Shame of Failure

I feel so ashamed when I fail. When I didn’t achieve my potential that is. I am rather fine with losing to obviously better players. As long as I performed on the very peek of my capacity, I’d be happy with any outcome. But when I have it in my hands to succeed and then just choke, that is probably the next worst feeling I know. The worst is the feeling I get when I realize I’ve hurt my wife and she is rightfully upset with me. That is the worst. But the second worst is this one, that I would have won if I would have simply done what I really can. And there was no reason not to do it. I just get so overwhelmed by that scenario. I can make this simple shot, and if I do, I win. So let’s see, in what scenario would I miss this? There is no external reason to miss it. I’ve practiced it a thousand times and know I can make it. Everyone knows I can do it, so it’s not really that I would prove anything by making it. It really just needs to be done. It’s just that last piece of the puzzle, that final draw of the brush. Everything I’ve worked for so hard is coming together, and it’s just the easy part left. The only way I could fail here is that if I am a complete wimp who can’t throw the second the pressure comes on. And that’s all it takes for me to melt. I think these sort of thoughts are why some athletes seem to always blame external factors for their misses. It seems annoying sometimes, and they usually appear immature or arrogant. But I’m starting to see the upside of such a mindset. It wasn’t my fault, so I can keep believing in myself. I did what I could, so I’m innocent. That sounds so appealing. I try to be responsible, so I make sure to blame myself for everything. Not just the things I could possibly control, but all the things. Just to make sure. I realize this is another one of those things I am so annoyed by when my father does them. That for instance, I mention that if I had known that he was on the store I might have told him to buy a loaf of bread for me or whatever. Then he would immediately apologize and suggest that he could take an extra trip to the store or bake me bread or stuff like that. Just over the top apologizing and trying to make up for something that he could never possibly have been in control of and is not even blamed for. Basically he takes the blame for things that he had nothing to with. I think I do the same. If I had only been perfect and all-knowing and all-powerful, then I would have prevented that bad thing from happening, so I’m sorry I’m not. I’m so sorry I’m not God. And it seems humble on the surface. And probably that’s why it is so tempting to go down that route. If I accept the blame and take the fall for anything and everything, then I will not have been arrogant, I will have been humble. I will have done everything and then some. But as a matter of facts, it is completely the other way around. It is arrogant to pretend that I could have been perfect, and that it would somehow be my place to take the blame for everything. It’s not my place. It is not my role. Jesus did that. He took the fall. He accepted the guilt, the shame, the disgrace and the suffering. He took it. Not just in that figurative, overly-dramatic sort of way. But as the one who was actually perfect, who was actually in a position to stop whatever it was from happening. But to stop it, he would have had to give up the humanity of humanity. And so instead of wiping it out to prevent the imperfection and the pain, he paid the price for it himself. He filled in the gap, mended the brokenness. He took it all on him. ALL of it. I have truly not grasped this yet. All of the pain and the suffering AND THE SHAME. THE SHAME, Mikael. The shame that you feel in your body and in your mind. When you flunk a putt, when you shank a drive. When you feel fat and ugly and awkward. The hate you feel toward your stupid self. Mikael, he loves you. Not in a passive sort of way. In a let-me-die-for-you-before-you-even-know-me sort of way. He did it. He paid the price. I’m one of the guys he did it for. And now that he has done it, it is done. I don’t have to be that guy. I don’t have to carry any mistakes. Not someone else’s, not even my own. He’ll do it. If I deny him that, I TAKE AWAY from his victory, I take away from his prize. He wore the crown of shame so he could wear the crown of heaven. His name is above all names. Jesus is the only name given to man by which we must be saved. For there is one God, and one mediator between man and God, and that mediator is Jesus, the son of God. He is the way, the truth and the life. And he is the reason I can love myself even though I’m a pathetic piece of shit. He is the reason I can eat my food and enjoy my drink. It is not something I can just fix myself. But I don’t have to, because he is enough, and he his MIGHTY TO SAVE. His strong arm will save me. He is strong enough. He is pure enough. He is righteous enough. He is perfect enough. He never fails. His plans are never frustrated. Nothing can stop his will. And I will come home to him some day. I will be innocent before him, clean and flawless. Because Jesus washed away all my stains.