When Honor Trumps Shame
I thought I knew what honor meant. I thought I understood the cultural inference, the delicate dance between one ethnicity and another. I thought I had left shame far behind when that little girl was dunked in the pool declaring my allegiance to the King of kings and no other. I thought all these things until about a week ago. I had been working hard all day, fighting a nagging head cold and extreme exhaustion. My mind was fatigued from hours of brainwork on the computer. Then, the afternoon rolled around and I was using every ounce of willpower to move mattresses, an obstinate grill, and tools and wood up and down flights of stairs. The day felt like it would never end. Meanwhile, I was aware that a team of individuals had come out and were working with Tina in the garden, but honestly I had no desire to meet them and I felt filthy and gross. My final errand required me to walk out past them as they congregated to head out. Forcing myself to be hospitable, I stepped out. My dirty ha