When Shame is Your Crown

She wore it like a backpack full of bricks. Heavy, invisible bricks. When meeting people for the first time, she was uncharacteristically uncomfortable. When spending time with dear friends, she learned the art of quickly maneuvering the conversation so that the other person revealed all and she inadvertently escaped having to reveal much of anything. Her internal mantra? Head down, avert eye contact. Overcompensate by serving big and loving bigger. Maybe if people liked what she did they wouldn't have time to dislike (or even HATE. shudder) who she was. That backpack full of bricks? It was STEALING her identity. Shame was her crown.

Sounds awful, doesn't it?! And yet, that has been me at a given moment. For quite some time, I had never even considered that shame was a crown I donned frequently. Once I noticed it, however, it became a rather glaring trait. Shame is definitely NOT beautiful. At times throwing off the shame has felt daunting and insurmountable. The reality is, I KNOW truth. I can verbalize truth, say it over and over to myself until I am blue in the face. But believing--like heart-depth, down-to-my-toes believing--is a different ball game.

And gosh darn it, one of these days I am going to hit it out of the park and smash that crown in the dust. All because of this:

"Those who look to Him are radiant; their faces are never covered with shame." Psalm 34:5

I would gladly exchange shame for radiance, wouldn't you?! I think about Jesus and the confidence with which He lived his earthly life and carried out his ministry. Why? How? Probably because He was daily, minute by minute, reliving that moment when heaven opened up and He heard/felt/believed the words of refreshingly gentle truth: "This is my Son, whom I love, with Him I am well pleased" (Matthew 3:17).

His mirror was Father God. 

Oh that my mirror would be Father God, that I would exchange my covered-in-shame face for one that is gloriously radiant. That crown never did fit me anyway.