Clearing Out the Trophy Case of Shame

Ever notice how easy it is to collect our old failures and disappointments, almost like trophies? I call it my “trophy case of shame.” It’s there in my mind, a case lined with memories and words I’ve heard over the years, each polished up and preserved. If you could see it, you’d find rows of “trophies” like: “You’re not a very good preacher.” “You’ll never amount to anything.” “No one will ever love you.” “No one will ever care for you.” Words that were never meant to shape a person, yet somehow, we let them sink in.

Some of the “trophies” are pointed remarks I could never shake: “If you would just do it as I do.” “You are a goof.” “You’re not good enough.” There’s even that Sunday I poured my heart into a lesson, and then the very next week, the local preacher took the same topic and pointedly said, “You just didn’t dig deep enough.” That felt like a punch, a reminder that I was still falling short in some people’s eyes.

And yet, here I am, dusting off that shelf, looking back at those moments as if they’re precious memories when, in truth, they’re more like weights. Why do we do that? Why go back to things that pull us down and hold us back? It’s as if we’re more comfortable living under old criticisms than stepping into who we’re meant to be.

That’s when I think of disciples like Max Crumley Sr. He saw something different. Max heard me speak once and didn’t look at my tangled mess of a life—a struggling musician and college student just trying to make sense of things. He looked right past all that, and without missing a beat, he told me, “You’re going to preach.” That’s it. No conditions. No “if only” or “maybe.” He just said it as if it were apparent to everyone but me.

That kind of encouragement is powerful. Max didn’t see me through the lens of my failures or my awkward start. He saw the potential and spoke it out loud. He was my Barnabas and his words still echo in my life. Max passed away on November 10, 2010, but his influence didn’t go with him. Even now, when self-doubt creeps in, I think back to Max, to how he could see past the noise and flaws and call out the gift God had placed within me.

This whole idea of hanging on to shameful memories brings me back to a simple truth: while there may be a grain of truth in some criticism, most of what we hold on to are lies. We tend to replay the worst versions of ourselves. We take the criticism that stings and give it life again and again, letting it shape us in ways God never intended. We can get so wrapped up in harsh words that we forget to listen to the voices that see our true selves, like Max’s.

This is the freedom that 1 John 3:1-2 gives us: “See what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God; and so we are. The reason why the world does not know us is that it did not know him. Beloved, we are God’s children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared; but we know that when he appears we shall be like him, because we shall see him as he is.” (ESV) This passage invites us to look at ourselves differently—not through our worst moments or others’ expectations, but through the love of a God who knows us and calls us His children. Our identity isn’t wrapped up in what others say; it’s rooted in God’s love and becoming who He made us to be.

Looking back, I’m thankful for Max and the others who chose to encourage me instead of pointing out where I fell short. They remind me that we’re all called to be people who lift each other. Just as Barnabas did for Paul, we can be voices that call out God’s potential in those around us. The world doesn’t need more critics; it needs people who see the goodness, the possibility, the divine calling in each other. That’s who we’re meant to be, and that’s the legacy worth leaving.

So, here’s the invitation: let’s clear out that case. Those words that once wounded us? They don’t have to be our guide. We’ve been told lies; we’ve even believed them at times. But that’s not who we are. We are loved. We are redeemed. We are called. We have a purpose greater than our pain. And as children of God, we’re promised that what we will be is still unfolding, grounded in the love of the One who knows us fully.

~PW 🌮🛶