An old friend, lifelong friend really, stopped in to visit this morning. Actually, I’m sure she woke me. She was there in my dreams, too. Lurking. Haunting. Clinging. Her name? It’s Shame. Debilitating Shame.

For as long as I can remember, this nauseous, gut twisting, dark, frightened feeling washes over me. She just appears, unannounced and lingering. It feels a bit like the feeling you’d experience if you were a fawn, grazing in a wildflower meadow, suddenly realizing you’re being stared at by a circle of rifle-bearing hunters. Or the feeling you’d experience if you walk out to a highly anticipated, sold out performance, and you realize in your haste, you walk out–naked. Yeah, that feeling. Naked. Bare. Vulnerable. Exposed. Scared with nowhere to hide. Nauseated. Guilty. Guilty with the confused awareness that you’ve done nothing wrong, but still you’re unable to determine the source of the sickening feeling.

So, I addressed this feeling during an 8 month course of cognitive behavioral therapy for suicide, depression, and disordered eating. It was there I learned that my friend, Guilt, was actually an imposter–Shame. I wasn’t feeling guilt. I was feeling shame. Let me tell you, it’s fascinating and excruciatingly hard work to dig deep into your past, your family of origin, your traumas to discover those deep, hidden, covered roots. Once Shame is introduced, she doesn’t like to be kept away.

And she visited again this morning. Alone, with my head literally between my knees, trying to stave off a panic attack, I asked my Father God for help. Nothing. Nothing except this: You’re my child. I love you just the way you are. My broken self immediately replied, “yeah, but you’re God. You love everyone. I’m just a failure. No matter how hard I try, I can’t lose these pounds or overcome infertility. I can’t shake Shame.” I quietly started Sunday dinner, still praying. Still feeling defeated. Soon, another friend knocked at the door. Catching my breath, I recognized her–Suicidal Ideation. I didn’t open the door, just kept chopping cantaloupe and radishes, silently begging God to come.

Our church has been live streaming during COVID 19 quarantine. Being the third fastest growing church in the US, leaders chose to wait to open doors until the first Sunday in August. As I was mental-battling in the kitchen, I heard the strains from our worship team, “there’s nothing that our God can’t do….not a prison wall He can’t break through…,” and immediately I felt my Jesus’ presence. And my Father God? He spoke, “Just listen.” I did.

And mere moments later, I heard my God whisper to my soul and gently cradle my heart through these lyrics from “Hallelujah For The Cross”: all my shame was met with mercy.

I’m not certain I believe in coincidences, and I definitely don’t believe my experience this morning was a coincidence. When my uninvited, unwelcome guest, Shame, refused to leave, my Father heard my plea, spoke to me in a tangible way, and swept away Shame with all of His Mercy.

For the closing worship song, Northview’s team lead “Reckless Love.” This morning, my God proved His reckless love for me. He fought until I was found. And, all the shame in the world wouldn’t deter His love. It’s refreshing to know that I don’t have to perform, earn, or deserve. I’m just loved. As is. All my Shame is met with Mercy.

To Northview: Thank you. You are home here on earth. You embraced us and welcomed us and loved us when we felt lost, confused, uninvited, and unseen. Either our first or second time in attendance was baptism weekend. I remember being unable to sing during the worship during baptism because of the tears rivering down my face and the sobs wracking my chest. The feeling was indescribable. The closest I can come is just the feeling of being home, being unconditionally loved, and ultimate belonging. In a raging life storm, you’ve been a life shelter. You are home.