It occurs to me that eating Doritos is like my pathetic and woeful concupiscence. I don’t even mean that in a funny way, though it is a rather over-the-top analogy.
I stared at an open Dorito bag for about 5 minutes, circling back to where it was as I was putting away things in the kitchen. It kept calling to me. I don’t even like Doritos all that much. The salt, I suppose, is the draw.
The problem is, once I opened that bag, I couldn’t eat just one. And before I knew it, I had gobbled up a quarter of the bag. I didn’t feel at all satisfied, and it left a bad taste in my mouth. For all the wiping on a napkin, my fingers still carry the faint stain of processed cheese and fake ingredients.
Just like sin. Its ugly allure, my powerlessness to resist, and the mess. It leaves a mess.
I’m so grateful for the Sacrament of Reconciliation, and the availability of it time after time.