There’s a creature in the shadowy recesses of my mind. This creature whispers to me, tells me that it’s better that I am alone; that no one should choose me, lest they be put to shame later; that my value is in what people get from me, not what they share with me - this difference is more than mere semantics. What is given finds its source in the giver, is released and then received. What is shared is not released but connects the giver to the receiver. You would not share your heart with a tumour, for what if the benign becomes malignant and metastasizes. So, you shouldn’t share your life with me - at least that’s what the creature whispers to me.
It reminds me of my failures, all the people that I’ve hurt; it calls to mind the faces of friends that I failed, people that I used and people that I abused; it reminds me that there are things that I’ve done that I can never make right - I had the power to hurt but not the power to heal; when I see the worst of men, it looks over my shoulder and reminds me that I am the same. It’s true. I did all these things, and I cannot undo any of them.
If memories are just memories - benign tumours taking up space, then today mine became malignant. In the mirror I see a crooked smile on a broken man.
Memories are not just memories. These things are seeded in our souls, having the power to affect real change and produce real fruit in our lives: past lessons teach us, old victories encourage us, testimonies embolden us, and shame… well, shame seems to never leaves us. It doesn’t produce fruit, it doesn’t need tending and it is vigorous. Shame is a weed that spreads; it chokes out seeds before they can establish and consumes the life from the soil so that nothing else can grow.
There’s this creature that shows me scenes where I am alone in a room, with my heart in my hands. When things go wrong this creature tells me that it told me this would happen, shows me the room and I walk myself inside. The door locks behind me when I enter - it’s a cage designed to keep the monster in. So, I sit there, quarantined, and I struggle to keep the monsters at bay. I never win. Eventually the door opens and, wearily, I emerge - alone with all the monsters.
Well, that’s not entirely true anymore.
One night I was in that room, struggling against those monsters and the many disfigured faces of my duplicities - the tumour metastasized and had reached my heart and my mind. Those nights had grown long, skirmishes became battles and repetition had worn me down. That night someone else entered the room. He didn’t knock; He didn’t even open the door. He just entered. That morning when I emerged, I was not alone: the Man was with me, but the monsters were not. The door was not merely open but had come off the hinges.
Today that creature whispers again, reminding me of the past. I listen again. These things are all true, except now I look to a cage with no door and an enemy that’s defeated. Still, I am left weary from shame. This weed is choking and consuming my life. But the Man that entered never left. He has been a careful and attentive gardener, uprooting these weeds and exposing them to the light. I am still at times afraid to share, and afraid to lose what I have shared. But the good Gardener doesn’t only remove the weeds, He sows good, life-giving trees so that I am less afraid each day.
A shadow creeps in, concealed by tall blades
Skin as silk and smoother than oil.
Greater is He, perched up on high
Whose eyes as the moon pierce through the night.
No invasive thought will capture my mind,
For the shadow withdraws in the presence of Light.