Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

Shame

I use to walk so straight and tall, with head held high, so confident among the fellowship of saints. For I was one who had it all together and who knew each answer; I was wise in my own eyes. And surely, I supposed, they all were blessed beyond all measure, having such a one within their company.

Then came the day I pulled the rug from underneath my feet, and everything came crashing downward, splashing in the mud and mire. And I was left, by my own fault, a dirty, shameful, soul amidst the lowest of them all.

So I, with eyes cast down, and head bowed low, walked silently among the throng of joyful souls whose voices lifted with their hearts in happy celebration. I prayed that none would speak to me, or note the shame that certainly declared itself in crimson flames across my cheeks.

Thus I continued day and night, like David, king from ages past, whose flesh was wasted by his shame. Until at last I learned this truth of grace: That I was never fit to walk among good Christian folk, until the day that I discerned I never was.

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