Come Here......

Sometimes, I wonder what life would be like without all of our senses?  Or what would life be like with only a few?  Each is a gift and I can't imagine not having them all.  But if I HAD to give one thing up, it would be talking.  We abuse our speech.  

Sometimes, oftentimes I believe we are flippant with our words. We forget the power we hold within us; the power of the tongue  our flippancy careless jib jabs all in our paths, leaving behind a fusilage of wounded souls.   Because of this, Sometimes…. I wish there were no such thing as spoken words.  What if we could only communicate with the other four senses.  What if we didn’t have spoken sounds or a written gutteral that carries meaning?  What if there was no alphabet we purposefully strung together to communicate meaning?  What if?

The structure in a simple utterance inspires and invokes joy.  Or, it invokes shame, insecurity, and destruction.  Add to the structures punctuation, adjectives, and tone and there is a weapon of mass destruction waiting to launch. 

Tone colors the word with personality, breathing  life and attitude behind  it. “How are you today?” is asked, and the responder’s heart is revealed, not in the one word answered, but in the tone behind it.  Look in their eyes.  Observe their body language behind the delivery.  Communication at its finest lies within the tone.  “Good” is usually the one word response.”  Put a feeling and tone behind that spoken word, and let the interpretations ensue.  This makes the spoken language beautiful and hideous. 

Another example.  “Come here” flavored with anger, impatience, or even sarcasm births shame, fear, even defensiveness.  I mean, If I hear the words “come here..(you messed up big time, and I am gonna let you have it) that is not exactly the same “come here” seasoned with the tenderness when a lover takes you by the hand pulling you in close for an embrace.  The warmth of that “come here” draws me in beckoning intimacy, acceptance, and life.  Tone travels through the filter of the listener’s soul assembling emotion.    “Come here… (I have a secret to share),” welcomes warmth and trust.

Oh, how often we flippantly fling our words around, seasoning them with tones that foster damage.  Reflect.  What words have been spoken into you that stuck? 

What voices have you entertained?  Words delivered in anger, shame, manipulation, coupled with the mixture of self invoked failure….. surely is a destructive concoction., and add to this the “Come here” of a failed anything, and there is much work. 

One sylabell at a time…. Not right away, not immediately… slowly, systematically, and achingly drawn out…. One arrow at a time….A, B, C, D, E, F…BAM, you die, Because when your soul diseases, you stop living.  All you need is a kindness, tenderness, a gaze.  Perhaps A loving touch, a “come here” and with each pressing of the metaphorical button, the chasm deepens between a “come here,” and “I don’t know you.”   Further still, the “come here” dream fades into a whipsy fog and dissipates into thin air. 

So my pondering leads me to ask the question….  Why do we need to speak so much to communicate?  Words so often interfere!  Oh how lovely and beautiful it would be to simply convey tone, emotion, in silence, in a gaze, in a touch.  At times,   a world of no verbal pratter back and forth is my heaven.   Pratter consumes the senses, causing static.  When we walk outside and take note of the climate, we say, “wow, it’s a beautiful day?”  The empty vocal gutturals of “it’s a beautiful day.”  Are spoken and we move on to our next thought, chore, errand.   What does that even mean? 

I want to stop and bask in the beauty of the day, if even for a brief moment.  My senses awakened at the beaty and I marvel in the yellow sunbeam warmth that hits my skin.  The branches are bare, and the air crisp, but the yellow ignites warmth and gratitude in my heart.  In my moment of basking in the beauty, the smell of fireplaces burning all around stimulate peaceful memories of  days gone by, practically sitting in the fireplace!  Such golden precious memories of that fireplace hearth, and my treasured spot beside it.  And what do I hear?  The wind.  I hear the wind singing her song of welcome into the day.  She welcomes me softly, gently in song, but lets me know she is there with her biting crisp chill blowing strait to my bones.  How can “ it’s a beautiful day” be truly conveyed in mere abc’s.   “Come here, Oh beautiful day… Come here”  Let me take you up in my embrace and hold you close to my beating heart.  “come here, my love and let me hold you, enjoy you, gaze upon your beauty….”  “Come here…….”

“Why do we have to learn how to speak  THEIR language!”  This represented my attitude growing up.  My experience with the Hispanic culture is rooted in prejudice that my white race is superior.  Growing up in Orlando, Florida, my parents and grandparents modeled this superiority and as the Hispanic population migrated further north from Miami to Central Florida, we whites were resentful.  With their migration, we were taught that our crime rate had risen, gangs were on the rise, and we had to learn their language and not the other way around.  I must add that my family carries a generational judgmental and critical spirit that I have worked very hard to break in my own generation.  That being said, choosing to go to a Hispanic church felt very intimidating.  

(I had to immerse myself in a culture out of my comfort zone as an experiential activity for grad school last year)  

My past judgments of them led me to prejudge their judgments of me.   I did not feel I would be welcome, and I just knew I would feel alone, as I do not speak Spanish.  Funny thing, those judgements we hold for others and ourselves.  

Driving to the church, I was prayerful and asked God to teach me something, and to somehow give me some word of encouragement.  To set the stage of my emotional and spiritual frame of mind, I had experienced an emotionally excruciating, exhausting evening before.   Suffering the loss of a very dear relationship (boyfriend breakups are a bitch) as well as my spiritual and mental fatigue in my own “work” had me waking up with a hopeless frame of mind.  I was not sure Casa de mi Padre would be the place.  A friend had texted me  about reaping what we sow right before I got out of my car.  She had said that I would reap all I had sown in regards to my ability to love others well.   

My anxiety heightened, I set forth to cross the street, hold my head high, and walk into this little community as if I belonged there.  What happened in the next two hours impacted me in ways that words could never do justice.  I thought I would be stared at, whispered about, snubbed, and isolated.  What I received was so different.

I was not prepared for what I was about to experience.  I walked in, feeling intimidated by the groups standing out front on the steps.  I felt their eyes on this white lady walking up the steps.  Two ladies welcomed me at the door immediately.  Millie was one of their names, and I know this because she immediately welcomed me in Spanish.  I thanked her in Spanish ( I do know Gracious) and informed her that I did not speak her language.  ("No Habla Espanol... "NAILED it!)  Thats about all I had in me.  

Then she spoke in English and took me aside.  Kindly she sat me down and gave me a card to fill out.  She intuitively asked me why I was sad, and a tear trickled as I said, “broken heart....(in english just in case you wondered)”  Well that sweet Millie.  She knelt down and asked to pray for me  right then.  She held my hands and she prayed the most beautiful prayer over me in English, weeping for me. IN MY LANGUAGE.  Millie, wept. For me.  I know she felt my heavy wet tears splatting onto her hands that held mine so tightly.  Not. What. I Expected. 

She then escorted me to front and center ( GAWH!  THANKS MILLIE) and promised to bring me a translator box soon.  I felt like a “WHITE” elephant in the room that everyone was watching, judging me.  Again, I prejudged their judgment.   The music began and I was able to follow the songs and sing along mostly from the giant overhead.  I was uncomfortable at first, but once I opened my mouth and sang, my intimidation was gone.  It was amazing!   Worship is powerful for me, and I tend to cry even when I am happy during worship, and this was no different.  I cried, a lot.  A LOT.  I didn't care either.  I. Was. A. Mess.  I felt love in this place. I felt safe for some weird reason.  I felt God.  I was one in spirit with these people as we worshiped the same God in a language I did not know. 

The service was much like my own “white” service.  An offering was taken, there were announcements, the teens and children were released after, and the pastor came to the platform to preach. The lady beside me then kindly gave me her program.  It was in Spanish, so perhaps she thought I was able to understand.  Millie then brought me headphones to listen to the English interpretation.  The pastor spoke on loneliness and marriage from the book of Genesis Chapter two and I took four pages of notes.  It was one of the best sermons I’d ever heard. Perfect timing for my events in life, as I had just ended a relationship!  At the end of the service, there was more worship, and the pastor prayed a beautiful prayer over all of us.  I wept again, and what happened next was an experience I know that my words will not justly articulate the power behind it. 

After the prayer the music continued and the pastor of the church called out my name.  At first, I didn’t notice it.  I had taken off my headphones and then he said my name again and looked at me.  He called me to the front of the church in English and then asked if the church could pray for me. 

“MILLIE!!!!  YOU ARE GOING DOWN!”

Well I am the lady who will take a prayer whenever I can get it;  I remember just pulling aside a family on Thursday and praying for them in a need they had.  Maybe this was the reaping of what I sowed that my friend had promised.  I went to the front and a multitude of women came to the front and surrounded me, laying hands on my head, my back, and my arms and began to pray.  Strangers.  These strangers were praying for me.  In their language, powerful prayers were prayed, tears were shed, and as one woman’s (who I would learn later was the pastor’s wife) English prayers went up, I raised my hands in agreement and smiled.  I smiled, and felt my sadness lift.  When the prayer time was over, these women hugged me and said that they loved me.  Women I had never met, embraced me, and said in MY language, “I love you.”  Afterward, Millie gave me her number and invited me to her Friday evening small group.  I did not go to her small group.  I did go back to Church a few weeks later, however.  This Sunday, a young man Roberto sat beside me with Millie on the other and he translated for me in my ear every word.  I was invited to lunch with this group after and guess what!  I went!  My translator by my side, I engaged in a lunch commune with these precious people.  

I have not returned in a year.  As I was driving through Down Town Franklin with my mom yesterday, I pondered where I would attend church on my Easter Sunday alone.  My kids with their father this year, and I really miss them.  I have visited EVERY non-denominational church and some others over the last 5 years since my divorce.  This is not the piece to process why I haven’t found what I am looking for and my view of evangelical/ fundamental/ charismatic/ progressive/ or any other word that floats around.  For me, its just Jesus.  It’s authentic LOVE.  And I ironically, the place that beckoned me, was this little white church on the corner in Downtown Franklin with an all-Spanish congregation.  Love beckons me.  This is where I celebrate my Saviors Resurrection.

Strength to Let Go..........

You have not because you ask not....

The asking is immediate.

The waiting can be excruciating....

This is where faith lives......In the waiting.

 "Israelite" that I can be, I forget the many ways my "asks" have been answered.

Fighting my "Israelite" heart, while driving to church Sunday morning, I prayed.  My petition once again for restoration of something dear to me.  This "something" taken at the hands of deceptions, manipulations, and misunderstandings.  Lies break relationships.  Every time.  Gosh, aren't lies deafening?

Often, the lies we believe are so much louder than the gentle soft truth whispers of the Great.  Fortunately, the "now" promises my Great speaks to me are louder than any lies that war within.  (It didn't used to be that way, trust me).  This is why I have great compassion and patience in my promise.  So I wait for Truth to be revealed.  I wait in kindness.  For it is in the kindness of the Father that leads to restoration.

Back to my drive.  As I drove and prayed, I declared my gratitude (With thanksgiving, let your requests be known).   Rolling in to the church parking lot, late for that matter, I asked, "I want another surprise.  I need surprises today."

Church was beautiful.  Simple.  Different than any other church I've been to in Nashville in quite sometime.  Refreshingly different than the LOUD concert-like performances I have attended.  Now don't get me wrong, I love me some worship!   Currently,  I am learning that worship has nothing to do with the people on the stage, the flashy lights,  and dark room as much as it is the condition of my own heart.  Worship Sunday morning was tender, bright, pure, and simple.  I could use some tender, pure and simple. Many aspects of the service transported me back to my childhood.
(Come to Me as a child)  The teaching was perfect, and there were tears.  I emote.....

              Surprise 1- The miracle of me reflecting on childhood with joy.

              Surprise 2- A word from someone in passing.  They did not even know what they were
                                 saying, but my Divine did.  He knew how special those words would be to me.

After church, I jetted to a meeting.   More worship.  Surprise 3 was coming and this was my best one of the day.  (God has a way of exceeding our asks...)  

               Surprise 3- There was a friend arriving.  We had been painfully estranged for a year.
                                  The estrangement was from manipulations, deceptions, and misconceptions.  In
                                  my heart I knew that the truth would come out.  I knew this situation would one
                                  day be resolved, not by ME trying to do the truth revealing, but by LETTING
                                  GO.   So I let go, and believed.  I practiced kindness.      
                                  (Kindness leads to restoration).   It took one year, but
                                  sure enough, out of the blue, the relationship was repaired without me
                                  controlling.  Truth came.  When I saw her for the first time yesterday, we
                                  hugged, and my hope in my "ask" earlier was renewed.


Often, it requires more strength to open up our hands in surrender, than to hold on tightly to something we want so badly to control.

 Hope.  Ask.  Let Go. Believe.

Ask and you will receive......

Lessons from my dog...

I feel like most lessons I learn about my relationship with God either parallel my relationship with my kids, or my relationship with my dogs.... 

(I own no dogs now... they all got sent away.....  I am sure there is a metaphor in there) 

I found an old blog post from years back and thought it was still so relevant.. I hope you enjoy it.

Dated back in 2011:

So, I am starting to like my dog now. My kids laugh at me, cuz a few weeks ago, I thought he was the devil's spawn. I called the dog trainer the doggie exorcist.....

After two sessions, the trainer couldn't get the dog to go in his crate either....which was causing major back problems for me! I remember him saying, "hmmmm, I am gonna have to give this some thought!" Yep, haven't seen him since. Kinda funny. He was stumped, and THE BEST in town.  I imagine him now as he's probly sittin in the fetal position in a corner just rocking back and forth, crying, "crate....crate......" Yeah, but its okay.

I decided to choose my battles and save my back. He is obeying so well now, and I have definitely established myself as the ALPHA in the house. My kids laugh at the transformation and now how good of friends me and the dog are. Yesterday, Lily called the dog to follow her up the stairs and he ADORES Lily. But, he just came straight to me at the reading chair I was in and sat at my feet. "You know who loves you don't you boy," I cooed. My daughter looked at me like I had officially lost my mind. I can now officially call him by name, because we are now in good relational terms. His name is Samson...

The neat thing today, was that on our walk, I realized something. Samson is Heeling perfectly. He knows when I turn and turns in the flow with me without missing a beat. He stays with me, and if he does get a little ahead of me, I gently jerk the leash and make a noise he knows, and he falls back in line. I don't have to yell or pull or tug. IT IS MARVELOUS!!!!!

I began to reflect about how this parallels me and God. I mean, when I first worked with the dog on this heel thing....he tugged,  didn't understand, and he had to be jerked a lot....and I had to make that "sound" a lot. Now, as he knows me, and I know him, he falls right in line....and we walk together. I am not walking him or he walking me...but side by side. A few times, he got tired, cuz I wore his hiney out today...and I just encouraged him and gently tugged the leash and he fell right back in line with me. When he saw another dog, he did not tug to get free...he just kept on walking in step with me. I think it is a beautiful picture of my walk with God. He and I are right in line. We are in relationship and as I press in for more relationship with Him.....there isn't as much struggle to get my way, or fear of going a certain direction. When "he turns" I turn too in a natural way. When I get tired or weary from the journey I am on.....He gently encourages me in a gentle way. He is never harsh with me. I have never heard Him use a harsh or "yelly" kinda voice with me. Always gentle and low. Always.   Me and God, well, we are great friends. There is no struggle, no mistrust....

Funny thing... I finally started calling him "not" dog... but Samson after I began to know him and he me.  There's a metaphor...

"That dang song"

Don't be alarmed........

These are the words I spoke to my friend next to me at church this morning.  When that dang song began.....
(because the waterworks are ON!)

I don't know why, ummmm... let me rephrase that..... I KNOW EXACTLY WHY today's theme turned on the water works, and let's just say that I wasted my time applying makeup this morning.

Today, Love was our theme.  If you have followed me or been my friend in the last 6 years, you know that I "heart" Love.  And we talked about it today!

Leading up to this morning, I had experienced a difficult situation where I was faced with a challenge to love.  I could fire back, get offended... or be still and practice what I knew was best.  Love.  My heart was bruised and yet I chose to stay true to me.  And so, I went to church today with a little bruise on my heart.  And then........ that dang song!  And by "dang song," I mean pretty much any song they play at church because there is something special every week in the music selected.  Every song every Sunday is "that dang song!"


Here is what Love is all about according to Paul in Corinthians:

Love is patient

Love is kind

Love never gives up.

Love cares more for others than for self.

Love takes pleasure in the flowering of truth.

Love puts up with anything.                                

Love trusts God always.

Love always looks for the best.

Love never looks back.

Love  keeps going to the end.

Love doesn’t want what it doesn’t have.
(oh this is a toughy)

Love doesn’t strut.                                    

Love doesn’t have a swelled head.                        

Love doesn’t force itself on others                      

Love isn’t always “me first.”                                        

Love doesn’t fly off the handle.                    

Love doesn’t revel when others grovel.            


As I  measure these principles against my own life and actions, I see where I have fallen short.  I also see where I have grown.  I celebrate love for my family and friends.  I relish in NOT getting offended.... EVER. (ahem... PRIDE)   This week, I had an opportunity to become very offended.

In my mind, I had a RIGHT to be offended.   There was mistreatment and misunderstandings against me.  More gossips and meddling from those who expect me to be the "old Shelli"  taunted me.  And the entire time, I chose to NOT break character.  I've learned to BE STILL and know.  I've learned that getting offended doesn't serve me well, and looking for ways to love mercy is far better.  My "situation" did not change, but my heart changes every single time when I choose mercy and grace.

I was told that when I extend grace to certain people in my life, that they see me as weak.
I disagree.  Extending Grace and Mercy requires strength.  It's difficult at times to walk in mercy, extend grace, and be still.  That my friend is strong.  This is love.  And that dang song brought it all back!

Splinters and Stones

I think there is a reason I love this song so very much. It resonates deeply. I still cannot get through it without shedding a tear. (what else is new, right?)

but if you have a chance, listen to this beautiful acoustic version...

This past Sunday.... well.... it was perfect. Symbolic. Beautiful. I was not even going to go to church this week, as I had a final to study for, but I did go. Each song and reading leading up to the teaching laid the groundwork in my heart for a final letting go. Letting go of what you ask? Maybe of resentments that still try to creep in. Yeah, I think that could be it. I still feel like I have a right to be ticked sometimes about injustices. But in church Sunday, I was reminded through every single song and scripture reading of how beautiful letting go and surrender is.

As I reflect on my journey that 2016 took me on, I am reminded of the words in Exodus 14:14 that say, "God will fight for you, just be still." And it is a verse that I hung on to for dear life as many injustices came my way. Misunderstood, mistreated, stripped in every detailed way that I identified myself, I hung on for dear life and took the words to heart. Stones were thrown. Many stones. This time, rather than to pick them up and throw them back, I let my Divine take them. He dealt with it all for me and told me to be still. To save all my energy for it, I closed off, self protected, and took out my pen. I wrote... ALOT. I write about stones often. Often, stones metaphors for lies we hold to about ourselves. I also found solace in music....ALOT.

As I heard a teaching about David and Goliath, I was reminded of my own David season when I came up against numerous Goliaths... alone. In my 6-7 months of clinging and holding on to truths, against the lies that bullied me from every direction, I asked God for one thing. I asked Him to change me and no one else. That while he fought for me, would he teach me how to love mercy, and walk kindly? Would he teach me more about gratitude? Oh it was a doozy of a time. Looking back on it, I daresay, I would do it again.

You see, every day, we are faced with stones, with words spoken to us and about us. It's a broken world. But we have a choice. What we do with those words and accusations bear tremendous responsibility. We hold the power of life and or death birthed in our thoughts and then words. I wonder how David handled the accusations? I wonder how still David was before his time came? Was he still before he was brave? Was he still before he boldly shouted his victory? What about Christ? Was he still and calm before his accusers? Something I ponder as I continually seek to be kind, brave, still, and loving...letting go of my final "rights" to resentments.

Sunday marks a year when it all began. And it is a year that I will honor and respect. I know life is hard. I also know that life is beautiful, and much is determined by the way we handle our little bags of stones. What will you do with your stones?