FOREWORD: This is a short story I posted on a previous blog, back in 2015. I still like it, and in an effort to consolidate (I guess) I’m posting it here too.

I once had a friend who described her “Hall of Shame” as the place where she goes in her mind when she remembers the moments that make her feel ashamed. I could relate, and I think we all have those. The cool part is that when we know the Lord, He takes our shame away. I hope you find some solace here.

“As far as the east is from the west, so far has He removed our transgressions from us.” – Psalm 103:12

The young woman led the man back through dense woods. He could tell from the way she moved with ease through the bushes and brambles that she had been there dozens of times. There was a slight path worn into the ground, but it was only perceptible if one took the time to look. She had picked a good location, secluded, off the beaten path. The man followed in silence.

After a considerable amount of time, the trees gave way to a clearing, where a large, dilapidated barn sat, sinking into the ground. The wood was gnarled and rotting. Along the ground, the wood began to curl in different directions, leaving open holes and room for weeds to poke through. The air around the barn smelled musty and old. The woman turned to the man and looked at him intensely.

“You don’t have to do this,” the man said. “I won’t make you.”

She shook her head, determined. “It’s okay. It’s time.”

With her jaw set, the woman turned towards the barn and pushed one of the heavy, broken doors to the side. It slid easily. She motioned for the man to follow her, and led him inside.

Once he stepped through the doorway, the man was hit with the thick stench of wet, rotting wood, mixed with the earthy musk coming off the dirt floor. A long, thin hallway extended before them, full of decaying doors sagging in their frames. The woman stopped at the first door on the right and opened it slowly. Despite its apparent age, the knob turned with almost no trouble. The brass color was rubbed raw from heavy use. The man surmised that she’d opened this door before, maybe hundreds of times.

Inside the room, an exact replica of the woman’s childhood bedroom was displayed, complete with a projected version of the woman as a little girl. She couldn’t have been older than 8.

The girl knelt by her bed in prayer. “And please forgive me for lying to Mommy and Daddy about the cookies. Jimmy didn’t take them.” The girl’s voice started to break. “I did.” A little sob came out of her throat. “And please help Jimmy to forgive me.” She started to cry harder. “I’m so sorry, Jesus.”

The woman shut the door quickly and, looking away from the man, she mumbled, “That was after the first time I told a lie.”

She moved across the hall and down a little, to the second door, this time on the left. When she opened this one, the door let out a small squeaking sound, but still seemed to require almost no effort to open. The man stepped up beside the woman and looked inside.

There was a soccer field, and the woman was there, probably around 12 years old. She ran with the other girls on the field while parents from both teams cheered their daughters on. The 12-year-old version of the woman had the ball, and she excitedly kicked it up the field. A player from the opposing team came up from behind her, took the ball, and ran it back down the field. She passed to a player from her team, who went on to score a goal.

Clearly outraged, the young girl came up behind her opponent and shoved her hard. The opponent fell to the ground, and when she sat up, her nose was bleeding.

Again, the woman slammed the door shut.

“I hated that game,” she said with a shudder. “I quit soccer after that.”

They proceeded like this for some time, moving from door to door, all the way down the hall. By the time they reached the last door, the woman couldn’t bring herself to look up from the ground. She had been fighting back tears, and tried to clear her throat every few seconds.

“We can stop anytime,” the man said gently.

“There’s only one left,” she replied. “But it’s the worst one for sure.”

She took a deep, shaky breath and pulled open the last door. The man looked in the room.

The woman sat on a bed in a hotel room. The calendar on the desk had last month’s page open. She slipped out of her shoes and lounged on the bed, unbuttoning the top few buttons of her shirt. A man entered the scene, then, and gave her a wicked grin. She said something flirtatious, and he jumped at her, starting to kiss her all over. The man in the hotel began to remove his shirt and belt.

The woman abruptly shut the barn door, bringing an end to the tour.

“That’s it,” she said, letting a few tears slide down her face.

“Can I have it?” the man asked quietly.

“What?” she said, looking up at him. “This place? Why would you want it?”

“I know it hurts you. If you let me have it, I can give you peace instead of the shame you feel.”

“Oh,” she said, looking away again. “I don’t know.”

“Think about it,” he answered.

Placing a supportive arm around her shoulders, the man led them back out to the forest. When they stepped through the barn door and breathed in the fresh forest air, the woman seemed to lighten some.

“Okay,” she said. “Take it.”

“You’re sure?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, nodding. “I don’t want it anymore.”

“Wait here,” the man instructed.

He started to walk the trail they had taken to get there, and disappeared among the trees for quite some time. Right when the woman was sure that the man must have left her completely alone, he came back carrying two large jugs of gasoline. He handed one to her.

“What’s this for?” she asked, confusion written all over her face.

“Trust me,” he said.

He walked back into the barn, opened the door to the first room, and began splashing gasoline all over the floor and walls. The woman followed curiously, as the man proceeded to do this in the next few rooms. About half way down the hall, the man ran out of gas. He looked at the woman and nodded.

“It’s your turn,” he said.

Reluctantly, the woman opened a door and began pouring gas on the floors and walls. It smelled horrid, and she had to tuck her face inside of her shirt, but she started to feel better. She went on like that until all of the rooms had gasoline poured in them.

When she stepped outside the barn, she saw that the man held a small matchbox in his hands.

“Do you want to do the honors or should I?” he asked, holding the matchbox out to her.

“Oh no,” she said, shaking her head. “You should do it. I don’t think I’d have the strength.”

The man nodded and stepped towards the open door. He retrieved a match, struck it against the box and lit it, and turned to the woman.

“Stand back,” he said. She took a step back and watched him flick the match inside the old barn.

He grabbed her and pulled her closer to the tree line as the barn was engulfed in flames. It was so old and so empty that it took almost no time at all for the entire barn to be reduced into a pile of smoldering ashes.

“We’re not done yet,” the man said.

He produced a broom and a blanket. After handing the blanket to the woman, he began to sweep all of the ashes into a big pile. He then took the blanket back, set it on the ground, and swept the ashes onto it. He lifted a medium-sized rock, placed it on top of the ashes, and tied the blanket up around it all making a nice knapsack. He lifted it, swung it over his shoulder, and came up next to the woman.

“Follow me,” he said.

They walked farther into the forest, to a part that the woman was not familiar with. After a great distance, they came out upon a cliff overlooking the sea. The salty air blew against their faces in gentle gusts.

The man placed the knapsack of ash and rock on the ground, and looked at the woman.

He took her hands in his and smiled at her.

“I love you,” he said. “You are my daughter and you mean so very much to me. I’ve taken your shame, and now I’m sending it far, far away.”

He gave her hands a supportive squeeze, then let them go. He picked up the knapsack again and hurled it over the cliff. It flew far out above the ocean before it splashed down into the water. The woman understood, then, that the purpose of the rock was to sink the ashes down where no one could find, or even remember them.

“Your shame is gone,” the man said. “You are free.”