The Joy of confession
Sinner: Dear Sir, the devil has set my mind on fire, it groans and laments, left sacrilege, defiled by the lustful hands of sin. Depression thus enters, taking her seat as a wicked witch blackening every ray of white which served as joy to my soul. She orders her minions to burn to ashes every seed of hope, and to open wide the gates, so that all the despairing thoughts as well as all the soul destroying vices may enter in. Virtue is locked in prison, Christ has fallen and the self weeps in pity. The soul is in unbreakable chains, and darkness runs wild. Is this the portion for a saint who did not guard his soul from sin? That after many dabbling in the devil's water, that now I am drowned by it. Jerusalem the city of refuge is far off. Will I perish in Babylon, eating by the Lions that slept with Daniel. They touched him not for he was clean, yea holy, but I, a most disgusting thing, should not be worth their digestion but rather their anger in tearing me to pieces. Is heaven so offended that she would leave me to continually lay on thorns. Dejection now holds me down, her chords are around my waist and neck. Resignation does strike her broken chords, calling me to take her strings and use it as the means of my escape. I shall therefore enter hell, dragging my soul into the burning lake with great sorrow and regret.
Sir: My dear friend, the devil and your old man may deal blows at you. But don't then start dealing blows to yourself. David fell, but he rose up to fight the enemy. Peter fell, but he did not hang himself. Many saints have fallen from their heights, but none who continued to look to the Savior ever perished. Nay, none of them had their eternity in hell. Will you take hope by the hands like David and Peter? Will you see the mercy and love in your Father's eyes rather than the guilt in your eyes. O reach out to him. He loves thee and his sword his held out not to cut thee but to cut off your chains.