Some of us are exhausted because we are doing chores for a dead duck. Stay with me. This is a spiritual problem, although a shovel might have helped initially.

Arron Chambers, in Remember Who You Are, retells a story from Richard Hoeffer’s Will Daylight Come? about a boy named Johnny who received his first slingshot while visiting his grandparents.

Johnny practiced in the woods without hitting anything. Trees were safe. Squirrels relaxed. The entire woodland community lowered its threat level. Then he returned to the backyard, spotted Grandma’s pet duck, and took an impulsive shot.

For the first time all day, his aim was perfect.

The duck died.

Johnny panicked and hid the evidence in the woodpile. Unfortunately, his sister Sally had witnessed everything. Sally said nothing. That should have worried him.

After lunch, Grandma asked Sally to help wash dishes. Sally announced that Johnny wanted to help instead. Then she whispered three words:

“Remember the duck.”

Johnny washed.

Later, Grandpa offered to take the children fishing, but Grandma needed Sally’s help with supper. Sally graciously volunteered Johnny.

“Remember the duck.”

Sally went fishing. Johnny stayed in the kitchen, discovering that one dead duck could generate a remarkable amount of housework. For several days, Sally enjoyed the benefits of having a brother with a secret. Johnny did his chores and hers.

Finally, he confessed.

Grandma hugged him. She explained that she had seen the whole thing from the window. She loved him and had already forgiven him. She had been wondering how long he would let Sally make a slave of him.

What’s your duck?

An ugly sentence you cannot unsay? A betrayal? A failure your mind replays at two in the morning with the dedication of a cable channel showing the same movie all weekend? You have confessed it to God. You have asked forgiveness. Perhaps you have begun the difficult work of making things right. Then comes the whisper.

“Remember the duck.”

So you keep paying. You cannot accept a compliment. You distrust joy. You volunteer for everything because somewhere inside you believe exhaustion might qualify as restitution. Surely, if you wash enough dishes, God will finally love you again. But grace interrupts that bargain.

God’s forgiveness comes to us through Jesus Christ, who knows the whole story and still calls us to come home.

Confession matters. Repentance matters. Repairing the harm we have done matters. But none of those things requires a lifetime sentence in the prison of self-contempt. There is a difference between taking responsibility and letting shame take possession. The cross tells us that sin is serious. It also tells us how far God’s love will go to rescue sinners.

Perhaps today you need to bring your secret out of the woodpile. Tell God the truth. Seek the help you need. Take the next faithful step. And when that old whisper returns, remember this:

Grandma had a window.

God has seen the whole thing.

You can quit hiding and come home.

There is grace enough for you—and you might even get to go fishing.

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