... because I don't always ...

I often wonder what triggers certain memories to pop into my brain seemingly out of nowhere and decide to linger for a while. Like a particular memory of my mom that came charging into my mind yesterday that I just can't seem to shake today. Had there been a cake in my house yesterday that was covered in rich creamy vanilla icing, perhaps the memory's appearance would make more sense to me. I can assure you, however, that there was no cake in my humble abode yesterday ... there has been no cake in my humble abode for several years ... there will be no cake in my humble abode in the future. But though cakeless I may be (actually, it's the icing I love, not the cake), that did not prevent me from recalling one of the more severe reprimands I received from Mom when I was a kid. She had made two cakes ... one for a church function and one to take to Mrs. Morris, an elderly woman we often visited with on Sunday afternoons. Two cakes covered in rich creamy vanilla icing sitting on the kitchen counter taunting me all morning ... until I caved in to the temptation, took a spoon from the drawer and scraped a huge glob of icing off of one of the cakes and ate it. And then I ate another spoonful from the second cake. And then I may or may not have eaten a lot of the delicious icing off of both cakes. Looking back now ... I totally deserved Mom's wrath that day ... I totally and completely deserved the punishment I received. If the truth be told, I deserved a greater punishment than I received ... seriously ... what in the world was I thinking? Like Mom wouldn't notice that most of the icing on her homemade cakes was gone ... seriously ... what was I thinking?

What I remember most about that day ... other than how awesomely amazing the vanilla icing tasted ... was what Mom said when she walked into the kitchen and caught me red-handed (or vanilla icing-covered spoon-handed, I suppose). 

"Lord, help! What have you gone and done to them cakes? You should be ashamed of yourself, eating all the icing off them cakes. You should be ashamed." 

As I've thought about Mom's words from my icing-swiping escapade, the more I've come to understand just how far-reaching and all-encompassing those words are for me ... "you should be ashamed." I've spent my entire life being ashamed ... my entire life. Though I wish desperately that it weren't true, being ashamed of who I am is an ever-present fight ... a fight that I often fear I may never win. As I was driving home from work this evening, I realized something ... something that is really big to me and maybe it will be to some of you as well. Mom was right ... I should be ashamed. I should be ashamed, but not for the reason many of you are thinking. I should be ashamed ... and perhaps I'm not the only one.

I should be ashamed ...

... because I don't always do the right thing.

... because I don't always feel blessed.

... because I don't always love unconditionally.

... because I don't always demonstrate compassion.

... because I don't always make the correct decisions.

... because I don't always go the extra mile.

... because I don't always help the weak.

... because I don't always see the needs of others.

... because I don't always forgive quickly.

... because I don't always choose wisely.

... because I don't always give to those less fortunate.

... because I don't always believe.

... because I don't always trust.

... because I don't always have faith.

... because I don't always listen.

... because I don't always hear.

I should be ashamed ... not because of who I am, friends, but because I don't always.