I was asked to be a guest contributor to the column THE EIGHTH DAY. They just published my essay, SIN AND A HERSHEY KISS. You may read it below or at the online magazine.

When my sons were little, we’d give them chocolate at Easter. Nothing fancy. Usually they’d find a basket with one cheerful bunny reclining on a pile of Hershey kisses. I’m sure there must be some scriptural basis for this custom, right?

After Easter, in deference to admonitions from our family dentist, we’d ration out a daily allotment of kisses for each boy. One day, three-year-old Ian, broke into his older brothers’ cache of chocolate. I caught him, in flagrante delicto. He sat in the middle of his bedroom, surrounded by crumpled foil, his face and hands smeared with chocolate.

I knew he knew I was standing there. He sat perfectly still, eyes scrunched shut, one Hershey kiss still grasped in his chubby fist. I decided to wait him out. Surely, he’d open his eyes and admit his breach of family policy.

Nope. He continued to stay motionless for several minutes. Not a muscle twitched. I could read his little mind, “As long as I don’t open my eyes, none of this is real, not the wrappers, not the stolen chocolate, not Mom. I didn’t break any rules. Zippity-doo dah, it’s a wonderful day.”

Well, I have all the patience of a fruit fly, which is to say no patience at all. I broke. I touched his shoulder and insisted he open his eyes. Then we had our “Did you eat this chocolate?” conversation during which he pleaded plausible deniability. Okay, not exactly. After all, he was only three. But let’s just say he wanted to speak with his lawyer before admitting to anything.

Why am I telling you this silly tale? It occurred to me that I am much like Ian. Sometimes when I think unkind thoughts about a friend or gossip or sin in any number of ways, I sit motionless with my eyes shut and fists clenched. Even though I am be surrounded by the evidence of my sinful heart (bitterness, envy, anger) and the consequence of my sinful behavior (broken relationships), somehow I believe that if I don’t acknowledge my sin, it does not exist.

Sometimes it helps to have a trusted friend gently point out the error of my ways, although initially I may not always accept their observations as accurate. Let me give you an example. When Ian’s older brothers were three and five, we lived in Durham, North Carolina. One day my good friend, Margaret, said: “Debby, every time your three-year-old fusses, you fold and give him what he wants, even if it means favoring him over your five-year-old.”

Harrumph. Margaret didn’t understand our family dynamics. Yes, my three-year-old often acted loud and demanding, but I told myself that I didn’t want to crush his “creative” and “exuberant” spirit by disciplining him. Let freedom reign, or something like that.

Flash forward a few months to a visit from my father who is an inveterate videographer of family events. He indiscriminately records both the memorable and mundane moments. For example, he doesn’t think twice about catching you roll your eyes as your least favorite uncle rambles on about how global warming is an invention of leftwing liberals.

He happened to film a particularly telling episode of our family life. As I played the mandolin, my five-year-old contentedly accompanied me on tambourine. Out of the blue, my “exuberant” three-year-old came around the corner and grabbed the tambourine out of his brother’s hands. After a robust but bloodless altercation, I handed the tambourine to my insistent three-year-old.

Later that night, I watched my father’s documentation of my stellar parenting. I’d said, “Here you go. Take the tambourine and for goodness sake, and just be quiet!” There I was, appeasing the rowdy child just because he happened to be making the bigger fuss. Viewing my behavior in living color left no doubt in my mind; Margaret was right.

Fortunately, in addition to getting feedback from trusted friends, there is another way to be aware of the sin in your life. You can make a practice of listening to the still, small voice that whispers and occasionally shouts in your ear. I’ve frequently heard that voice when studying scripture. Let’s say, I read the account of the Israelites complaining about manna and my first thought is, “How ungrateful!” Then, that pesky still small voice will remind me of my own lack of gratitude. Or, I’ll read the New Testament story of Peter lopping off that guy’s ear and I’ll think, “How could Peter have done that? No impulse control whatsoever!” Then I’ll hear that still, small voice pointing out my own impetuousness, thank you very much.

So, as I was trying to figure out how to end this essay, some verses from I John came to mind. I’ll paraphrase: If we claim we don’t sin, we deceive ourselves. Plain and simple. We all are surrounded by those crumpled foil wrappers. Everyone can see the evidence. However, if we confess our sins our Father is faithful. He will forgive us because we have a Savior who is the atoning sacrifice for our sins. And if we repent, if we head in a new direction, we are released from the shackles of our sin and are free indeed. And, as much as I love chocolate, the allure of those Hershey’s pale in comparison to the joy found in that freedom.