"Confession is like bed making when you consider the slow and deliberate repetition. Tucking the sheets. Smoothing the comforter. Plumping the pillows. It's work that should be done daily, or at least as often as the untucking, the crumpling, and the smooshing occur. My resistance to confession probably comes from the same place as my resistance to making the bed: doing something that I know with certainty that I will have to do again soon. Over and over again until I am too old or weak or sick to do it or until my children are old enough to take over doing all the unpleasant household tasks. (Don't tell my son Miles, but the option to delegate the worst chores to our offspring was high up on Scott's and my list of Reasons to Have Children.) There is also the matter of enforcement to consider. None exists. No one knows or cares or sees that my bed is unmade, no one knows or cares or sees that my confessions are unsaid, and if a sheet is untucked in a forest with no one there to see it, is it really untucked?"
- Katie Savage, from her forthcoming book, which is scheduled to be released in November and likely to be called Whirlybirds and Ordinary Times: Reflections on Faith and the Changing of Seasons