Sin in a Pair of Shiny Shoes

Do you see it? I’ve seen it.

The helplessness is like standing over the barely breathing form of a loved one, slowly slipping away. It’s the ache of staring at the no longer stirring forms after they’ve gone. Except I’ve done it. I’ve skipped into the room of my beloved, and twirled on my heel as I pulled the pillow from underneath their head and pushed it down over their face.

When I come to, I’m devastated. I’ve killed the thing that I love. I’ve taken it away from myself, others and all I can think about is how to cover it up. How to excuse it, lessen it, not feel the damnable pain and shame.

That’s what it looks like after the thrill, the momentary satisfaction, the fleeting success. After the elicit orgasm, the desperate lie, the costly win.

See it. Don’t look away. Forfend the urge to justify it. Remember it well, because this is what it always looks like—the wages of sin.

It kills. It takes love and life and happiness as its price, leaving you with shriveled, blackened thing you thought would be worth it. See it well. Don’t let the thief of time steal the sharp stick of pain it caused.


Tomorrow it will come again. In a different hat and a shiny new pair of shoes, hawking wares that promise knowledge and real love and satisfaction. I hope I remember the pain. I hope I remember the price. Moreover, I hope I remember God’s grace, his unmerited love, which teaches me the sin isn’t worth it.

I need a Savior because I’m incapable of not walking into the muck. I need a Savior because I would sink into it if allowed.

And what a Savior who leapt in after me, becoming the muck so I could step out clean. What a Father, who forgets my sins even though I regularly forget his great love. A love I desperately pray to remember better, and give more.


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