I remember it so well.  The shame.  One of my earliest memories of wanting to try to hide my entire being.It was the summer after 4th grade.  I had become friends with a girl down the street and she had an idea of a prank we could make on a boy in her Sunday school class.  We were going to call his house and invite him to a surprise birthday party.  We agreed on all the details of the party and made the phone call.We asked for him to come to the phone and gave him the details of the party.  He agreed to come.  (To be clear, this surprise birthday party was for his close friend at his close friend's house.  Said close friend wasn't having a surprise birthday party.  It was all a concoction that I knew was so wrong to carry out, but I did anyway.)It wasn't until the next week that I heard my friend had asked this boy about the party during Sunday school class.  That's when he finally knew who placed the call.It wasn't long before my parents found out.  And they insisted I go to his house and apologize to him and his family.I remember being sick to my stomach as we drove over there.  I'm pretty sure I was kicking and screaming the whole way.  I even remember the struggle my dad had in pulling me out of the car.I only remember the boy's father coming to the door, not his son.  The cruel look on his face was enough for me to know that what I had done was horribly terribly wrong.  I remember not being able to talk.  I just stood there with tears rolling down my freckled face.  He waited with his arms crossed.  Waited with a mean look on his face.He would have waited all day staring me down, it seemed.I finally peered up and said what I was told to say - "I am sorry."He sneered at me and told me what a horrible terrible thing I had done to his son.  How embarrassed his son was.I made my way back to the car.  Not feeling one bit better after that interaction.  And that's all I remember.___________________________________________________________I wonder today - was this when shame made it's way into my heart?  Into my soul?  Is this when I started the real struggle of feeling like I had to be perfect in order to be acceptable?Remember - shame is an indictment on our being.  It's saying "I am a mistake."  "I'm a mess up."  It's one of Satan's top tools that he uses to keep us from freedom and from basking in the sweetness of God's grace.

The antithesis to shame - it's intimacy.  It's being fully known and sharing the mistakes we make.  It's risking - truly, it's taking a leap of faith and hoping, praying that someone, anyone will accept us just as we are, mistakes and all.

Because shame is such a strong undercurrent in what Jason dealt with in his addiction, I am very weary, very careful to try not to pile the shame high on my boys.  Please hear me say - I am not impressively great at this.  It takes one that struggles with shame to pile the shame high.  I know how to do this.  And I regret the mistakes I've made in this area with those I love.And yet, one of the things I love about parenting is trying to redeem the broken pieces of my past, of Jason's past.That brings me to last week.I walked out of my office with sweat coming through my shorts - it was so hot -  to see one of my littles blowing air through a straw and onto applesauce which was then splattering all over the kitchen.  The sweet sitter I had with the boys was frantically trying to clean it up, paper towels everywhere.I was so confused, overwhelmed and hot that I brushed the whole incident off and whisked the sweet sitter (she is so sweet, really) away on her bike.  It wasn't until later that I started to process what had happened.  Had my precious son really been blowing air through a straw and watching the applesauce hit the floor, counter and walls?  Yes, yes he had.I knew I needed to help him see that what he did was wrong.  But how could I also make sure he knew he is loved all the same?I started by exploring with him - how could he make amends to the sitter?  What could he do to make it up to her?  Maybe an apology?The memory I shared above came rushing back.  The shame hit me again.  I wanted to hide under the coffee table.I shook it off.No, no, no, I didn't want my son to feel shame.So how could I handle this in love and yet not heap on the shame?We talked about the fact that we all make mistakes - that's why we need a Savior.  We talked about some of my mistakes.  I reminded him that he is loved no. matter. what.This is what we settled on - he wrote a note to the sitter, apologizing for his choices.  Jason then took him to the grocery store where he used his own money to pick out something yummy for her - an amend of sorts.As for the delivery of the note and candy, I gave him a choice - did he want me to talk to her upon arriving at her house and he could stay at the street?  Or did he want to talk to her?  We started our walk over to her house.  I held his hand and made sure he knew how much I loved him no. matter. what.He decided he wanted to come to the door with me and say hello.  We knocked, but there was no answer.I was so disappointed to not get a chance to show my little guy that saying sorry doesn't have to be a scary thing.  It doesn't mean he's a terrible horrible person.  It is simply acknowledging that we hurt someone with our choices and we wish we could take it back.We placed the note and the Twizzlers in the mailbox.We turned and started our walk back home, me basking in the fullness of knowing there is grace for my son and not only that - but I believe he felt it.  There was more there, too - I was also able to bask in the fullness that there is just as much grace for the little girl that made that awful choice way back in the summer of 1987.

Kicking shame to the curb.  Now that's redemption.

xo-Shelley