"It’s A Shame About Shame”

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Of course, I was about 10 years old, so what did I know about good ideas?

Henry was ancient….probably eleven or twelve, and although I knew he was known to be a troublemaker, his arguments seemed compelling.

It was a fall day in rural Ohio. I know that because I was wearing my red windbreaker jacket, which will later be an important part of this narrative.

My grandma Roberts was babysitting me. The rules were simple that day. I was allowed to stay outside all day if I wanted to, but I was not supposed to leave the yard without telling her first.

Henry challenged that boundary and I, too, felt it might have been a little too restrictive.

And so, without much effort, Henry convinced me to ride our bikes about a mile down the road so we could light firecrackers near a natural gas well that was situated next to the local football field.

Gas well………firecrackers…….flames……..what could go wrong?

And so…..that’s what we did.

And it was glorious!

The thrill of rule-breaking…..the adrenaline that comes with hoping you don’t get caught…the exhiliration of breaking free of the fetters of grandmotherly rules. In my mind, I can see myself rearing my head back to laugh maniacally as Henry lit another banger.

For what seemed like an eternity (more likely about 30 minutes) we were kings!

And then I heard it.

The voice of my father.

Faint, at first……but progressively picking up in volume and intensity.

“Aaronnnnnnn!” 

“Aaron Welch!” 

“Aaron!”

“Aaron Paul!!!”

That last one caught my attention. The use of my middle name was a strategic one, and I knew there was “trouble in River City.”

And for the first time that I can remember, I felt it. Not just guilt, although that was certainly there. I knew I wasn’t supposed to be there. I knew I had done something wrong. Later I would learn that it was the only time my dad had seen my grandmother cry, because she was frightened about what might have happened to me.

But there was something beyond guilt that day.

I felt shame.

Not just that I had DONE something bad…….but that maybe I WAS something bad.

And like anyone feeling shame…….I hid.

You see, “shame and hiding” go together just like “peanut butter and jelly.”

I tried to hide behind nearby bushes, hoping my dad would move on. I can still feel the sensation in my stomach, like what you feel when you’re leaning back on a chair and it almost tips over.

At this point in my memory, Henry was gone. Seriously, I don’t know what happened to Henry. After the initial part of the crime, he is lost in a sea of shame and fear.

All I know is that I felt alone, ashamed, and exposed. The bushes weren’t full enough to hide me, so I employed the second most common strategy that comes with shame.

I ran.

And that’s when he saw me…..mostly because of that blasted red windbreaker I mentioned earlier.

“AARON PAUL WELCH!!!”

I froze, knowing that the jig was up.

“Come here, NOW!!”

I turned and saw my dad standing at the top of a slope. He was only about 5’9” but in that moment he looked huge, and he was pulling out his belt. I knew I was in big trouble, but I also knew I couldn’t get away.

I was exposed.

And so, I walked as slowly as possible up that hill, tears streaming down my cheeks. I was crying, first of all, because my dad had rarely spanked me…almost never had his belt made it all the way out of the loops. But that day, it was already out and raring to go.

But I was weeping for another reason too. My tears were also about breeching the trust of my dad. In that long walk up the slope, I honestly wondered if my relationship with him would ever be the same. I had crossed a line I don’t remember crossing before that, and I felt undeserving of his love and very deserving of his belt.

When I got to within about 10 feet of him, my legs gave out. I was terrified, and I honestly dropped to my knees, held up my hands, and cried out, “Do I have time to pray first??”

His answer was simply, “no.”

And, frankly, I experienced the pinnacle of disciplinary action of my entire childhood.

First, he spanked me. And then, he made me get on my bike and ride it all the way back to my grandma’s house while he drove the car right behind me. I remember thinking that he might run over me and be done with it.

I look back on that day now and smile. My dad loved telling that story over the years. My children loved hearing it.

But that experience really was a lesson about shame and its effects on us.

The truth is that shame always leads to hiding. Shame tells us that, if anyone knew what we were doing, we would not be lovable. Shame whispers that we are somehow bad at our core, that we are inherently flawed and lack value.

Shame insists that we better hide because nobody could ever love us as we are.

In that moment behind the bushes, I truly felt ashamed. I did not want my father to see me, because I knew he was angry and disappointed. I didn’t want to face him and risk the loss of his love.

This little soiree was also a foreshadowing of a cycle of shame that played out into my adulthood. You see, there is an adrenaline rush when you break the rules. A little shot of dopamine to entice the brain.

I felt it that day, and it set a tone that would play out later in life.

I’d like to blame Henry. He was a known troublemaker, and I feel foolish to say that it made me feel important somehow to have an older, edgier kid, invite me on such a caper. If I were trying to justify myself, I could say Henry played the part of the devil (after all, he DID have very red hair).

But the truth is, although Henry may have been the catalyst, there was a part of me that was drawn to the adventure. I knew it was wrong. I knew it was dangerous. I knew the risks. And I chose to go anyway.

That pattern played out for me a lot in young adulthood; the thrill of breaking the rules, the rush that comes with getting away with it, the shame that follows when I knew I was not being the man I wanted to be, the emotional low of feeling bad about who I was, which triggered my brain to say, “you know what would make us feel better? The thrill of doing something we’re not supposed to!!” And the cycle begins again.

It’s a shame about shame.

Maybe you know what I mean.

Maybe you’ve seen the cycle in your own life.

You’ve felt the rush of breaking the rules……of pushing the boundaries…..that  stolen water really does taste sweet, as the writer of Proverbs tells us.

But maybe you’ve also felt the other side of it.

The shame of it.

The sense that you’re fundamentally bad. Unlovable. That if someone really knew you, they would not want you.

And maybe you know all about trying to hide behind the bushes that feel pretty barren.

If so, just know……I’ve been there. More than once, if I’m being honest.

But before I go, let me tell you something else I have learned since that day.

Years later, my dad was once again telling that story. His favorite “little Aaron” story.

But this time he added a nuance I never knew before.

When he talked about my slow trek of shame up the hill…..and got to the part where I dropped to my knees and begged him to let me pray…..he told the audience that he almost laughed right then and there.

WHAT???

I did NOT know that and in my recollection, he did not seem to be in a humorous mood at the time.

But he repeated it…..that he almost laughed at me begging him to let me pray.

There I was….honestly fearing for my life, believing that my life expectancy was about 8 more seconds…..and he was on the edge of laughter. As I listened to this version of the story, I was incredulous. I couldn’t believe my ears!

But then it dawned on me.

He almost laughed because even then, at my worst moment, he never once was tempted to stop loving me. He almost laughed because I was afraid our relationship was over, and he just thought it was comical that his little boy thought he was at an existential tipping point.

Oh, he still spanked me. He knew I needed to face the consequences of my actions.

But our relationship was never at risk, and he knew it.

I was still his boy. Still his son. And he loved me, even as I felt unlovable.

My friends, I hope you are still reading because this is how grace works.

You have a Father who loves you, even in your worst moments. You have a Father who calls for you when you are hiding in your shame. You have a Father who may allow you to face the consequences of your actions, but who offers relationship anyway.

Shame doesn’t want you to know that. Shame wants you to reject that. Shame tells you that it can’t be true.

And maybe you believe it.

Maybe you've been hiding, or running, or maybe you've been exposed.

In fact, you might be dropping to your knees, desperately crying out for mercy…for a grace you don't deserve, believing there is no way anyone….ANYONE…could keep loving you.

But shame has been lying to you.

Your Father is still calling your name.

You may have to come out from behind the bushes. You may have to face what you've done. There may even be consequences waiting for you when you do.

But He is still looking for you.

You are still loved.

And maybe grace begins when you finally believe that you don't have to hide anymore.