His Amazing Grace beckons us to show up and Watch HIM.

(I composed this over a month ago, but never revisited it and hit send. So grateful I wrote this down...God tells us to REMEMBER, and without a written record, it's amazing how one can forget...even when the amazing happens.)

It's been forever since I've written. Today, I knew it was time. In fact, I knew if I didn't today, I would've ignored an appointment I had. I have no idea what I'm supposed to write, but I know there's something God has been showing me all summer, so we'll start there and see where He takes this.

It was May 28th. I was finishing up the busiest 3 months I'd had in recent memory. I hadn't stopped going. School was incredibly busy and every weekend had something major going on so I hadn't rested or gathered myself in months.

I was headed into the busiest portion of my summer. In the subsequent 5 weeks, I was taking 3 different groups of 8 students on 3 different trips. I was headed to Boston twice and Philly once...but by July 8th, I'd be finished, I'd be able to finally rest after nearly 5 months of non stop.

My trips don't just entail the 5 days of travel, they included 4 group meetings, so times 3 is 12 group meetings, and one meeting per traveller that is one on one, so that's 24, and then a prayer gathering for each group, and due to busy schedules, a couple of trips required 2 options for that.

So, in conclusion, that's over 40 meetings from February-June...and then we travel and go have the best time in glorious cities.

I was looking forward to the trips because that's when the fun kicks in, the getaway, and the adventure, and due to such a busy spring, I was ready for the adventure.

So on May 28th, when I received a text from my traveling partner and sweet bestie about a home in Boerne, I shrugged it off as just another attempt to get me to do something that was impossible for me at this time in my life.

I'd dreamed of moving into Boerne proper for years. I'd dreamed of either having my dad design me a house or help me redo a little cottage for as long as I could remember. But it was a dream. A dream that I knew wouldn't ever be fulfilled. Ever.

There was no way it could. Barring a marriage where my small teaching salary wasn't the only funds I had to use, it was an impossible dream. And since marriage would have to bring along the provision, I never wanted to truly dream about it because I don't ever want that to be part of my search for someone...I don't want my desire for things to ever be a motivation for me to date someone...and that easily could be. Financial security is a wooing factor in my life.

SO, I didn't ever really dream about it. It was on the list of impossible things that my life wasn't going to include and I had come to the place with that being okay.

My sweet bestie thought differently. For over a year she had sent me listings and I would barely glance at them. There was no point. No way that I could sell my house in a timely manner, make any sort of money to have enough to buy another and redo it, because any home I could afford in Boerne was basically a dump.

I didn't have a desire to take Cade and I to a dump and have to remain in that, so the obstacles were always too great, not to mention the timing. Boerne sells before things even hit the market, much less allow for sales of present homes to buy new ones.

But, for some reason, May 28th was different.

IF there was one thing about God I'd say I knew hardly anything about was grace. I'm too formulaic, black and white, and anxious.

But for the last 7 years, God has had me on a journey teaching me about grace, showing me what it is and what it means and how it works.

I saw it play out in tragedy and hardship. I saw that it was provision and faithfulness, companionship and goodness during grief and heartache and loneliness.

I saw how God walked every step with me and answered countless prayers that only my soul ached for, the kind that rebuild a person's character and mindset. He set my feet on a path that was leading me to things that only He could show me.

I'd seen His overwhelming grace during the hard but I still had no true concept what His grace was like in the good.

I mean, I had a home. Nothing was wrong with it. My life was moving along and besides bouts of loneliness, things were good...no grief, no difficulty, no present ashes that needed His gracious hands to make beautiful.

But on May 28th, His gracious train showed up and I had no idea what I was about to experience and witness, and sitting tonight, I still can't even fathom, yet alone grasp.

B sent me a text, which led to me going to see a home on a whim...2 days before leaving for Boston.

I took my dad, who, to my surprise, was chipper and excited about the house. He saw no major issues and saw great potential. And not that he's a downer about things, but he's realistic, practical, and conservative.

Big dreams get squashed by reality, practicality, which all lead to conservative decisions, not big dream ones per se.

B and I left for Boston and little did I know, the train began to move.

The property was too high for me and included too much.
My home would have to be sold, and I didn't see how I could do this on my own.

Obstacles were everywhere. That's what I saw. Obstacles.

But B kept pushing.

While in Boston, we checked out what my house would get, and by some miracle, a home 2 doors down had sold in 24 hours for a sum of money I could never have dreamed my home would sell for.

On our way back, B asked if I could have my house ready to sell in the 48 hours, and I just answered yes with no vision on what that would entail.

I came back from spending 5 non stop days in Boston with 8 middle school students, where our days are from 6 am until after midnight, and I woke up the next day at 6 again and began cleaning my house and getting it ready to go on the market.

It was ready Saturday morning and on Sunday, an offer was made.

What?!?

The train hadn't just left at this point, it was gaining speed and I was doing my best to hold on.

The offer was great but they wanted to close in 3 weeks.

Say what?!?

B, just kept talking me down from every cliff of impossible I came to.

I had 2 trips in the next 4 weeks.

But, I said yes...I knew this was a train that I had to catch.

On June 7th, I knew that this summer was not going to be what I had planned and I knew this was something God was in control of and I just needed to keep showing up because for some reason, impossible was becoming possible.

I packed, I panicked, friends talked me off cliffs, and I packed some more.

All of my trip preparations, which are incredibly time consuming and at times can be overwhelming, went along without a hitch and somehow I had enough energy to do all of that and pack.

In the meantime, a deal was trying to be put together on the purchase of the house in Boerne...one of the hottest and fastest markets around.

Obstacle after obstacle kept coming and I would panic and get discouraged but B would push me forward. Mountains that had to be moved, I got to watch be moved.

Mountains moved for the purchase of the home.

I was exhausted and weary, not just from the packing and the unknown, but from the previous months of non-stop, from the weight of traveling and busyness of planning and going forth on little sleep and no restorative time between any of it.

But the train was chugging down the track, and I knew I just needed to hold on.

I returned from Philadelphia on the 25th and I was out of my home on the 30th and leaving for Boston on the 4th.

Everyone who knows me, knows that I LOSE everything. I misplace stuff all. the. time. Ask my students. I can't keep a pen, marker, or history book for longer than 5 minutes. I will have taken it and set it down in the most obscure place and have no recollection of doing so.

I leave a trail of crud everywhere I go.

SO, to be packing and moving while having to keep extremely important travel info, journals, and paraphernalia at my finger tips is a MIRACLE in itself.

I returned from Boston homeless, waiting for mountains to move so I could close on my new home in early August.

I think we all have times like this in our lives, where things fall into place and it's a wonder how it happened, but somehow it does.

It's happened to me before, but this time, God was going to show me that grace was not just a charitable heart when things were rough and desperate.

Grace included dreams...the kind of dreams that only a heart dreamed because the mind knew that it could never happen. It was a dream that would never be, so it was never actually thought about because what would be the point.

On May 28th, God was going to show me a grace I still couldn't comprehend and one that had been in motion for years. One that would include extravagant provision, healing, and unbelievable friendship.

Let's start with B. Her tenacity and determination on my behalf can't be explained. It included 2 months

of constant attention and talks of encouragement. She talked me off so many cliffs in such a short amount of time, I'm embarrassed to even recall them all.

But she did it, with a heart of love, compassion and made me feel like a champion at the end of it, not the weary warrior barely making it over the finish line.

Then there's my little peeps who upon the return of my first Boston trip they had completely redone my
front flowerbed, pressure washed my house, cleaned my windows, and more.

I was returning with a new hope of putting my house on the market, and God used the generosity of 8 families and my peeps to bless me with a gift I could never, NEVER do for myself.

Then there's Lacy, Ashley, Tracy, Kelley, the Fitzies, Chris, Bower boys, Egg, Amy, Cindy, Jackson, Bobby, Sammy, Willy, Jim Guy, Katie, Greg, and unknowns that came and packed when I was gone, too busy, or so overwhelmed I could barely see straight.

Not because I was sick or grieving or walking a tragic road...just because I needed help, even "worse" I needed help with something that was just good and fun and a blessing.

This really bothered me. I mean accepting help when it had nothing to do with something bad or wrong...I didn't do that, I couldn't do that.

God reminded me of a conversation I'd had with someone a few months before. I was trying to help him, just trying to be nice and kind and he told me he didn't like accepting help. He did things on his own.

It made me mad when he said that. I was frustrated that he wouldn't let me help him, and I thought how far he needed to go to understand kindness and understand how God worked... that some people just like to help and be kind.

And here I was. Not wanting to accept help, not understanding how to accept help, and blown away at how people would help me in such extravagant ways for something that was good and fun and had nothing to do with cancer or death or divorce.

But, God made this train leave the station during a time in my summer that I couldn't not accept help. What was before me was impossible for me, so God was setting up a scenario that would only be possible for Him to orchestrate.

So I showed up each day, and watched Him work.

People packed, lifted heavy furniture, opened up their barns, stayed late, came early, washed clothes, talked to me when I was overwhelmed or seemingly ungrateful because I was afraid or worried or exhausted.

They prayed, lent trucks, cleaned, and encouraged, and they got me out of my house and everything into storage and put me on a plane to Boston.

God had orchestrated my trips to fall at just the right times, so the first few days of being homeless, I was traveling the streets of Boston and watching the most incredible firework show with 9 incredible people, including Cade.

Then, He had provided me with housesitting gigs the remainder of July, in fact, He provided them to go until August 3rd, right when I was to move into my new home.

His timing had included my entire summer schedule to be planned out in January, so when it came to May 28th, His train could move, according to His schedule, his timing, and His grace.

My mind couldn't even dream it, my heart couldn't even imagine it, but His grace was orchestrating it.

And if all of those mountains moving and provisions weren't enough, the train was just picking up speed.

My house sold in 48 hours, for more money than I could have dreamed, and I had paid off more than I thought.

B was so tenacious that she helped me witness mountains move in a market where only those with enormous money and no timing restrictions find deals, and then she stuck with me as I wanted to quit every other day.

But then...just when I thought I had seen what grace was, God was just getting started.

It wasn't just in the form of people showing up once more, because they did. Gretchen and Dan, Janyce and Brittany, Stacey and Tracy, Julio, and Bobby, ERIC AND KAREN, Heather, and Ashley, Adi and Dawson, Madeline and Brittan, Carsen and Cole, Greg and Summer, Papa and Carolyn, Amy and Egg, Chris and Jessica, Ronnie and Angela, and the list could go on...

They did for me, at times what I could never do for myself. I was stuck without them. I couldn't fix a fan or hang a shower head. I couldn't lift that or hang this. I was getting sick from scraping ceilings and staying up passed midnight. I couldn't paint a house or finish assembling my cabinets.

I couldn't. It was impossible. But I continued to watch the impossible happen.

But it wasn't just that. It was the overflowing, outpouring of extreme generosity that blew me away...that sealed the summer of 2015 as a moment in time I watched God work in wondrous, overwhelming, and abundant ways to show me how His grace has no limits. That it isn't about only rescuing and comforting...

it's about delighting in, blessing, and lavishing love upon you.

Even now, typing that sounds so foreign, even corny to me. How dreams come to life, is taking me aback, making walls that were so set inside of me get torn down and rearranged, and my heart is having to start grasping that life includes a joy that is delightful and fun.

I didn't really know that. That not everything has strings or consequences or hardship. Sometimes, life is just good and sweet and full of amazing grace.

In July I received a text telling me this person had an envelope for me. Cade and I drove to pick it up. Cade ran in to grab it, but the man walked out too and told me he was supposed to watch me open it. The envelope was a typical greeting card one but it was fat, like something was in it.

My heart began beating fast as I opened it and watched $100 bills fall into my lap. A stack of them fell and the card had an incredibly sweet note inside.

I was stunned. Completely and totally stunned.

Who does this? Who gives someone a stack of money?

Tears welled up and Cade and I couldn't believe what had just happened.

The man gave me a hug and told me he had just been instructed to watch me open it and see my reaction.

My reaction was one of disbelief in how God works.

As amazing as that is, what no one knew was that the night before I sat in the shower crying, telling God how lonely and overwhelmed I felt in this process, that it was too big, too great for me to making such big changes with so many unknowns, and even though I had so many people rallying around me, at the end of the day, it was me...just me, and I was in charge of Cade and I didn't know if I could do this big thing.

I sat crying to God at how I felt alone.

Then, the very next day, the most tangible, overwhelming gift of grace occurred., in a way I could not have fathomed.

Yes, the money was unbelievable, unforgettable, and a sign of immeasurable anonymous generosity, but what those people had done, had been used to do, was to allow God to tell my heart (and allow my 12 year old son to witness!) that He was here with me, that this was His train, and I was to just keep showing up...I was NOT ALONE.

After that day, I never worried much anymore.

I had seen grace in such a new way, that the impossible for man, was possible with God.

I'd just stood on "the cliff" and watched the waters part, the mountains move, and I knew to my very core, that God was taking me somewhere, I just needed to follow Him.

One of my mom's favorite verses had come to life,

"Now to Him who is able to do far more than we could ever think or imagine, to Him be the glory forever and ever."

So, dream, Dream big...or if you're like me and a little too afraid to dream, believe in a God that says, show up, and watch ME.

This season, let's show up and watch HIM.

In Him,

Shelly

If loneliness and grief are your schtick, then the great philosopher Elsa had it right, it's time to Let it Go

Typically, when I write, I spend hours on it. It takes me a long time to get all of my thoughts out, then I read and reread and edit and try and make it sound coherent.

So, by the time I hit publish, I've read the darn thing so many times, I'm over it.

I've released whatever was inside my head and heart and I move on.

It doesn't ever bother me that it sits on the website for a long time, and I usually feel just fine with whomever might stumble upon it.

The blog I wrote a few weeks back messed with me on sitting there for a while. I didn't like the idea of that one, being one of my most vulnerable ones, sitting out there for so long.

I used to write way more frequently, but now I only write when I feel this rush in me that I'm supposed to sit and do it. There has to be a deeper voice within me saying I need to go and think and process and put it down in some words.

When that happens, I know the same process will occur. I'll show up truly having no idea where the post will end up, and as I begin typing, sometime in there I will cry and wipe my tears in the middle of a Starbucks as a post comes together in some magical way.

My last post was different. I wanted to write it. I had stirring thoughts and I wanted to write. I decided to roll with it and write just on a desire to do so.

The post came easy and since I didn't have that compelling feeling inside, I decided to sit on it and not immediately publish it.

After several days, I mustered up the courage to reread and hit publish.

I knew I wrote during a low point in the month, not when I was at my optimum, but it was real and true and it was what it was.

The funny thing is, as I wrote and after I wrote, I wondered if there would ever be a time I would write about anything other than loneliness or grief or other discouraging stuff.

I even told myself, loneliness and grief seem to be your schtick Shelly.

I wondered what that said about me...I wondered if I could write about anything else.

I received some sweet notes, a text or two after my post. They were kind and encouraging.

I received a long email from my dearest friend and it made me weep.

But then, I opened another one...it was encouraging as well, but it also said some other things in it that truly made me pause and have a gut check moment.

Here's the deal, more often than not, my significance, value, worth are completely tied to what I think others think of me.

For years, this was a HUGE problem. It ran my life. People's opinions of me have been my holy grail. I wanted, and still 99% of the time want people to think I'm great, I'm doing it right, have my poop together, am wise, funny, solid, with it, and let me just say it, amazing.

It's the "I must get it right to avoid the pitfalls in life" part of my personality meeting the "perfectionist" meeting the "I'm completely insecure with who I am" trifecta.

It's the perfect storm.

It causes one to over analyze, over step, over try, and anything else you can over, it overs that as well.

So, after my life went to pot, I was determined to let go of so much, give this thing to God, and fully immerse myself into rehabilitating the toxicity that had become my insides and my thinking.

It sent my intentionality and my chance at a second chance of living into overdrive. My determination and desire to live an authentic life had another shot, and I was going to take it!

There's been much beauty and healing in the wake of that. I can't even tell you the leaps and bounds I've come and the amazing grace that God has shown me and taught me through the process of surrendering my life to Him, letting go of the controls as much as I can at each step of the way.

But, as I stated in a couple posts back, forgiving myself has been very problematic for me. It's taken (and seems to be still taking) six years to get to a point where I'm allowing the idea to become a possibility.

Six years.

The book of Exodus has always been my favorite. The story of rescue and redemption and God's power amongst a people that begs to go back to slavery and creates idols because they're impatient and forget and can't keep their minds on the Lord has always connected with me, because I have always known I am just like them.

I beg for removal, but then I practically beg to go back. I beg for rescue but then I wander around reminiscing about slavery.

I don't see God working fast enough so I track down some new idols, prop them up, and weep in the mediocrity of it all.

Years ago, a Bible teacher of mine once said, "God took the people out of Egypt, but it took a long while for the Egypt to get out of the people."

God takes me out of slavery, but so often, I think I'm still a slave or that I need to remember that I was a slave or acknowledge that slavery isn't that far away or it's the cause to my mediocrity...not because I set up camp in a desert with my man made gold statues.

When I'm about to have an anxiety attack, one of the best remedies is to call one of 2 friends. If I call Amy or Brit, they'll talk me through it and most likely out of it.
They're calm, they remind me of what is happening, that everything is going to be okay. They ask great questions and just talk with me, but most importantly, they tell me the reality of the situation.

My mind has to remember what reality is and that my body is panicking over a perceived situation but it isn't reality.

That's what God has to do with us each day. That's what we NEED to have Him do each day.

Remind me of what's real Lord, of who I am, of Your love, Your rescue, Your grace, Your forgiveness.

Remind me. Speak to me Lord.

Throughout the Old Testament God says to the people, Do this so you'll remember.

Remember that God brought you out.

Remember the Lord is mighty.

Remember what the Lord has done.

The email that stung a bit, was one that was telling me in so many words, Remember Shelly.

My immediate thought back was, I do! I do remember.

The grace, the joy, the love...all of it. The countless stories and moments and friends and job and simplicity and complete awesomeness...it's all God and I'm grateful for every ounce.

But...the forgiveness, letting things go, and not reminding myself or convincing myself I must still be a slave, not so much.

How could I let that go?. It's my schtick.
When my heart hurts, that's usually why.
When I'm alone, that's where my mind wanders.
I might become an optimist for Pete's sake and not a cynic.
I might lose my snark and start accepting the reality of who I am and stop pretending to be something I am not.

So, instead, I build my golden statue for a little while, let my mind wander in the fields of loneliness and wander back across the border into Egypt...or at least long for it for a while.

Living victoriously is hard.

I honestly didn't think it was for me.

I'm intentional and determined and hell bent on doing it, that I can't quite figure out why I'm not full on, immersed living victoriously.

And, this Easter morning, I think I caught a glimpse...

Forgiving myself is the ultimate humility for me.

Forgiving myself would mean I really did and do screw up, and I can't do anything in my own power to fix it.

It means I really do need Jesus.

I'm not solid, super wise, got it together, rockstar amazing.

It means I'm normal and human and in GREAT need of a Savior and friend and forgiveness and grace.

Too often, I am the rich young ruler showing up to Jesus telling Him I'm keeping "them all" Lord, what do I have to do?

I'm singing, I'm dancing, and I'm going after it God...

But I kind of wonder if Jesus might be telling me to stop singing and dancing and chasing it.

Forgiveness and grace come when you realize this isn't a chase; this isn't something you do.

If you do it Shelly, it isn't done, it isn't real, and you're missing the point.

"With man it is impossible, but with God, all things are possible."

 This morning, as John preached from Romans 6 and talked about how we have been buried with Him through baptism into death and all of the ramifications from that...

...that the old life is gone, buried; it is no more. There is no going back. The death has occurred and it is gone. Irrevocable..

I saw how I tend to go back. I'm afraid I haven't paid a big enough penalty, maybe I haven't learned my lesson, maybe I need to relook or rethink or continue to pay the price, so I go back.

And I really need to stop going back, exhuming my mistakes, climbing into the hole, and thinking the ghost is haunting me.

My lack of forgiveness is just my pride refusing to let it go.

And it's time, to let it go.

Stop staring at the Promised Land.

Step into the river and trust God that living victoriously is way better than standing frozen :) in fear to move on in His grip, on His path, and in His plan.

The unknown is scary. It is.

But, His unknown includes hope, grace, love, new life, and victory.

It's time to step.

Shackles gone and buried.

Closing my eyes and stepping out, stepping away...

For this I know, that God is for me.

In Him,
Shelly

Spring will come, even if there seems to be a crushing silence

I love spring time. I feel the hope of sunshine, new beginnings, shedding the winter coat, enjoying the longer days, the relaxing evenings at baseball games, and the promise of summer fun. I'm thankful for all of that, because Spring can also be hard because it holds my mom's birthday and a few other "anniversaries" that remind me of heartache and some seemingly crucial failures in life.

Today, on this Good Friday, my mom would have been 65...which is crazy to think. Where has time gone? Sometimes I get stuck thinking I'm still that little girl, whose grandmother is 65, and I have my whole life ahead of me.

But then, I look in the mirror or see pictures of myself and I am quickly reminded that life has moved on; I'm no longer that youngster and much of my life has passed by.

Visions of all I'd do in my thirties have yet to come to fruition, and my thirties are quickly exiting.

Last night at small group as we were discussing a new book we are going to read with our families, 3 questions were posed:
If only ________________________ I'd be happy.
If only ________________________ I'd be respected.
If only ________________________ I'd feel loved.

I could fill those blanks in with a number of things: If only I could travel more, go to law school, was thinner, didn't own a TV, read all the time, spoke a couple languages, was financially secure, and on, and on, and on.

It's basically a list of how I view myself falling short.

It's a list of how I see my significance manifesting in a world surrounded by people...because that's what I respect, love, and view as happiness.

It kind of reminds me of that verse, "how you judge, you also will be judged."

I wonder if we sentence our own selves to the death of guilt and shame by how we give and see significance among others.

I certainly hang from the noose of my own deep seeded pronouncements on humanity...I end up hanging from the rope I intended for others.

But, the one...the very one that could answer all 3 of those questions for me, the one that regularly haunts me and I can't seem to run fast enough from, suppress, ignore, and deny is my desire to be loved by someone here on earth.

I hate typing that and admitting it, and truly the only reason I even can is because from a computer there is anonymity, and I think no one really reads this thing anyways.

What's ironic is that when we steps back and look at our lists, we know none of that will REALLY make us happy or bring us respect or make us feel loved...or if it does, it's temporary, and will cause an equal amount of conflict.

But, even still, we chase, we dream, we wish, we hope for the day when something changes, a door opens, and an emptiness that we feel, will start getting filled.

I can't explain my loneliness.

I can't explain why it hurts amongst a life that I love and is extremely fulfilling and fun and simple and at times even magical.

My friends, my job, my son, my freedom, my health, my opportunity...all of it is awesome, and I wouldn't trade any of it in, because all of it makes my life full and rich and fun.

But, periodically, and by periodically, I mean fairly regularly, as I drive alone, go home alone, walk into church alone, go to dinner alone, shop alone, travel alone, I wish there was someone with me.

But, I don't want just anyone with me, I desire a best friend, someone who I find super special and who finds me the same way.

My deep down, deep seeded desire is to be special to someone.

This month reminds me of how my mom is gone, and that I'm alone. March 4th is the day my divorce was finalized. And even though it was an end that was necessary and one that marked a death occurring years before, it still brings up sentiments of failure, of how I missed the boat, of my loss of time and missing out on one of the hardest but most beautiful pieces in life.

I see it as a failure bigger than God's redemption...or one that maybe doesn't really deserve His redemption. A screw up that deserves years of consequence and a forever sentence of loneliness.

One's mind is powerful. Things we tell ourselves wouldn't even be in the ballpark of what we'd tell others or even believe for them.

But, what I tell myself is harsh, worst case scenario, and isn't true.

One of the many things I love about my job is that I get to teach Bible. In 5th grade, we go through the Gospels, and come springtime, my favorite chapter in the entire Bible comes back around.

It's the story of how Jesus raised Lazarus from the Dead...but it's SO much more than that.

Just when March is kicking in, and I find myself in that hole of discouragement and I'm fighting through the frustration of feeling sad or down or blah, John 11 gets opened once again.

John 11 is the picture of grief, of trusting God, of waiting on Jesus, of heartache, and of Him being there in all of it.

The story is of 2 women, Mary and Martha, who are called friends of Jesus. The Bible includes other stories of them, so they truly have a relationship with Jesus, an intimate, real, and tangible friendship with Him.

Their brother Lazarus becomes sick. They send word to their friend, to the man they know is the Son of God; their Jesus who loves them and their brother.

But what comes back to them is heartbreaking.

It's silence.

They hear nothing. Just, silence.

Being someone who has felt that silence, it's gut wrenching to read that and go back there in my own life...to feel the emptiness of silence.

If someone wants to hurt me to my very core and break my heart, then just be silent. Don't explain, don't answer, don't come, just let there be silence.

 Mary and Martha waited days for Jesus to show up, and He didn't.

Can you imagine the confusion and hurt?

Jesus, our friend, healer, Savior, Lord, the one who loves us not coming.

Their brother dies. They bury him. They weep and grieve the loss of him.

But I think they grieve even more because of the seeming silence of Jesus in their heartache.

One of my students asked me the other day why we don't get to experience Him in person like those of the Bible do. Why is the "Bible back then" and not now?

I won't rabbit trail off on all that I answered, but part of my answer included the grace of having the Bible in our hands, for us to read, to see the stories playing out and seeing much of God's perspective on the events and not just living them out ourselves. Oh what GRACE is involved in that.

Mary and Martha lived it, but we get to read both their part and Jesus' part. We get to see the Narrator and the narrated.

We get to read that Jesus received the message of Lazarus' illness, and we get to see that He had a plan, "This sickness is not to end in death, but for the glory of God, so that the Son of God may be glorified in it."

But we also see, "He then stayed two days longer."

There was no telegram, text message, or phone call.

They sent word, and He sent silence back.

The crushing blow of that would have been devastating.

Today, in our lives, it can be devastating.

But, the story continues and we get to see it play out in the lives of Martha and Mary, which gives us hope in our own.

After He declares to His disciples that Lazarus is dead, Jesus says, "Let's go to Him."

When Jesus arrived, Lazarus had been in the tomb four days. I'm not quite sure the exact timing, but it seems like at least a week has passed since word had been sent to Jesus about Lazarus' illness, and I would say it's safe to assume even more time than that had passed.

Mary and Martha had spent quite some time in silence without hearing from Jesus.

When word came that Jesus was approaching, Martha quickly got up and went to Him, but Mary stayed back.

I would have been Mary. I would have stayed back.

I don't know if it was out of hurt or anger or confusion or why she stayed back...but that's where I would have been. In life, when I'm hurt, I go get in my hole, I pull back, I can't face the person, and even with Jesus, if I'm hurt or sad or lonely, sometimes I feel so guilty of my lack in gratitude or contentment that I just can't face Him. I can't walk to Him while feeling silenced, forgotten, or ashamed of having felt those ways.

With grief, it can be the same way. Confusion, anger, loneliness, heartache, and the feeling of rejection can keep us from going to Jesus.

There have been times in my life that I just couldn't say another word to Him, I'd curl up and cry with my heart aching for Him and His assurance, but I couldn't go to Him. I remember falling asleep a number of nights with my Bible under my hand like it was a blanket or a teddy bear, but I couldn't open it, I couldn't face the explosion of hurt and what I thought He might be telling me in the silence of the pain.

Martha though, she goes, and runs to Him. She blurts out her pain, "Lord, if you would have been here, my brother would not have died."

She couldn't hold it back. The blame, the hurt, the grief came spilling out onto Jesus. He takes it in and has a conversation with her, assuring her that her brother would rise again, telling her that HE is the resurrection and the life and whoever believes in Him will never die.

Martha quickly runs back to her sister and lets her know that Jesus is calling for her.

Once Mary hears Jesus is calling for her, she hurriedly goes to Him. Once her name is called by Him, she runs, falls at His feet weeping, and cries out, "Lord, if You had been here..."

"When Jesus saw her weeping, He was deeply moved in spirit and was troubled."

"Jesus wept."

Jesus had a plan. There was a plan from the beginning with Lazarus, for the glory of God to be shown.

And the plan was going to require patience, death, grief, yet it was all wrapped in deep love, a deep love for family, for friends, and from Jesus.

And this is why John 11 is my favorite chapter...it is a picture of life.

In life, we are often times faced with a great need for Jesus and some of the times we are faced with a seeming silence from Him. We pray, we seek, we beg, but no answer seems to come.

Our friend, our Savior, our Lord may not come with an immediate answer and we must sit and wait. We might even have to walk through pain and death.

But, one of the overwhelming things I learn from John chapter 11 is I can run to Jesus, and even if I can't bring myself to run to Him, He's going to come and call for me.

I can run to Him, fall at His feet, and release all that my heart feels, even if it's blame: If You would have been here Lord!

And the second, and the most beautiful part: He is here...even in the silence. He's here.

Jesus didn't have to come to heal Lazarus. He could've done it from afar.

Jesus' plan included other roads, other ways, and other reasons.

His timing was part of the plan, but even in that, Jesus didn't expect Mary and Martha to be rockstar believers and never be shaken by the pain and grief of losing their brother. Their blame didn't throw Him, annoy Him, or change Him.

Their pain and their weeping upset Him and greatly moved Him, and He too wept with them.

He came and He wept with them, and then He miraculously brought Lazarus back to life.

I miss my mom. I miss there being a person on this earth who thinks I'm very special. I miss being able to call someone any time of the day or night and who would sit and listen, whose shoulder is ever ready, whose prayers always include me, and who reminds me that God has great plans for me...that loneliness will wane and a new dawn will arrive. To remind me that God's grace is bigger than my mistakes, and to not listen to everything my mind tells me.

John 11 reminds me that Jesus has a plan, it requires patience, but in all of that, He comes and He weeps with me in my grief.

He doesn't expect me to buck up and press on, but He calls me to love deeply and when that love faces death, the grief that follows is tough. It is heart breaking, and at times, one must weep.

Just fall at His feet and weep.

And then watch Him do the miraculous that will follow, because with Jesus, something miraculous and full of grace will follow.

With Jesus, death does not win or have the final say, life will always follow.

Spring does come.

This I recall to my mind, therefore I have hope.
²² The Lord’s lovingkindnesses indeed never cease, for His compassions never fail.
²³ They are new every morning; Great is Your faithfulness.
²⁴ “The Lord is my portion,” says my soul, “Therefore I have hope in Him.”
²⁵ The Lord is good to those who wait for Him, to the person who seeks Him.
²⁶ It is good that he waits silently for the salvation of the Lord. Lamentations 3:20-25

The pain, the tragedy, the horror, and the silence on Friday must have been crushing to Jesus's disciples, but in 3 days, GRACE erupted.

He had a plan, it required patience, death, grief, and a seeming silence in it all...but then, the miraculous, LIFE sprang forth.

Never doubt it my friend, spring will come, Grace will erupt.

This I know, that God is for you.

Shelly²⁷

Redemption had one more beast to slay...

Why I have to be sitting here writing another heavy post one week later, I do not know...other than the muck and mire runs deep and once pay dirt was hit, God wasn't going to stop digging it all out.

I started another post earlier in the week. It was on redemption. I spent a bit of time on it but didn't get far. Redemption is something I've prayed for for a long time but have yet to fully experience the trueness of it in my heart.

After last weekend, I was beginning to see glimpses of it...but my post never got finished, and I wasn't necessarily compelled to finish it either. I wasn't ready. The shadow of it passing by wasn't enough.

Then, this morning happened, and now I know there was one more step, one more dig that had to take place before I could truly get the view of redemption in my life. Before, I was still angling for personal redemption, a self serving redemption, a redemption that made me right and all others wrong.

God had to show me that if I truly wanted redemption, then I'd have to lay aside what I thought it was and should be, and let Him show me what it truly is.

Before I could write about it, redemption had one more beast to slay and that beast was in me.

If I thought I didn't want to write last weeks' post, multiply that by 10 and you get me right about now.

I felt physically ill pulling into Starbucks, and as I write, my body is like jelly and adrenaline is pumping through me at rates I don't care for.

The only thing that is getting me here to sit down and write is I saw what God did last Sunday...not just for me but for the multitude that ended up reading my post. I've never had a response like that to one of my blogs. I can't tell you how many messages I received, phone calls, emails, and face to face conversations. I'm grateful that so many saw themselves in my post and that it blessed them as they walk and work their own things out with God.

All week Psalm 56 kept pouring over me and through me...God is for you Shelly...just keep walking this out and trusting that God is for you in this. As I felt vulnerable or exposed, as I cried and lost courage, I just kept hearing...God is for you.

I received a phone call from one of my best friends late Tuesday night. We ended up talking for over 2 hours about stuff I had written. Her call was a gift from God because she was able to hash it out with me, to pry a bit more, and to take it down some roads I had yet traveled. It was a gift of His grace.

Toward the end of the call she said, "Shelly, I have to ask you something. I've asked it before and the last time I did, your response was dismissive, one that told me you hadn't even come close to doing it."

I couldn't imagine what she was talking about.

"I have to ask you if you think you have finally forgiven yourself for what happened. Have you forgiven yourself Shelly?"

Tears started flowing. I began to weep.

It hadn't even crossed my mind.

A thought that had always seemed ludicrous and insurmountable, unfathomable and unwarranted, now came crashing through my body. The thought of forgiving myself, the one who should've known better, who grew up with an unbelievable heritage of faith and perseverance with parents who loved the Lord more than life itself, had never been seen as attainable. Forgiveness for my coldness and arrogance had never been an option for me.

I couldn't speak for a minute, but finally, with tears and a freedom I'd never known before I said, "I think I have."

It was in that question I knew God had had that conversation take place. He knew I needed to see that and feel it. What He had done in my life was powerful, but for Him to come in and break the chains I had on myself, absolutely took my breath away. My own sin of self righteousness had kept me in chains for years, from extending grace upon my own confusion, pain, mistakes, and ignorance. I continued to cry and I continued to thank God for washing me with His grace, His amazing, overwhelming grace.

And then, another Sunday...

Six years, one month, and 15 days ago, I laid (grammar police??) in my bed upstairs in my dad's house weeping. My 5 year old son was in the room next to me, and I was staring at my bedroom wall emotionally spent.

I was in full conversation, out loud with God. The decision had been made, the papers served, and I lay there broken...more broken than I had ever been before.

I knew without a doubt I had missed out on love. I knew I was a toxic wasteland for love. At the time, I didn't get it, and all I thought I knew about love was what had happened over the last 10 years. I had glimpses of my part, glimpses of what I wrote last week had come in, but they faded as the devastation and anger flooded in with how the last several years played out.

As I wept, in both anger and relief, pain and determination I begged God to redeem my love story. I told Him I knew I was toxic, and I begged Him to clean me out, to right the wrongs, to rebalance the pendulum, and to redeem love in my life.

"Don't let this be what I live my life thinking love is. Don't let this be my love story. I beg You God, give me another chance!"

The infamous response of, "What if it takes 3 years Shelly?" came next. (blogged about that years ago)

Weeping, I yelled back, "I don't care how long it takes, I beg You God, just redeem it."

As I've blogged over these last 6 years, I've watched and experienced God show me what love is. He placed me in a job where love is the ingredient of every single day...the great kind of love, the easy kind of love...

I get to love on 10 year olds and they love on me every single day. They tell me I'm pretty, they laugh at my jokes, they buy me a desk full of Valentine's, and they shower me with gifts and notes on my birthday. But, even better than that, through time, God has shown me how the students seem to love me the more I am just me and the less I try to be anyone else. I don't have to perform for them, and the love still flows.

God has used my job to graciously and gently show me how love works.

He's used friends who have faithfully walked tough roads with me, left me sweet gifts on my porch at Christmas time so I had a special joy each night to come home to, they've sent their sons to mow my yard and put up Christmas lights, they encourage me and remind me that I'm seen and worthy. My family laughs and supports me, my son and I go on adventures and I watch how faithful God is to us and how He provides opportunities for precious conversations that would have never taken place without His hand and His goodness.

I've watched miracle after miracle, provision after provision, love after love, Grace upon grace in my life.

So, when last Sunday happened and God broke the barrier of how my own sin was holding me back from truly knowing what love is, and washed me clean of so much mire and muck, it was like being raised from the dead.

The death of self preservation took place and life was rising out of it.

No matter how far He had brought me before, I continued to have this weight, this suffocating weight of never truly understanding something I thought the rest of the world clearly knew.

He was showing me that love includes sacrifice, and sacrifice actually meant sacrifice. It's self giving and self denying, and for this girl who was all about self preservation, love was going to be nearly impossible until she decided to truly let go.

As I chatted with my friend Tuesday night, it became clear that at age 9, I had welded grief and security together, and as I grew up, I never separated them back out.

If I felt grief or even just sadness, it meant my security was in question, so I avoided any pain that could have been associated with sadness and grief.

Here's the problem with that...

Without the risk of sadness, joy is avoided as well. Without grief, love can't be found.

That equates to a very lonely life, a very numb and cold life.

I've always said, looking back on it all, that I don't think I would have ever pulled out of my ways without death and divorce occurring.

Now, I see why.

The fracturing of grief and security had to take place, and that was only going to occur with my ultimate fears and grief happening for me to see that my security was not and could not be tied to something on this earth.

How my marriage ended was always my biggest fear and losing my mom was always going to be the source of my greatest grief.

But, when those 2 things happened, my security remained.

I 've always found it remarkable how for the 6 years leading up to both, I was a complete and total mess, but the 6 years since, I've walked with little rattling my security. They both forced me toward God, God used them both as a slingshot for me to find my true place of peace and rest.

In fact, the relief that came after my divorce was mind blowing...which, unfortunately, allowed me to stay on my high horse for a little too long, but I was about to get knocked off.

Amongst the tragic, I learned that life goes on, that God wakes you up, breathes His strength in, and walks you out...something I desperately needed to learn.

I've become thankful for my grief over my mom. Each time my heart might burst with missing her, I thank Him for giving me a mom worth missing. I was given the greatest gift...an incredible mom who loved me immeasurably for 31 years, and that's worth grieving.

I had finally concluded that deep grief meant there was a deep love. God showed me I had been capable of a deep love.

And even more, the grief that came with it, I had survived, and He had carried me through it.

God taught me through my grief that my mom's LOVE had been worth it. I would never trade it for anything...if I wanted that kind of river of love, then grief was the risk, and that was now okay with me.

It makes me want to be a mom worth missing; it makes me want to love in a way that when I'm gone, I'm dreadfully missed.

For 3 years God kept digging and after I hit the infamous 3 year mark, I felt ready. I felt free and I thought my love story would soon begin...after all, my conversation with God had explicitly included the, "What if it takes 3 years?" moment.

So, after year 4 passed and I remained alone and lonely, I began to pull away from God. I blogged about that here and there but my dailiness with Him slowed. I mean I had my usual bullet prayers, conversations, and lonely nights in my room begging Him for relief.

Deep down I knew I was still a lost puppy when it came to love, but I pretended as best I could I was an independent and strong woman.

My friends kept encouraging me, I continued to travel and have my mountain top moments with Him, but I drifted. The time I spent in His word became shorter and shorter.

Some nights my heart would be so sad, I would just sleep next to my Bible, with my hand on it, not opening it, but just wishing I didn't feel so lost and alone. After year 5, I stopped my half-marathons and knew I needed a break from all sorts...the striving, the wonderings, and the wanderings.

I'd have the proddings to dig back in, to read, to spend the year with Him again, but I never could. I just couldn't and I wouldn't, and I was mad and ashamed and hurt by my own pulling away.

This last fall, as year 6 was quickly ending, the prodding began. This time it was different, and I knew it was time for another half. I'd walked a few new roads and saw both victories and some defeats in my personal life in 2014 and was ready to refocus. I'd finally shed some of the hang ups and was ready to hit the restart button and dig back in. I knew where the answers could be found, and I was finally ready to acknowledge I needed some. I told myself I'd sign up for the DC half, and in December I made the decision to read the Bible in a year once more. For the first time in a few years, it wasn't out of guilt, it was out of a calling from deep within my soul.

Year 6 had humbled me enough to the point of me finally admitting I couldn't do this without God any longer.

January 1st was day one of my reading. I haven't missed but a couple of days. And thankfully, God used a ninth grader to thwart my desire to bail on my half. The DC half is in a few weeks.

It's February 15th and I've now had 2 life changing moments with God...life. changing.

It makes me wonder if I had just continued 3 years, one month, and 15 days if the conversation I had had in my bed 6 years ago would have been right on.

Or maybe, the voice was mine, or it had really said, "what if it takes 3 years?" and due to my uncontrollable sobbing at the thought of waiting 3 years to be rescued from the torture I was in, I didn't hear the follow up of, "What if it takes as long as it takes?"

The unknown on that night would have killed me. Killed me.

Three years, even though seemed like an eternity, had a time line. I can do time lines.

Unknowns are nearly impossible for me. And by nearly, I mean completely.

So, last Sunday came and God had a meeting with me, and He showed me myself. Psalm 139 at its finest, a mirror to my soul, to my hurt, to the wounds I had and had never let Him in to heal.

Six years ago when all my bandaids of security were stripped from me, my guard had weakened, and so, by His grace, the door had been left open for Him to enter in.

And as He entered, it broke me more, it washed away the toxins, it rebalanced the pendulum, it spoke to me clearly what had always been foreign before.

Allowing Him to search my soul, let me see just how miraculous His grace would be as it made its way through me. His grace had gone from drips, to streams, to now a waterfall.

Which brings me to today...

Cade and I were driving to church. He asked me if I'd help him buy a Valentine for his step mom. I hesitated. I didn't want to.

When he asked me, he used the endearing name he has for her...and by endearing, I mean the one that grates at all my nerves. When I answer him, I use her actual name. I can't handle the other.

I told him I'd take him somewhere and he could buy one for her. (It wasn't my finest moment)

"Mom, I don't have any money left."

I already knew that. I was with him just the day before when he had spent his last penny. I knew there was nothing in his coffers and that was part of me not having my finest moment...but it gets worse.

"You could return one of the items you bought yesterday, and use that money."

"Mom! (exasperated and disappointed) You said you'd help me buy her a Christmas gift, but I earned the money instead, so could we use that money you never spent at Christmas?"

"Maybe you can mow the lawn today and earn some money."

I knew what I was doing wasn't right, but this was Valentine's and for some reason, Valentine's was different than Christmas, and I had no desire to bend on this one.

I didn't like my response but didn't give it another thought because I have lots of fine mom moments, and just this one ugly one wouldn't prove a thing...until I was sitting in church.

In Sunday School as I was listening to the Sunday School yoda talk about taking the blinders off and seeing those around us and what God might have for us, I pondered.

She went on to explain to the room of 7th grade girls how she asks God to make it clear to her if He wants her to do something and that she can always tell it's him because her heart begins to race like 200 beats per minute and He won't let her escape it.

I continued to ponder...

Cade and I went into service. I'd already forgotten how God used last week's sermon to completely shatter some of my walls...because the walls were shattered and I was certain there were no more.

When the singing started, I felt compelled to write something in my Bible. I grabbed it, wrote, put it back in my chair and continued in worship.

As the sermon kicked in, my self righteous voice inside my head kicked in as well. I begged my mind to turn off so I could hear what I needed to hear, but it continued.

I kept waiting to see if he (and by he, I mean, one of the best preachers I've ever listened to) would get the story "right".

My self-righteousness was in full swing...

The same preacher whose sermon SLAYED my self preservation and unwillingness to sacrifice last week...SLAYED it in a way that caused a miraculous shift within me...and I thought it had slayed my self righteousness as well, but I was wrong, oh so very wrong.

I had no idea at the time, but God was about to use this sermon to SLAY my self righteousness in one fell swoop. He was going to use my own weapon against me...and it was going to cut deeper than I ever thought possible.

The sermon series is on being a "Second Mile Christian."

This week's was using the story of the Good Samaritan. As he walked us through it and landed at the final, not taking it as far as I would have wanted him to mind you, but certainly opening my eyes to how the Samaritan had sacrificed honor, dignity, time, and money for the injured man...I began to see the weaving of how Jesus was defining love in this story just as much as He was defining neighbor.

The arrogant, self righteous lawyer asks, "How do I inheirt eternal life?"
Jesus replied, "What does the law say?"
"Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul and with all your mind, and love your neighbor as yourself."
"You have it right."
"But Teacher, who's my neighbor?"

Years ago, one of my favorite Bible teachers had pointed out that typically, when sermons are given on this story, the neighbor is always the injured man. And the great lesson of having compassion on the injured man is Biblical and helping that injured man is what all of us as followers of Jesus should do, but he pointed out that if one reads the story carefully, that's not the neighbor.

Jesus isn't saying that life comes from loving God with all you have and help the less fortunate.

I think most of us feel a twinge when it's someone who so apparently needs our help.

My unbelievably good preacher didn't go down that road, he didn't land where my self righteous mind thought he should land, but I now see how God used that very fact to expose my deepest sin, and I was about to fall on my own sword.

The way John preached it, concentrating on how the Samaritan sacrificed and what he sacrificed for this injured man, along with my self righteous commentary, was about to SLAY me once more.

Love your neighbor as yourself Shelly.

"But who's my neighbor?" she asks.

And the story of who to love and what love looks like, follows...

There's a man who gets mugged and is left to die on the side of the road. The self righteous and the busy pass by, the one concerned with the law and the one who knows the rules but doesn't sacrifice passes by thinking I do it a lot, for many people, but not today. This one time is fine and the ping in my heart is a sign I'm a good person, so ignoring the ping here and there is fine.

Then a Samaritan stops, bandages the man up, goes out of his way and stays with him. He pays for anything he needs, and makes sure he's taken care of.

The Samaritan loves by sacrificing himself on the man's behalf. He'd sacrificed his dignity, his honor, his time, and his money on behalf of compassion towards another. He had loved.

And, then...And here's where I'd love it if the neighbor is the hurt guy on the side of the road, because the ambiguous, the stranger whose story I don't know and can concoct whatever one I want for them is easy for me to love and show compassion to. In fact, it feeds my self righteousness and makes me feel good about myself. It keeps me from seeing my own sin...but the irony is, God was about to use that very side of myself...the one that would't let the sermon be what it was and kept hounding on whether he would get it "right".. God was going to use that as the mirror of Psalm 139 once more.

See, the story ends with Jesus asking the lawyer, "who proved to be a neighbor to the man who fell into the robber's hands?"

The man who fell into the robber's hands wasn't the neighbor..the neighbor helped him, so the injured man can't be the neighbor in the story.

And when Jesus asks, "who proved to be a neighbor to the man?" the self righteous lawyer was caught. Jesus had shared a story on how one SHOWS love and at the same time tells the man who God means for him TO LOVE.

The self righteous lawyer had to be so dumbfounded that he thought he might keel over at that very moment.

The lawyer couldn't even say his answer.

He couldn't say the word Samaritan.

See, Samaritans were hated by the Jews. They were the dirty, half breeds that didn't do anything the Jews thought made them holy, made them true children of God. I believe Jews would have felt way more compassion on the Gentile because they didn't know better. It would be easy for them to show compassion toward the one who had no shot in life. It would feed their self righteousness even more perhaps. They were the pagan who never knew God, but the Samaritan, that's where the hatred was.

In fact, the story of the Samaritan woman at the well includes the note of how in the synagogue services, the priests would actually say prayers cursing the Samaritans.

The priests would pray that God would CURSE these people.

I stared at my Bible. I stared at the line where the lawyer couldn't even answer with the word, but had to say, "the one who showed mercy toward him."

Then Jesus said, "Go and do the same."

Jesus used what the Samaritan did to the injured man to define what love was, what it looked like.

And then he shattered the lawyers heart with who God told him to go love.

"The one who showed mercy toward him."

The neighbor was the Samaritan, the one cursed in synagogues, the one hated. The one the self righteous thought he had every right to hate.

At that very instant, I felt the pit in my stomach and the question came.

Who's your neighbor Shelly?

And the self righteous one was caught. She was dumbfounded and thought she might keel over.

I sat there with nowhere to run...just me and Jesus. The room around me had gone silent.

Who can you not name Shelly? Who can you not say the name of?
Who is the person you hold a special "justified" hatred for? Who do you slight? curse? jab at? blame? undermine?

WHO'S YOUR NEIGHBOR?

My heart began to pound.

It began to race 200 beats a minute.

I literally thought I was going to have a heart attack. If it hadn't been for my Sunday School yoda reminding me how God speaks to her, I would have probably had an anxiety attack right then and there because I felt like I couldn't catch my breath, and I was certain my heart was about to come out of my chest.

I knew the answer. I teared up because I knew the answer.

I crumbled in my chair.

My heart broke.

I knew I couldn't leave church without telling my preacher who my neighbor was, and it wasn't the hurt and marginalized...even though they are my neighbor as well. But, this self righteous lawyer had another one she was pretending not to have to love and had hoped for years that God believed the same thing she did.

John graciously met with me for a few minutes after everyone cleared out of church.

Cade kept asking me what was wrong. He even asked me if I was going to get baptized again or something.

I told him no. I told him I just had to tell John something.

Cade was bothered. He saw my angst.

I sat with John. I told him the events of the how the sermon played out for me.

I told him that feeding the hurt, homeless man was how I built myself up. It was easy for me to help the sick, the stranger, the one who needs a peanut butter sandwch and a smile. It made me feel good and even fed the beast within me.

And as my lip quivered and tears rolled down my face, I told him that the neighbor God was showing me I needed to love was my very own "Samaritan".

My neighbor was the one I couldn't even name. I told him who it was.

John was kind, listened, prayed and encouraged me.

But, I knew he wasn't the only one I was going to have to tell.

Cade was waiting for me and he now saw the tears.

He put his arm around me as we walked to the car.

We shut our car doors, I turned to him, and I told him.

And when I got to the part where I said, "My neighbor is the person I can't even name." I followed it with the question, "Who can't I even name Cade?"

Without hesitation, he said her name, quickly followed by, "and my dad."

Without hesitation.

Without hesitation.

Even though the years have included me trying my best to not cloud or say or speak ugly, my son knew, without hesitation, the people I struggled loving.

All I could do was apologize.

I told him we were headed to buy them a Valentine's, one that would bless them on the day celebrating their love. He chose a restaurant for a gift card, bought them balloons, and a box of chocolates.

For once, I wasn't doing it out of guilt or to feed my self righteousness by trying to prove I'm better than they are.

I did it because that's what God calls me to do. I did it because if I want love redeemed in my life, then I better drop this self righteous act and start loving the way God calls me to love, by the way He defines love.

Jesus, where is life found?

Love the Lord with all your heart Shelly, with all your mind, with all your soul, and with all your strength. And go love...love your neighbor as yourself.

I love because He first loved me...and I'm truly beginning to see and believe, it's so worth it.

"I suppose that's the point of this book. There's truth in the idea, we're never going to be perfect in love but we can get close, and the closer we get, the healthier we will be. Love is not a game any of us can win, it's just a story we can live and enjoy. It's a noble ambition, then, to add a chapter to the story of love, and to make our chapter a good one.
We don't think much about how our love stories will affect the world, but they do. Children learn what's worth living for and what's worth dying for by the stories they watch us live. I want to teach our children how to get scary close, and more, how to be brave. I want to teach them that love is worth what it costs." Scary Close by Don Miller

I watched my parents walk out a beautiful love story, so I always knew there was more to love, that's one of the reasons I was always so bothered by my confusion. But too many lines got crossed and poor decisions on my part tangled and mangled my view.

But through time...and God's act of redeeming, God has led me down a road with Him. His road, though one of sacrificing my own ideas on life, my own plans and dreams, my own thoughts on how life should work or where I think my security rests, laying aside my control of others and what I think they should do and what they should do for me, a road of unknowns and grey areas and exposing that self preservation is only a weapon that causes self inflicting wounds, His road is one leading to freedom.

It takes me off a road being paved with the broken tools of a broken girl and brings me to the road paved by the Maker of Heaven and earth.

"I waited patiently for the Lord; And He inclined to me and heard my cry. He brought me up out of the pit of destruction, out of the miry clay and He set my feet upon a rock making my footsteps firm. He put a new song in my mouth, a song of praise to our God." Psalm 40:1-3

For this I know, that God is for you Shelly.

For this I know my friend, that God is for you!

In Him,
Shelly