I picture my hands holding this big mass of black, tarry, sticky, messy, foul-smelling, disgusting ick. I had gotten really good at hiding my hands from just about everybody, so nobody could see this mass of ick that I was holding onto.

One day, God asks to see my hands. It's not like I can hide my hands from him; he already knows what's there, and the light reveals everything. He just asks me...