"You can never fully trust someone who does not reside in Yah."

Yah told me that.

I used to be a pretty bad person.  I liked to get high and I smoked like a chimney.  Sometimes I would do or say things that I knew would hurt others just for the thrill.  I would cut myself just to feel and sometimes I lied.  

But I was always a good girl.  I was told this approvingly by adults and mentors and mockingly by peers.  See, I was never a fan of getting drunk, I never got arrested, I never thought it was okay to steal.  I didn't skip school, I made good grades, I cared about people for the most part, and I kept my private life...exclusive and private.  I was a good girl.

But I was never truly good so long as I was the one that I was serving....

Amidst the Thorns

Much of what I write is reflections of my past.  On the night my life changed forever, a close friend talked about taking down the rearview mirror, that it was not Yah's intention for us to dwell.  But I don't dwell.  I reflect.  I say I don't dwell because I don't look back and grow forlorn about a past that I cannot change.    Barlow Girl sings about the deep, deep reassurance that Yah has placed in their life.  That is also true of my life.  And every time I reflect, that reassurance grows stronger as I watch the pieces align, as I become acutely aware of Yah's presence, protection, intervention, and guidance throughout my life even when I felt alone; even when I was dirty and should have been left out.

I had the best parents in the whole wide world and I told them so every night.  Even if they did not always lead by example, they taught me right from wrong.  They taught me to research, to seek truth, to always find out for myself.  They shared their vast life lessons and instilled in me the values of hard work and honesty.  They taught me accountability.  And we said our prayers every night.  And they had a great many flaws, blame for which I hold to them not.  They loved me with all they were.  How can you find fault in that?

I remember as a child swinging on the swing in my front yard, rays of light chasing away the shadows cast by the trees.  I would sing my heart out and was certain that I could hear angels singing with me.   And there was this warm feeling of peace,  a magic and my soul that words cannot explain.  And in my years of darkness, I yearned for that back.  

But for as long as I was stubborn and rebellious with a fat heart, the truth remained so distant and foreign.  It remained as simply a memory of a feeling that my gluttonous heart could not quite grasp.

Adam and Eve were the first victims of peer pressure.

"A Thousand Steps" -Newsong

"Surrender" -Barlow Girl

Dear Mr. Cigarette

I love you very much.  We've been inseparable for years and you've been by my side through a lot.  But I think it's time we end this affair we've been having.  You see, you take my breath away.  No, really, quite literally.  I avoid sports because of you.  And, well, you see, I spend a LOT of my money on you...and you get me kicked out of places.  You make me miss movies, parts of concerts, and even time with my other friends.  You make me spazz out when we're not together...and sometimes you make me feel dirty when we are.  You ruin my clothes, my car, and just about anything else you can get your hot little hands on.  Sometimes I feel like I can't live without you, when really I can't live with you.  Again, quite literally.  And that's the problem.  See, you kinda helped kill my dad (for the record, I really miss him) and now you're killing me.  So why the hell are you still my friend?

Bittersweet Goodbyes,
Shannon

Above is a short piece I wrote during one of my many quit attempts.  I loved my cigarettes.  As terrible as it may sound, jumping off of a cliff was less intimidating than giving up my precious nicotine.  Quitting food was more appealing.  And no threat of cancer or stroke was enough to make me give it up.  And then I started to read my Bible and get to know Yah.

Matthew 6:24 KJV

[24] No man can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one, and love the other; or else he will hold to the one, and despise the other. Ye cannot serve God and mammon.

This particular verse struck home.  I could give up my job for Yah.  My home, my family, my life.  But my cigarettes?  That might be more like Esau's bowl of soup. (Genesis 25:30-34). And that's when I realized it was time to quit.  

It was probably one of the hardest things I've ever done in my life.  But I breathe better.  I smell better.  I see better.  I have more energy.  And my bond is loosed. 

And tomorrow marks 365 days of freedom!! :)

Understanding In a Crash

When I was 16, I wrecked my car. I hit a loose pile of dirt on a gravel road and violently fishtailed back and forth until my top heavy explorer veered right on two wheels and came to rest in a ditch, narrowly missing solid standing trees on all sides.  I escaped with no injuries, my car fully intact minus a $300 window. My parents even let me continue on to the friend's house, surprisingly understanding and glad for the lesson [safely] learned.  It was nothing short of petrifying as time slowed down and I realized I had lost control.  In those 8-10 seconds, I thought about a lot of things - pissed off parents, upset fiancé, losing my precious car, missing work, death.  The branches on the sides of the road were so loud when they would hit me (or I them, I suppose) and all of the miscellaneous junk in my car all flew at me at one time it seemed.  I remember pleading, "JESUS TAKE THE WHEEL!!" Yah was DEFINITELY with me that day.

I used to torture myself, replaying what I believed their last moments might have been like, mentally willing myself into the car, praying I could have been in their place but at the very least WITH them.   I can see the backs of their heads. Hers was probably on his shoulder. They were probably holding hands.  He was probably going to fast, Taylor Swift's "Fearless" album providing the soundtrack.  "I don't know how it gets better than this, take my hand, drag me head first, fearless."  Our anthem that summer - the summer that nothing else could go right except that the FOUR of us had each other and our music and the Lord...and that's all we'd ever need.  I can hear her angelic voice, soft and sweet tinged with a thread of fear, "Randall!!"

But it's too late. By the time we see the deer in the headlights (was there fog I wonder?), we're too close.  Did he even have time to think before he chose to swerve?

I wonder if time slowed for them? If they had that, "Oh, shit" moment of terror when it started to roll?  (How loud is the destruction of metal?) If they cried out to Jesus (YAHSHUA) the same way I did in anguish so many nights after that one.

I would painfully pick it apart, piece by piece.  Jessica fell out first, did Shane know he was alone? (Yah was with him.)  I was told it was instant for both of them - quick and easy. Is death ever easy?  How long did they lay there before it was over?  Alone in the dark. 

Their moms came in and took everything.  We came home and their room was four empty walls, the only evidence of them ever being there was a half drank 20 oz coke in the window and the paint that we had done together. Except for the trim. That was all Shane.  And it was all for Jess.  Everything he did was for Jess and her for him.  We were just thankful they went together.  And thankful we still had each other, broken as we were.

We were probably about halfway through settling into our house when they died, four broke kids just rejoicing that we were able to keep the lights on.  And that's how we stayed - halfway settled, sleeping on perpendicular couches in the 10 x 10 living room that became our walled fortress.  

After they died, I quit caring about a lot of things.  I didn't care that we didn't have hot water.  I didn't care if the dishes got done.  I didn't care if I ate, let alone what.   I wandered, floated.  All that mattered was there was now only one red car in our driveway and an empty room at the end of the hallway that we never dared disturb.

For probably at least two years after the wreck, everything ALWAYS went back to Shane and Jess (still does sometimes).  I quit singing, James quit playing.  I couldn't quit smoking and didn't want to.  I gained a bunch of weight and became about as afraid of people as a beaten puppy, seeking solitude at every opportunity.  Panic attacks.  And everywhere I went, cars crashed.  In my head, anyway.  Sometimes I was afraid, but most of the time it just made me tearfully remember them.  I would look on my rear view mirror and see my empty back seat (we rode together everywhere we went except for the night they died) and I would entertain the delusions that maybe today I might join them.  I would pray that if it were okay, today "God" (Yah) might take me.  

But instead, Yah has delivered me.  I have found truth in the word and truth in my life and comfort through THE COMFORTER.  And Yah has brought us good people, better than we deserve.  Some I have now known longer than Shane and Jess and still only give them bits and pieces of me in return.  I have weird little things that I do or OCD things that go back to them.  A social anxiety that I hide well but is ever present.  A temper that I work hard to suppress.  But we are so truly blessed in so many ways.  

Every February/March I slip back a little...Shane and I used to share our birth month and it was when we found Jess.  July 4 is the anniversary of the crash, August 21 made Jessica exactly 6 months my junior.

And as I get older, they stay the same.  Two beautiful, talented kids framed above my bed.  A lovely memory.