Here I Stand

For as long as I can remember, I have believed the five points of Calvinism to be Scripturally sound. Not because John Calvin said it, but because I believe that the teachings of John Calvin were the result of Calvin's ardent, prayerful and accurate study of the Word of God. [side note: something interesting that I learned not too long ago was that John Calvin did not actually coin the TULIP, or the five points of Calvinism--they were gathered together after his death, in response to the "five points of Arminianism."] For those unfamiliar, the five points of Calvinism, fondly called the TULIP, are:

• Total Depravity of Man
• Unconditional Election
• Limited Atonement
• Irresistible Grace
• Perseverance/Preservation of the Saints

I won't try to expound on these points, because I'll be here all night, and I have a lot of sleeping on which to catch up. The bottom line is, I believe in these five things as five points God made in His Word. I prefer not to call myself a Calvinist, because over the years I've seen the stigma attached to the term, and I don't like it. "Calvinists are closed-minded...Calvinists are so pleased with their own theology...Calvinists are theological elitists." No thank you. Unfortunately, in some cases, I'm inclined to agree. So I prefer to call myself a Christian, and that's all. My theology comes second to my relationship with Christ.

Years ago, when I was even more of a pain to listen to than I am now, I used to post on Christian message boards and debate/argue theology with many other Christians. It started out innocently enough...new Christians asking questions of the "more mature" [12-16-year-old] Christians on the site. Naturally the topic of predestination/election came up, and of course I got involved, being the feisty 13-year-old that I was. It got very out of hand many times, and at the end of each discussion I felt both attacked and furious that the person on the other end could be so ignorant. Yep, sounds like Calvinism all right. So at one point I decided to stop it. I can hold fast to my beliefs about Scripture without being offended or angry when people don't agree with me. I wonder how many people I could have been witnessing to while I was busy cyber-yelling at other Christians that they obviously didn't understand God's Word as well as I did. So I did stop. I promised myself I would not shout my theological beliefs to or at anyone.

For a few years now, I have been content to be reformed in my own heart and not worry about reforming the Christ followers around me. I would just smile and think to myself, "It's okay that my friends don't agree with me...I know that the man I marry will agree with me." Well...that has yet to be seen. Tonight I yelled at my very wonderful, and very non-reformed boyfriend about Christ only dying for the elect. It was out of character for me and I am sorry I did it. More than anything, I wish he and I agreed on this, but we don't. It's not the end of the world. All of my hopes are not dashed. We do not need to raise our voices and say goodbye curtly because we believe different things about the Christ in whom we both do believe. But that does not mean we smother what we strongly believe for the sake of smooth sailing.

I firmly believe that God, in His sovereignty, predestined His people for eternal life with Him through no action or choice of our own, but through the faith that He gives us, according to the greatness of His grace and mercy and love for us. I believe that apart from being chosen by God, there is nothing Man can do to be saved. I believe Christ died for His people and His people only. I believe God is completely sovereign, and there is nothing that happens outside of His perfect plan. I am more than well aware that there are many who disagree with me here. I'm cool with that. But I hope I never again yell those things to anyone, let alone someone who means so much to me. If you believe differently from me, by all means let's talk about it. But let's not yell. I'm not a fan of yelling, even when it's coming from my mouth.

I forgot with which point I was going to end. I'm not sure all of this flowed together or even makes sense. The important thing is that Christ died for us, and in Him we have redemption. Let's talk about that!

"Unless I am convinced by proofs from Scriptures or by plain and clear reasons and arguments, I can and will not retract, for it is neither safe nor wise to do anything against conscience. Here I stand. I can do no other. God help me." Martin Luther said that.

Love,

Shelley

let's talk about virginity

*DISCLAIMER: I am not hating on purity rings, or people that wear them...as always, just my thoughts*

I got you with the title, didn't I? Of course I did.

Someone very special to me asked me recently if I have ever worn a purity ring. Simply put, no. Not because I don't believe in the sanctity of marriage or the value of purity. I have three reasons for not wearing a purity ring.

1) I never got around to getting one when I was younger.

As I got older, I decided not to get around to getting one. Because:

2) To me, wearing a purity ring seems like the pretty equivalent of wearing a sticky note on your forehead that says, "I AM A VIRGIN. GO AHEAD AND ASK ME WHY." ...Do I need people to ask me about my sex life, or lack thereof? MOREOVER, is one of the functions of a purity ring an excuse for teenagers to talk about sex? Sorry, but I don't necessarily want the first thing that people think when they see me (and my purity ring) to be, "She's got a purity ring. She's a virgin." Stay classy, Planet Earth.

3) If I did want the aforementioned thought to be the first thing people notice about me, then as a Christian, the fact that I am not wearing a wedding ring SHOULD be evidence enough that I am, in fact, a virgin. Since when do we have to wear a purity ring to let people know that we're remaining pure? Why can't we just BE PURE!

Of course I believe in purity. Of course I believe true love waits. But that doesn't mean I want to have a conversation with any random person that happens to notice a purity ring on my finger about how I'm waiting to have sex until I get married.

Love,

Shelley

Miracle of Miracles

New Years Resolutions and such

I'm sitting in my newly married sister's house in Oklahoma. After an 11 hour drive yesterday, we're all just relaxing today. It's a nice break.

2010 is over. I feel really good about that. God taught me so many things...there were triumphs and disappointments, wins and losses and hard things to learn, but I'm grateful for 2010. I'm also grateful that it's over.

For 2011, my chief resolution is to be a better witness. I'll be the first to admit that aspects of my recent behavior do not lend themselves to the cause of Christ. This will be my primary focus for the new year.

I'm reading a book I got for Christmas, Quivering Daughters, by Hillary McFarland. Hillary has been a Godsend to me for the past few months...while several people were key elements in my healing process, Hillary's influence and graciousness helped me work through my emotions and let go of my bitterness. Her story is amazing...the ease with which she forgives and loves and gives grace constantly inspires me. Please read her book.

I hope 2011 is wonderful for all of you. I'll be enjoying taking it easy in cold Oklahoma with my sisters, almost-sister and cousin for the next few days. God bless you all.

Love,

Shelley

Christmas Eve

My blog has lain dormant for almost a month. I have been very busy. Now, here it is, Christmas Eve. I am so filled with gratitude, love, peace and joy. If God is with us, who is against us?!

This is one of my favorite Christmas songs.

It was not a silent night

There was blood on the ground

You could hear a woman crying

In the alleyway that night

On the streets of David's town

And the stable was not clean

And the cobblestones were cold

And little Mary, full of grace

With the tears upon her face

Had no mother's hand to hold

It was a labour of pain

It was a cold sky above

But for the girl on the ground in the dark

Every beat of her beautiful heart

It was a labour of love

Noble Joseph by her side

Calloused hands and weary eyes

There were no midwives to be found

On the streets of David's town

In the middle of the night

So he held her and he prayed

Shafts of moonlight on his face

But the baby in her womb

He was the Maker of the moon

He was the Author of the faith

That could make the mountains move

It was a labour of pain

It was a cold sky above

But for the girl on the ground in the dark

Every beat of her beautiful heart

It was a labour of love

Little Mary, full of grace

With the tears upon her face

It was a labour of love

~Andrew Peterson

God is so good. I've questioned Him so many times...and for what?

For I know the plans I have for you, declares the LORD, plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans to give you hope and a future. Jeremiah 29:11

Glory to God in the highest, and on earth, peace among men on whom His favor rests.

Merry Christmas to you all, and God bless us, every one.

Love,

Shelley

My Own Personal Saboteur, or Why CJ Is My Least Favorite Sister

My sister CJ has been married and gone for almost two months now. So naturally, I thought that it was time for me to start taking over a few of her many responsibilities, one of which is making the world's most amazing bagels. So yesterday, I asked her for the recipe, which she kindly (or so I thought) posted on Facebook for me. Here is what posted:

Bagels, in small terms for Shelley.

5 c hot water

2 T yeast

Dissolve yeast in water.

Add:

8 scant cups flour

Cover and let rise till doubled in bulk and very bubbly.

Add:

3 T yeast

1/4 c honey

8 c flour

It's ok if you can't stir all the flour in. Turn it onto the counter and knead it in until dough is very firm and stiff.

Divide into 32 equal pieces. Roll each piece into a ball. Poke a hole in the middle of each ball and stretch out the hole till it looks like a bagel. Cover and let rise till they're as big as you want them.

Fill dutch oven about halfway with water. Boil. Reduce to heavy simmer. Put bagels in the boiling water. Boil on each side 2-3 minutes.

Put boiled bagels on baking sheets that have been greased and sprinkled with cornmeal.

Bake at 425 till they're done. How long? I have no idea. Just till they're brown and look done.

If I had been a little bit more intelligent (if you know me, say nothing), I might have caught the malicious glitch above. But I did not, and I made my bagels, following this recipe exactly. I only had to call her ONCE to make sure I was doing it right. She evilly assured me that everything was going just fine. Feeling rather good about myself and my bagels, I put the first batch in the oven. After a conspicuously long time of them not looking done, I finally pulled them out, only to realize with horror that they were ROCK. HARD. Blerg. I must have overbaked them. No problem, I'll get it right the second time around. So I put the next batch in and hoped for the best. In the meantime, I crack open one of my fossilized bagels, found it to be slightly soft in the middle, and tasted it...or, I tried to taste it. What I tasted reminded me of water. Or dirt. So in a frenzy, I call my dear sister--the sister I rely on for nearly everything, and thus went our conversation:

CJ: Hey! Did they turn out okay?
Me: NO!
CJ: Why? What did you do? (Notice how she tries to pin this on me)
Me: I don't know! The first batch came out and they're completely hard, so I thought I had overbaked them, but I tasted them and I can't taste anything! Was I supposed to put salt in them or something??
CJ: Yes! Of course you were!
Me: Well it's not in the recipe you gave me.
CJ: Yes it is.
Me: No it's not. I'm looking at it right now.
CJ: Oh no.....oh crap.....
Me: What?
CJ: I put yeast instead of salt!

At this time, I'd like to invite you to revisit the recipe above, and notice that yeast appears twice in the recipe--the first time, like normal, dissolved in water. But the SECOND time, my friends, THREE EXTRA TABLESPOONS mixed in with honey and flour. You guessed it--that yeast was supposed to be salt. Which accounts for the bagel being rock solid, the lack of flavor, and the fact that they were ENORMOUS.

Me: ARE YOU SERIOUS????
CJ: *uncontrollable laughter with interspersed "I'm so sorry!!"s*
Me: I hate you so much. What am I going to do with 32 huge hard nasty bagels??
CJ: *see above*
Me: You are the worst sister ever.
CJ: Oh my gosh, that's so disgusting! You put five tablespoons of yeast in the bagels??
Me: Don't try and make this about me. WHO is the blonde sister now?!

So 32 bagels (some cooked, some not) went into the trash. It is my firm belief that CJ felt threatened by my mad baking skills and didn't want me stepping on her finest work, so she sabotaged me on purpose. She would do that. You know she would. She's just that evil.

Ugh.

I miss her so much.




Love,
Shelley

a grateful people

Thanksgiving is here...I'm giving thanks. I have been blessed with so much--more than I could ever ask for. It's definitely been a rocky year, and God knows I've not been quiet about it, but today, I'm reflecting on things I am thankful for.

• Christ
• Freedom
• Grace
• John and Cathi Warren...for everything and more
• Siblings: Aubrey Russell; Kristen Slaughter; Annie Welty; Cathryn Longenbaugh; Nathan Warren; Beth Warren; Caleb Warren; Timothy Warren...I couldn't begin to imagine a better group of people to call my brothers and sisters
• In-laws: Dirk Russell; Dave Slaughter; Caleb Welty; Tony Longenbaugh...for taking such good care of my sisters
• Nephews and nieces: Jonathan; David; Joshua; Isaac; Abigail; Samuel; Molly; Warren; Henry; Carrie; Liam; Baby Slaughter; Erin; Judah; Savannah; Longenbaby...you light up my life
• Dear friends: Cheyenne Sabo; Hannah Cisarik; Chris White; Hayden Fletcher; Cristen Gauthier; Rachel Wells (and many others)...I can't tell you how incredible these people are
• My job and the fabulous girls I work with...I know God put me there and with them for a reason
• My piano...for still being there for me, whenever I need it
• My church family...what an excellent, loving group of believers
• The girl at the Starbucks in Barnes&Noble at La Cantera...she always knows what I'll order, and she always makes me smile
• Lewis Wells and Hillary McFarland...God uses these amazing Christians in such astounding ways
• My red platform heels...they make me feel pretty
• My adorable pink computer...for not dying...yet
• This blog...for helping me keep track of my rambling, disorganized thoughts

I hope your Thanksgiving Day is filled with 100000000009 reasons to be thankful.

Thank YOU.

In love and thanks,
Shelley

no more, my God

I am an open person.

Depending on who you are, you may either condemn or condone me for that. Take it for what it is, there is very little that I hide.

I have been extremely transparent on this blog, and for that, I have recently received both praise and criticism. I asked for neither. I understand both. On the one hand, I am grateful that others find my transparency refreshing. It makes me feel like all of this writing isn't for nothing. On the other hand, being transparent means being honest about not only myself, but the relationships I have, and the people involved. So I get that others who aren't as open as I am don't take too kindly to receiving a shout-out from yours truly for all the world to see. So, I'm sorry if it makes people feel uncomfortable, but this is how I'm trying to live my life: honestly.

At this time last year, I was not nearly this person. I had a relationship (not a romantic one, but a clandestine one nonetheless) that I kept completely hidden from everyone important to me. I started lying about little things--things that didn't even matter. I severely damaged my relationships with my parents, my siblings and my friends, I wasn't sleeping, wasn't studying (I honestly do not know how I managed to pass all of my classes). Getting caught the first time did nothing--I just got more elaborate in my dishonesty. It took getting caught a second time; this time with much more painful consequences, to make me realize how I was ruining my life at the tender age of 17. So, I made some drastic changes. I had to work hard at gaining back all the trust that I had lost. It was one of the hardest lessons God ever taught me.

So now, a year later, I keep almost nothing to myself. Concealing things did absolutely nothing but bad things for me. So this is who I am. You can find nearly everything there is to know about me on this blog. The good, the bad and the ugly. And that's the way I like it. I don't want to be private or hidden or mysterious. I want to be open and honest.

So for openness and honesty's sake, this is about as transparent as I come:

There are still some nights when I can't fall asleep because I'm caught between bitter anger and devastated love for him. There are some days when I look in the mirror and feel like if I was a better person he would have fought for me. I never walk into Ann Taylor without looking at the chairs outside and wondering if today is the day he'll come see me. Every few days, I send him a text to see if my number is still blocked from his phone. Then there are days when I go several hours having completely forgotten about him, only to wake up rudely. I feel like a complete mess sometimes.

BUT, I know that Christ loves me. He didn't fight for me--He died for me. There is never a time when I can't have access to Him. He was with me when I could hide everything from everyone else--I couldn't hide from Him. He was with me when I didn't wear makeup for days because I cried too often. He is with me now as I am trying to figure out all of the lessons He is teaching me through this. And He'll be with me forever. Without Him, I am absolutely nothing. Without Him, I AM a mess. But I am not without Him, and because of Him, I am not a mess. He won't let me be.

There you have it. I have no problem telling you all of this, because God didn't make us to hide behind fake smiles and syrupy "I'm fine"s. He didn't give us emotions so we could hide or slight them. Feelings are for FEELING. I refuse to feel bad that I don't hide them all away. I don't think I'm at the point yet where I can say, "I'd do it all over again because of what God did through it all." I still pretty much wish it had never happened. But I'm very hopeful that I'll get to that point at some point!

In love,

Shelley

PS. I will always be ready to be your friend.

I'm here

Promises Like Pie-Crust ~~ Christina Georgina Rossetti

Promise me no promises,

So will I not promise you:

Keep we both our liberties,

Never false and never true:

Let us hold the die uncast,

Free to come as free to go:

For I cannot know your past,

And of mine what can you know?

You, so warm, may once have been

Warmer towards another one:

I, so cold, may once have seen

Sunlight, once have felt the sun:

Who shall show us if it was

Thus indeed in time of old?

Fades the image from the glass

And the fortune is not told.

If you promised, you might grieve

For lost liberty again:
If I promised, I believe

I should fret to break the chain.

Let us be the friends we were,

Nothing more but nothing less:

Many thrive on frugal fare

Who would perish of excess.

I'll always be here.

Love,

Shelley

for the weary and troubled

Now that my sister is married, the responsibility of church music has fallen to me. I'll save most of that for a later post, but for now, while going through some new music given to me by my brother-in-law/pastor, I fell in love with this hymn that spoke to me loudly and clearly. I hope it blesses you as much as it has me.

Dear Refuge of My Weary Soul (Words: Anne Steele; Music: Kevin Twit)

Dear refuge of my weary soul

On Thee, when sorrows rise

On Thee, when waves of trouble roll

My fainting hope relies

To Thee I tell each rising grief

For Thou alone canst heal

Thy Word can bring a sweet relief

For every pain I feel

But oh! When gloomy doubts prevail

I fear to call Thee mine

The springs of comfort seem to fail

And all my hopes decline

Yet gracious God, where shall I flee?

Thou art my only trust

And still my soul would cleave to Thee

Though prostrate in the dust

Hast Thou not bid me seek Thy face

And shall I seek in vain?

And can the ear of sovereign grace

Be deaf when I complain?

No still the ear of sovereign grace

Attends the mourner's prayer

Oh may I ever find access

To breathe my sorrows there

Thy mercy seat is open still

Here let my soul retreat

With humble hope attend Thy will

And wait beneath Thy feet

Thy mercy seat is open still

Here let my soul retreat

With humble hope attend Thy will

And wait beneath Thy feet

I'll be honest. I cried the first time I played it. God gave me this hymn exactly when I needed it. Weary is definitely the word to describe my soul. I needed to remember to take refuge in Him. I can't get rid of my frustration, anxiety, weakness or pain. Only He can.

If you think the words are beautiful, listen the melody here.

Love,

Shelley

remember this time?

I've been feeling very nostalgic...it happens every time Fall comes around. Go figure.

I remember when I turned 6, Beth and I had our birthday party in an almost-empty house, seeing as how we were gearing up for an overseas move the following week. Pawpop and Grandma gave us Barbie balloons. We thought it was strange, since we didn't play with Barbies. But the balloons were nice.

I remember getting lost at Waikiki Beach 2 weeks after moving to Hawaii. Beth knows she left me on purpose.

I remember spending the night at my friend Sarah's house, getting my hair caught in a hairbrush and having to cut my hair off the brush at 2 am. We laughed so hard.

I remember turning 7 during Vacation Bible School, and getting my first Bible.

I remember my daddy baptizing me at the North Shore.*

I remember decorating the Easter Cross with all kinds of flowers with Beth and our friends Sarah, Hannah and Stephanie. It was beautiful.*

I remember boarding the plane to move back to San Antonio. I can only count on one hand the number of times I have cried that hard.

I remember hating San Antonio with a white hot fiery passion.

I remember getting my ears pierced. It didn't hurt.

I remember the first Sunday of Covenant of Grace, in a tiny hotel banquet room, with a handful of wonderful families.

I remember meeting Ms. Penny...she understood me right away. It blew my mind.

I remember singing For Good with my friend Nicole.

I remember taking pictures on a rainy day with my friends Hannah and Rachel.*

I remember going out to eat in Fort Worth with my parents and my eight brothers and sisters...just us. I think that's the only time that has ever happened. We ate lots of sopapillas.*

I remember co-producing a 10 minute movie with my friend Andy and a bunch of fabulous people.

I remember co-directing Psalty's Christmas Calamity with CJ and Beth. It was then that I was given the nickname, "Psalty Nazi." Let's just say I have a very, very loud yelling voice.

I remember going hiking with most of my family, and coming home exhausted, but with enough energy to wolf down mom's tuna stuffed potatoes, and cast lots for the leftovers.*

I remember my first day at Northwest Vista. 16 years old, and no idea what the hell I was doing. I never turned in homework in French 1, because I was under the impression that homework assignments were optional.

I remember going to see Wicked.*

I remember the night when my friend Cheyenne and I sat in my bed and, for the first time, talked about one day being sisters.

I remember going to the zoo over spring break with Nathan and our friends Hannah, Rachel and Chris. Nathan was blocking the rhino.*

I remember my senior recital. It scared me to death, it stressed me out beyond measure, but I'm so glad I did it.

I remember seeing Toy Story 3 at midnight with my friends on my 18th birthday.

I remember sitting at Starbucks with my friend Josh after smoking my first cigarette, talking about nearly everything.*

I remember Beth piercing my ears with a piercing gun. She was more freaked out than I was.

I remember CJ's wedding. I miss that day.*

*My favorite days.

I believe that everything--every person, place, situation you experience changes you. Not drastically, of course, but you are ever so slightly different than you were before each new encounter. This helps me to see the positive side to things...without each and every thing that has happened to me, I wouldn't be exactly who I am today.

Love,

Shelley

free to be me

Sunday was, for the general public, Halloween, and for many Christians, Reformation Day. I am a fan of both. Don't be fooled--Reformation Day isn't a "Christian response" to Halloween. It's actually older than Halloween, and they just happen to fall on the same day of the year. It's not anyone's fault that Martin Luther picked October 31, 1517 to nail his 95 theses on a church door. Well, I suppose it's Martin Luther's fault. But I just want to make it clear that I have no problem with kids dressing up and asking people for candy. I've had some great costumes over the years. At 5 I was a kitten, at 8 I was a ballerina, at 13 I was Trinity from The Matrix, at 14 Beth and I were each other (it was awesome, btw), and last year I was a hippie. I really committed to that one, too, abstaining from shaving my legs for almost 2 weeks before Halloween. Yeah. This year, however, I wore no costume. I was happy being me!

After a church service at which I thundered out A Mighty Fortress Is Our God, my siblings and I (sans parents who are greatly missed on their wonderful vacation) went to a Reformation Day celebration hosted by some wonderful church friends of ours. We had such a great time fellowshipping with so many other believers. A couple hours in to the party, the host gave a wonderful presentation on the Reformation, and the life of St. Augustine. At the very end of it, he said something that has stuck with me, primarily because it has been on my mind so much for the past several weeks. He was wrapping up explaining how Christ saved us out of death because we could not save ourselves, and that because of Him, we are not held by death or bondage. "That is freedom in Christ." It most certainly is.

Like I said--this topic has largely occupied my thoughts as of late. Too many times I have seen freedom in Christ neglected and replaced with human bondage. Too many times I have seen that human bondage consume entire families to the point where they stifle their own children or ostracize their friends. It breaks my heart. I am so thankful to God for a) the freedom He has given His people, and b) for allowing me to realize and take hold of it! I don't need a formula or a list or a method. I need Christ. And since I have Him, I am free to be myself, free to live for Him, free from feeling like I'm "not doing it right."

Anyway, it was so wonderful to hear those words spoken in a large setting on Sunday night. I write about freedom in Christ in my journal constantly, and I talk about it occasionally online or in my own home, so it was nice to hear it from someone else's mouth. And no matter who you are, it is always something beneficial to be reminded of. I left that night remembering for the thousandth time over how grateful I am for my freedom, and how I can't even imagine living without it. It must be such a sad existence.

I hope you all had a wonderful day on Sunday, whatever your preferred holiday.

Love, always,

Shelley

less like scars and more like character

I am rebuilding.

I am relinquishing bitterness, resentment, longing, sad songs, arguing, self-doubt, insomnia and hurt.

I am not broken. It may have felt that way, but I am whole, I am full of life and love, and I refuse to be jaded or cynical or weak.

There is not a single person who I do not love.

I tip my hat to friends like Hillary and Lewis who have the strength and courage to use their own experiences to 1) speak out against those who would manipulate Christians' hearts and minds using their own version of the Gospel, and 2) be comfort and sound counsel for those being wounded by the same movements. Perhaps one day I will be in a state of mind to do the same, but for now, I enjoy sharing what these wonderfully articulate writers have to say.

During these past several weeks and months, I realized for the 18930849th time that I truly have the greatest family. They will always be here for me, even when I'm too miserable to notice. I don't deserve them, but I thank God every day for them.

God also surrounded me with the most loving, caring, honest and supportive brothers and sisters in Christ who I am so, so blessed to call my friends.

My life has purpose.

I am not looking back. I am looking ahead.

When I get to Heaven, God will not care that I wore pants, that I didn't believe in courtship or that I listened to music other than K LOVE. He cares about His children, not the rules they make for themselves.

I will go where He leads. Nowhere else.

In peace and love,

Shelley

wedding post part 2

I had every intention of writing this BEFORE the wedding. As Mraz would say, I'm the best definition of good intentions.

Oh, my sister's wedding. I don't know where to begin. I have seen few days as happy as this one was. And rightly so. My sister CJ deserves every happiness in the world.

I remember a time when CJ couldn't get out of bed for a whole year. The house stayed dark and quiet. I watched her become progressively weaker and sadder. I remember thinking, "Why in the world is this happening, and when will it end?"

Seeing CJ's beaming face on Saturday is something that will stay with me forever. Her unimaginable trials will always be a testimony to God's unfailing love and protection, and now through it all, CJ is a strong, healthy, talented, beautiful woman after His own heart that I am so blessed to call my sister.

As it should have been, the day of the wedding was perfect. She, of course, looked absolutely beautiful, the setting was pristine, the weather crystal clear and bright, and (much to the concern of my mother) nothing went wrong. Nothing? Nothing. Like I said--it was perfect.

It should go without saying that the goodbye portion of the night was hard. After a good half hour of crying and hugging, CJ and Tony Longenbaugh walked through dozens of sparklers to their getaway car, and then they were gone. I can't talk about it.

I'm so grateful for my sister and my new brother. Dok, you'll always be my twin. :)

Love,

Shelley

human

Today's Song of the Day on my sidebar is brought to you by one of my favorite bands, The Killers, and this song is one of their best. I've discussed with several people the meaning of this song, and this is the part where I'll try that again, for the sake of clarification. This is how I understand the song, and perhaps, if you know me well, you can see why it means so much to me.

Are we human, or are we dancer? This is not an arbitrary, meaninglessly poetic question. It is actually very thought-provoking. In this context, dancer is used disparagingly. A human thinks, feels, acts based on instinct and personal decision. A dancer is controlled by someone else...similar to a puppet. A dancer has no will, but rather, only does what someone else has taught or told them. This is not a prison--dancers put themselves in this position. Up to the platform of surrender, I was brought but I was kind.

Close your eyes, clear your heart, cut the cord. This line is confusing. On the one hand, it could be a reference to surrendering all personal responsibility to someone else and losing your own life force--essentially, belonging to someone else and dancing for them. On the other hand, it could be just the opposite, with cutting the cord referring to being released from another person (i.e. cutting an umbilical cord). Perhaps it is meant to be taken either way, depending on if the reader/listener feels we are human or dancer. I'm still not sure which way I want to take it.

The second verse explores the reality of being a dancer. Pay my respects to grace and virtue, send my condolences to good, give my regards to soul and romance...so long to devotion...wave goodbye, wish me well, you've gotta let me go. If we go with the implication that dancers don't feel (again, in THIS context), then they have to let go of all of the above. Grace, virtue, good, soul, romance, devotion...they are all meaningless to a dancer (--side note: grace in its abstract, mental form--obviously, dancers possess massive amounts of physical grace).

My sign is vital, my hands are cold...there is no message we're receiving, let me know, is your heart still beating? Vital signs indicate that a person {>human<} is alive, whereas cold hands are associated with a lack of life or warmth. A beating heart is another sign of life. Would a dancer know if their heart wasn't beating, though?

Throughout the song, the singer seems to imply that we are, in fact, dancer, but keeps going back to the question: which are we? I'm on my knees looking for the answer. The lead singer of The Killers, Brandon Flowers, is a devout Mormon. It could be that this question so puzzles him that he is asking God for help. This is strangely coincidental, seeing as how God is the only One for whom humans should dance. That was not the point of the question, however. As a Mormon, Flowers understands that he is to follow God's commandments (whether or not I agree with him on what those commandments are is irrelevant here). Flowers is talking about dancing for people--a dancer who is willing to make their every move based on direction from someone else.

In an interview, Brandon Flowers said that he was inspired to write this song when he heard a friend of his complain that "we are raising a generation of dancers" with dancers having the same unfavorable context. I sincerely hope that my generation is not one of dancers, and I won't claim that I am one or the other. All I can say is I wish I was in love with a human.

Love,

Shelley

wedding post part 1

Well, by the end of the week, my sister Cathryn will be married. The first of the "B team" to say "I do." She'll be leaving behind her younger siblings and joining the ranks of the fabulously married ones. And she'll be moving away. :( But we're not thinking about THAT right now! We're thinking about how busy this week is! I took Wednesday through Saturday off from work so I can do bridesmaidy things. Monday is almost through, and it feels like it's taken forever. This morning, CJ coerced her two bridesmaids (Beth and me) into cleaning the disaster that calls itself the game room at my house. {Yuck.} Then I abandoned them for several hours, opting instead for what turned out to be a very distracted and unnerving shift at work. This evening will see a lot more cleaning. Tomorrow I'll work for the better part of the day...after working 9-5:45, I'm not sure how much cleaning I'll want to do! I'm taking the night off! ;)

Things will get more exciting the closer we get to the weekend. I'm so excited about all the people coming into town for this wedding! My BCF (Best Cousin Forever) Courtney who is all of 4 days younger than me will fly in on Thursday! She's the greatest. :) Also coming on Thursday is my {newish} fantastic friend Hayden, flying in all the way from California! I can finally put a face with the phone number--we'll have such fun. Of course, these two wonderful people don't compare to how excited I am that ANNIE IS COMING. I can't believe it's been a year since I last saw my sister and her beautiful family. I can't wait to see my baby niece! I am ecstatic. Thursday, Thursday, Thursday. Come quickly, please?

Saturday is going to be an unforgettable day. I get to stand up in my "twin" sister's wedding...I get to help her on the best day of her amazing life (more on this in wedding post part 2). So, so, so many people I love will be there. Of course, the one person I desperately want to be there won't, but c'est la vie maintenant. The day will be incredibly special, and I can hardly sleep at night, partly from excitement.

Stay tuned for part 2 of this post, coming to you Thursday or Friday!

Love,

Shelley

no change of heart, a change in me

Very few things make me quite as happy as cool weather. Yes, summer is nice for flowy skirts, greek sandals and tank tops, but oh...what I'd give for a year-round fall. Time to pull out the sweaters, black tights, boots, and, of course, my red plaid coat. :) Fall and winter agree with me.

As I walked outside this morning and was met with the 60 degree air, I was immediately flooded with memories of last fall--the feel and the smell of the air took me back to a time when my life looked so different, even just a year ago. I was reminded of being at Northwest Vista, the people there I hung out with, all the time I wasted, all the mistakes I made, all the laughs I had. I also remembered Black Friday shopping...deathly cold, running on absolutely no sleep, crying from exhaustion, falling asleep at Starbucks...not the BEST shopping trip ever, but it makes for a hilarious memory. So all of this made me think about all that has happened since I last felt chilly walking outside. This has without a doubt been the busiest, craziest, happiest, saddest, most wonderful year of my life. So much that I never could have imagined happening happened. All of this realization made me catch my breath. I serve a sovereign God. This busy, crazy, happy, sad, wonderful year is everything He planned it would be. What a beautiful reminder. I say this all the time, but it bears repeating: nothing surprises God. When life surprises you, remember that. It's such a relief. God made me who I am today, and He used the best and worst of circumstances to do it. I am grateful.

put on your Sunday clothes, there's lots of world out there

"Why do you dress nicely for church?"

The above question was asked to me a few weeks ago at my church. To my surprise, I had never given serious thought to it before. As far back as I can remember, my parents have set standards for dress, including for Sundays. When I was a very little girl, I would never dream of wearing anything but a dress to church (albeit, I would never dream of wearing anything but a dress, at all). My mother would brush my soft curly hair (while I enjoyed the soft curliness of it, having my hair brushed was one of the worst things I could think of, right next to wearing tennis shoes or worse...pants), help me distinguish between white and off-white tights and pick out a "twirly" dress.

When we moved to Hawaii, tights became less practical, and were reserved strictly for ballet lessons. My hair had turned blonde and wild, but Sunday was the one day when I simply had to get every knot out. In those days, my church clothes were still primarily dresses, including one or two muumuus (oh yes).

Moving back to San Antonio saw me branch out a little bit, and mix in denim skirts and shirts to my Sunday attire. In those days, my parents not only had rules about clothing, but hair as well. Although this became less of an issue as we got older, for several years, my sisters and I weren't allowed to wear our hair in ponytails to church. Hair needed to be brushed and left down, held back with barrettes, or french braided (every self-respecting homeschooled girl knows the joys of french braids).

As I got older, I began wearing pants to church occasionally, but always "nice" pants. I would never dream of wearing jeans with holes (to this day, I seldom wear jeans at all to church). It was always dressed up, never casual, hair was done, makeup neat.

So thinking back over all of this, and looking at how much the way I dress for church has changed over the years, I realized (rather late in life, I'd imagine) that it's not aboutwhat you wear, but why you are wearing it. It's your attitude. I dress nicely because I am in the Lord's house--why wouldn't I want to look my best for Him? Not that He cares what I look like, obviously, but even so, I want to be presentable. So for me, dressing nicely has everything to do with perception. At 8 years old, I would have thought that wearing pants or hair in a ponytail to church wasn't nice enough. That had everything to do with my perception of what nice was. Now, I feel presentable when I wear pants to church, because I can make it look "dressy." The reason my parents had a rule about ponytails was because when we were younger, wearing a ponytail meant not doing our hair--throwing it up in a ponytail holder so we didn't have to mess with it. That isn't how I think of it today. Again, it was about attitude. Dressing "nicely" is relative--what is nice to one person may be far too casual OR over-the-top to any other given person. Let's not judge fellow believers on what they wear when they worship--or what they wear at all. The Lord calls us all to different standards of dress, and it is our own to work out based on how we feel He has called us.

Love,

Shelley

Trust me

Ever noticed how loosely we throw around the word "trust?" It's a big deal to put your trust in someone. To have faith in them. To believe that they won't let you down.

I have a "childlike trust in the goodness of others." Unfortunately, it sets me up for disappointment more often than not. I simply force myself to believe that people, in general, are good, and that they won't disappoint or hurt me. Of course, that is generally not the case. People, in general, are bad. People are not trustworthy, and they will disappoint you.

Last night, sister Beth, almost-sister Cristen and I were having a somewhat melancholy discussion about trust. The conclusion we came to was that God must have made us all so untrustworthy on purpose. If people could be trusted, no one would need to trust in God. That is the comfort in which I rest. When people inevitably fail me, God will never.

However, even after coming to this realization, I still tend to place my trust in faulty, fallen people. I can't exactly help it. After all, I am part of that faulty, fallen people. I trust too easily. I suppose it goes along with being an optimist. There's nothing wrong with wanting to assume the best in people. I'm not saying I think that one should never trust another person. What I'm reveling in is that I know there is One who will never, ever give me a reason not to trust Him. He gave me the gift of faith in Him, and I can always rest in that. It's an amazing feeling.

To hear with my heart

To see with my soul

To be guided by a Hand I cannot hold

To trust in a way that I cannot see

That's what faith must be

~Michael Card

Love,

Shelley

"This is a story of boy meets girl, but you should know up front: this is not a love story"

Over the past two months, I have experienced nearly every emotional state imaginable--all jumbled together, sometimes confusing one for another, not seeing where one ended and another began: love, anger, fear, disappointment, bliss, confusion, denial, hope, hopelessness, impatience, abandonment, recklessness, calm, heartbreak, vindictiveness, pride, spite, serenity, selfishness. I can honestly say that the better part of July, August and September have collectively been the most stressful time in my life. But God has done so much in my life in this time. More than I ever imagined. My post about grace could not have come at a more appropriate time.

Back in June, I reconnected with a young man with whom I've been friends for the better part of 8 years. Long, complicated story short, we realized we had feelings for each other that went deeper than friendship. That was in the middle of August. Choosing a method that I respectfully disagreed with, his parents asked us not to communicate at all until such a time when he (and they) felt confirmation from the Lord that this was what He wanted for us. Well, it must not have been, because we didn't exactly adhere to their request, resulting in communication once again being severed, this time with more hurt and heartache. Rough emails were exchanged between children and parents, no one walked away unscathed or faultless. Not wanting to end things badly, I sought him out yesterday morning, thanks to an extremely supportive friend. We talked for about an hour, clearing the air, saying what needed to be said, and parting on excellent (if wistful) terms.

I don't pretend to know what will happen in the future. All I know is that I love him dearly, I'm crushed at the way things turned out for us, I want things between our families to be okay, and I miss being his friend more than I can say. Before it all got complicated, I could talk to him about anything. He was with me when I smoked my first cigarette. We had the most interesting and stimulating conversations. Now I can't talk to him at all...that hurts. It can't and won't last forever, this I know. This will move out of the present, into memory, and we will move on in grace, love and friendship. And someday, he and I will go to Orange Cup, because apparently I'm the only person in all of San Antonio who hasn't been. :) God has a lot in store for both of us, and I take comfort in the fact that nothing surprises Him. He knew every move we would make, every word we would say, every time we would lose sight of Him, every time He would make us find Him again. It's a good feeling. He will never leave me, nor forsake me.

Love,

Shelley