When shame stings

Yesterday I remembered it. It’s been awhile since I thought of it. Not long enough?

I was one of two women placed on a committee with several men, formed to carry out a specific task for a specific time. We all were pleasant acquaintances, and some of us genuine friends.

But outside the committee, someone felt offense. In a public forum, he announced the violation of his conscience by women being on the committee. He did so politely, granted, and assured us it was nothing personal.

     But still. It stung. It embarrassed. 

So rules shifted. We weren’t eliminated from the committee, but our roles lessened.

We pressed on anew, just differently. We completed the task. And that was that.

But yesterday the memory was triggered. 

So yesterday, for the briefest of moments, that false feeling of shame associated with the event crept back in. Of being a woman. Of being publicly called out because of it.

The shame is unfounded. I know that now. I knew that then.

      But still. It stings. It embarrasses.

Until I remember who I am.

I’m in the bloodline.
The Royal line.
Where no shame lives.

Shame was drowned in the King’s own blood. 

So yesterday, I drank up. More of his blood. Into my own.

And I was reminded of my eternal identity, irrespective of old memories. A daughter of the King yesterday. Today. And for all my tomorrows.

I take refuge in his blood. There I am never put to shame.

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In you, O LORD, do I take refuge;
let me never be put to shame!
Psalm 71:1

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How do you drown out shame-based memories from your past or present?

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