Shame’s Seduction

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Shame. The word alone makes me want to inhale deeply, before preparing myself for confrontation. The fallacy is, that shame comes in like a thick fog — daring you to defy it, to confront it, — while taunting you with the notion that you are worthless, and no match for its power.

The serpent was clever, more clever than any wild animal God had made. He spoke to the Woman: “Do I understand that God told you not to eat from any tree in the garden?” – Genesis 3:1 the Message

Since the dawning of time, shame has tragically makes it’s abode in the sons and daughters of Adam and Eve. Once its venom enters the victim’s life blood, it takes up residence, even being passed on from one generation to the next.  A skilled master of disguise. He greets his targets in a variety of different forms. Even those who don’t believe he exists. In his ever cunning way he’ll convince his prey that he is holy, just, and righteous, — one’s lot in life, and even a birthright. It’s sufferers having lived with it for so long, are often unaware of its toxicity spreading throughout their soul.

13 “The serpent seduced me,” she said, “and I ate.” Genesis 3:13 the Message

Shame has exercised and honed his seductive skills to near perfection — if that were possible.

21 God made leather clothing for Adam and his wife and dressed them. Genesis 3:21 the Message

Thankfully, shame underestimated its greatest opponent — the King. As He did in the Garden of Eden, — so He has done to this day. With His very own hands, He’s crafted new clothing for us to wear. No two are alike. Once this clothing is embraced it carries with it the antidote to disarm shame at every level. Shame actually shrinks away from the King and His grace woven clothing.

The LORD says, “I will rescue those who love me. I will protect those who trust in my name. Psalm 91”14 NLT

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The Lost Son

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Lovers of prodigals, — you never walk alone.

     The man did as he had so many mornings, — stealing away to a quiet place, outside the walls of his home. He slowly made his way to a table and chairs positioned in a shady corner of his courtyard. Here he found one of his favorite spots. The morning breeze always carried with it the air of hope. It was in the solace of this place he often began his day. Something about this hour, and the beauty of his surroundings, served as a perfect beginning to each day. It was his private space — a serene place. It was here that he often came to make peace with the emotions, and realities, that fought for dominion of his soul.  A space he had carved out for personal reflection and quite trust. Here he gave himself permission to slowly sip and enjoy a cup of tea. Alone with his thoughts — or so he thought. The truth is he was never truly alone. Nothing illustrated this more than the sounds of hawkers selling their wares in the streets, and the occasional braying of donkeys. The village was awake, and alive, — and a new day had begun. His village not unlike the others in the Middle East woke with the sounds of life. 

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Rembrandts rendition of the return of the prodigal son.

     His thoughts wandered as he listened to the voices of children playing in the streets. The sounds of their boisterous and carefree moments brought him both joy and pain. He recalled the days when it was the voices of his children that could be heard outside the walls of their home.  Those were good days. He longed to hear their voices. He allowed himself a few brief moments to silently acknowledge to himself, and his God, — the pain he valiantly carried, but, only for a moment. His accute and chronic pain, forced him to not linger long in this area of his heart — he only allowed himself brief periods of time in this place.  He feared the power of the pain that lay just beneath the surface of his soul; it’s implications far too grave.      

     This man had never imagined he would be in this place. He could not tell you how many sleepless nights had passed as he searched for answers.  What had they done wrong? Worse was the moments, hours, and days, when they longed to know where their son was. Wrestling with his imagination was exhausting. Was he safe? Was he on the street? Was he alive? He carried a chronic heartache with him daily. It is in those times that he dare not even verbalize the scenes, and scenarios, that plagued his mind. He would wish this journey on not another soul.  

     He had certainly heard from many solicited and unsolicited voices as he traveled this road of pain. He was not ignorant to the murmurs spoken both privately and publicly. He heard the whispers and was aware of the unspoken opinions displayed in their eyes. He heard their questions. He too had pondered many of them himself.  Gossip, rumors, and suspicions were not unnoticed. Their residue — an undeniable presence they would learn to live with. They had however, learned to walk through the thick fog of shame with strength, and dignity.   

     The man fully understood the ramifications of a son’s actions in a culture based on honor and shame. He knew his son’s choices would surely blanket his house with shame for many years to come. Regardless, he never wavered in his extravagant love for his son. A flame of love and hope burned eternal within his heart — in the very place that only his son could fill.  

     He knew his son was what some term a “strong willed” child. He recalled the day of his son’s birth. A son brought such honor to his home. He had big dreams for this child of his. If he were honest with himself — he still did.  

     As he allowed himself to be carried away with a multitude of memories he was unaware of those who surrounded him — yet were unseen. The King had given strict orders to those who were assigned to protect this man’s household. The King and His Son looked upon the man and his family with extravagant love. The Son could often be heard talking to the Father on behalf of their beloved sons. They made sure that the man had ample strength to carry him moment by moment. You see the King understood with vivid clarity the weight of this pain residing in the heart of the man. In fact the King was intimately acquainted with this kind of loss. This is why He never allowed him to walk alone.

Lover of prodigal sons and daughters — you are not alone. There is hope. The end of the story has yet to be written.

22-24 “But the father wasn’t listening. He was calling to the servants, ‘Quick. Bring a clean set of clothes and dress him. Put the family ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Then get a grain-fed heifer and roast it. We’re going to feast! We’re going to have a wonderful time! My son is here—given up for dead and now alive! Given up for lost and now found!’ And they began to have a wonderful time. Luke 15:22 – 27

 

An Object of His Desire

The sun shone brightly in the morning sky, gently warming the desert floor beneath. Pleasant sounds, and sights, of vibrant life blanketed the surroundings and the sky above. A tranquil and inviting peace permeated all of creation. It was in this place, and at this time, that the King had chosen to walk. The gentle ocean breeze blew just enough, to brush the hem of his garment across his ankles. Each time he took a step, the dust and sand from the ground lightly covered the straps of his sandals. His stride was strong, steady, and purposed.

Silence filled the air as every living thing watched, and waited, with great expectation; looking for the object of His desire. The King’s eyes filled with a reflection of His love. Acceptance and extravagant love shaped his smile. He had come to this place, at this time, to retrieve His work of art —His masterpiece, handcrafted by the Master Potter.img_20150317_191205270

He knew precisely where to retrieve what He had come for. He slowed His step and gently bent down to look upon it. There, buried beneath the dirt and sand, lay a vase almost completely covered. Others had walked this very same path and passed this piece of clay many times before — yet never saw it. Some had unknowingly walked across the top of it. This earthen vessel had withstood the scorching temperatures of summer, and the bitter cold of winter. There were times when it was deemed flawed, of little use, and eventually discarded. None of those deterred the King from seeking His vessel of honor.

He knelt down and carefully unearthed this beautiful piece. One created by His very breath. Carefully He brushed the dirt that life had left behind from the object of His desire. His eyes filled with joy as He gazed upon the vase now held in His hands. He understood that the gradual shape of His masterpiece had happened over time, so subtly at times that the vase hadn’t fully understood the depths of its current state — but the Master did. That is why He came.

He had not only come to retrieve her, but to restore her. He wasn’t ashamed of her brokenness or frightened by her rough edges. He had set His love upon His beloved creation long before.

Now His love began a work of complete restoration. He began to repair her brokenness, smooth the rough spots, fill in the cracks, and restore her luster. He had not created her to be hidden beneath the dust of life, or fragile from the storms she had endured. To the contrary, His intention was to clothe her in extravagant love, and put her on display for all creation to see.

“Now listen, daughter, don’t miss a word; forget your country, put your home behind you. Be here — the King is wild for you. Since He’s your Lord, adore Him.  Psalm 45:10-11 The Message