Holy Confession, Holy Prayer
Shame - embarassment. You, The Beloved, gifted me with an opportunity to see how subtle shame can be. You alone have let me misplace items at work; you alone know the embarassment I feel; but, nevertheless, You alone have led me to confess the "loss" to all.
You alone allowed the loss of my purse this week, involving all to search, to offer advice, really, [and I] to see something beautiful in those who came to me with Real Love and concern. That in itself would be enough. But You alone - when the purse was discovered in a drawer, You alone led not one to look into.
Having lost all ID last month, and having to go thru the bank to renew entry card, etc., at that time - and now, once again - to report a loss of cards, etc., now found. My thought--"I will just go to another branch where they do not know me!!!" I did so.
You alone
were with me, every step of the way. You alone revealed my hiding.
I love
You so, and am in tears as You write this for me. YOU hung on that
cross for me. Forgive me. You took my shame; You moved the "Room"
to a place of its own; and I thank you for the message. Continue please,
my Lord, [to show me] only You, only You, You Alone.
"...And
they overcame him because of the blood of the Lamb and because of the word
of their testimony, and they did not love their life even unto death."
(Rev 12: 10,11)
"Thanks
be to God who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ."
(1 Cor. 15:57)
Enter Into:
The Room
"In
that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the
room. There were
no distinguishing features save for the one wall covered
with small index card files. They were like the ones in
libraries that list
titles by author or subject in alphabetical order.
But
these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endlessly
in either direction, had very different headings. As I drew near
the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that
read , "People I Have
Liked". I opened it and began flipping through the cards.
I
quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names
written on each one.
And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was. This lifeless
room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life.
Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, my memory
couldn't match.
A
sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as
I began randomly opening files and exploring their content. Some
brought joy and sweet memories, others a sense of shame and regret so intense
that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching.
A
file named "Friends" was next to one marked "Friends I Have Betrayed".
The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird.
"Books I Have Read"
, "Lies I Have Told", "Comfort I Have Given", "Jokes I Have Laughed
At". Some were almost hilarious in exactness: "Things I've
Yelled at My Brothers".
Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I Have Done in My Anger," "Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents". I never ceased to be surprised by the content. Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped. I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I lived.
Could
it be possible that I had the time in my 17 years to write each of these?
Thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this
truth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed
with my signature. When I pulled out the file marked "Songs I Have
Listened To", I realized the files grew to contain their contents.
The
cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found
the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality
of the music, but more by the vast amount of time I knew that file represented.
When I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts" I felt a
chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not
willing to test its
size, and drew out a card.
I
shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to think that such
a moment had been recorded. An almost animal rage broke in me.
One thought
dominated my mind: "No one must ever see these cards! No one
must ever see this
room! I have to destroy them!" In an insane frenzy, I
yanked the file out.
Its size didn't matter now. I had to empty and burn
the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the
floor, I could not dislodge a single card.
I
became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel
when I tried to tear it. Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned
the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let
out a long, self-pitying sigh. And then I saw it. The title
bore "People I Have Shared the Gospel With". The handle was brighter
than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle
and a small box no more than three inches long fell into my hands.
I could count the cards it contained on one hand.
And the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that the hurt started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all.
The
rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must
ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key.
But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him. No, please not Him.
Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus. I watched helplessly as He
began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn't bear to watch
His response.
And
in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow
deeper than my own. He seemed to intuitively go to the worst
boxes.
Why did He have to read every one? Finally He turned and
looked at me from across
the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes.
But
this was a pity that didn't anger me. I dropped my head, covered
my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked over and
put His arm around me. He could have said so many things. But
He didn't say
a word. He just cried with me. Then He got up and walked back
to the
wall of files. Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file
and, one by one, began
to sign His name over mine on each card.
"No!", I shouted, rushing to Him. All I could find to say was, "No, no," as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. The name of Jesus covered mine. It was written with His blood. He gently took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards.
I don't think I'll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side. He placed His hand on my shoulder and said "It is finished". I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door. There were still cards to be written."
Author Unknown.
SPH