The Little Wooden Door: A Return to Grace
By Liah Ostrom
““Let us not grow tired of asking for God’s forgiveness. For God never tires of forgiving.””
One of the hardest parts about Confession is honesty. Not just with the priest, but with yourself. You have to name your sins, not excuse them. You have to sit in the tension of knowing you’ve failed, and trust that God will still receive you with love.
The Enemy wants you to believe that Confession is a courtroom.
But it’s not.
It’s a hospital for the soul. A place where wounds are acknowledged and healed. Where you say, “Here is my brokenness,” and God replies, “Let Me restore you.”
The First Time I Went
I’ll never forget my first confession.
I was sitting in Adoration, quietly crying. My heart was torn between excitement and absolute terror, this would be my first Confession.
Two priests were hearing confessions that evening: our school chaplain and one of the monks from the abbey. Deep down, I desperately wanted to confess to Father Christian, our chaplain. We were close, and I knew he wouldn’t see me as awful or broken. Just known. Safe.
I lined up intentionally so that when my turn came, it would be with him.
The young man in front of me walked toward the other room, where the monk was stationed. I felt relief. That meant I was next with Father Christian. I watched, praying silently, preparing my heart.
But then, moments later, the same young man came walking back out.
“Already? That was fast,” I whispered to myself, confused.
An usher approached and gently gestured for me to go into the room with the monk. My heart dropped.
No. This wasn’t the plan. I felt my stomach twist.
He’s going to think I’m a horrible person.
Then I remembered: I had already promised God I would do this face to face. No screen. No hiding. Just honesty.
I took a shaky breath and stepped into the room.
There he was, seated with his back to the door. One chair behind him, one chair in front. I quietly walked over and sat down.
When I looked up, my heart stilled.
It was the monk who advocates for mental health at our school.
A wave of surprise and peace washed over me.
I began my confession. And as I spoke, the tears came. Not from fear anymore, but from release. From relief. From grace.
When I finished, he looked at me with such compassion. He gave me my penance:
“For every sin you wrote down, name a time you chose Jesus instead.”
Simple. Beautiful. Healing.
I wiped my tears, whispered a thank you, and walked quietly back into Adoration. My heart was lighter. My soul felt clean.
And in that silence before the Blessed Sacrament, I realized:
God hadn’t given me the priest I wanted,
He had given me the one I needed.
Why I Keep Going Back
The more I go to Confession, the more I realize it’s not a punishment, it’s a privilege. It’s a chance to begin again. A reset. A real, tangible grace.
I’ve come to see Confession as a form of spiritual warfare. When I sin, the devil wants me to hide. He wants me to stay trapped in shame. But every time I choose to go to Confession, I reclaim the freedom Jesus died to give me.
Confession humbles me, heals me, and reminds me who I am:
Not my past.
Not my sins.
But a daughter of God.
Mary and the Confessional
As strange as it may sound, I’ve come to rely on Mary when I prepare for Confession. I ask her to walk with me, to show me my sins clearly but gently, like a mother would. I ask her to be beside me as I enter the confessional, to give me the courage to speak and the humility to receive.
She never fails to help. She always leads me back to her Son.
Confession Is Biblical (Yes, Really)
Before I became Catholic, one of my biggest questions was:
“Why do I have to confess my sins to a priest? Can’t I just tell God directly?”
It felt strange, even intimidating, until I learned that Confession isn’t a man-made ritual. It’s biblical. Deeply biblical. And once I saw it, I couldn’t unsee it.
Let’s start with John 20:21–23. After Jesus rises from the dead, He appears to the apostles and does something breathtaking:
“Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, even so I send you.” And when He had said this, He breathed on them and said to them, ‘Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.’”
Jesus gives His apostles, not just anyone, the authority to forgive sins in His name. This is the foundation of the sacrament of Reconciliation. Jesus, knowing our need for tangible grace, gave us priests as instruments of His mercy.
We also see this echoed in James 5:16:
“Therefore confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, that you may be healed.”
The early Christians understood confession as something lived out in community, with the help of the Church, not just a private moment between “me and God.”
When a priest hears our confession, he stands in persona Christi, in the person of Christ, not as a judge, but as a channel of divine mercy. The priest doesn’t “replace” Jesus. He acts on His behalf, just like the apostles did.
And let’s be honest, God already knows our sins. Confession isn’t for Him to find out. It’s for us to lay it down. Out loud. Honestly. In humility.
Come Home
If it’s been a while since your last Confession, or if you’ve never gone at all, let this be your invitation.
You are not too far gone.
You are not too broken.
And you are so deeply loved.
Jesus is waiting for you in the confessional, not to scold you, but to free you.
So go. Even if your hands shake. Even if you have to write it all down. Go.
Let Him wash you clean. Let Him speak peace over your soul. Let Him love you back to life.
““Go to confession, it’s not the priest you’re meeting. It’s Jesus. And He’s already in love with you.””