit my wrong. “That wasn’t what I meant…I just needed someone to vent to…It was mostly true.” I worry what my friend thinks or send her a  super-friendly text message. I do anything, except call her and say, “I was wrong. Will you forgive me?” 

I have an appearance problem. And if you’re like me, you’d rather touch up your reputation than admit your failures. But, when we avoid confessing—to ourselves, God, and others—we serve our own identity, instead of the people around us. 

Our family, friends, and coworkers don’t need a mirage of moral perfection. They need to see someone living the gospel—someone who is willing to ask forgiveness, as well as to give it. 

Confession, though, is risky. It forces us to acknowledge the ugly parts of ourselves and opens us up to rejection. But, facing the truth also aligns us with Jesus, and God can work with that. 

So, let’s revive the lost art of honesty. Let’s start with the question, “What do I need to confess today and to whom?” 

Sure, we may want to preserve our reputations, but confession is the only road into grace.