When God Stays

When God Stays

When God Stays

“Even if my father and mother abandon me, the Lord cares for me.”

— Psalm 27:10 (CSB)

There is a particular kind of grief that comes when the place meant to shelter your faith becomes the place that wounds it.

It doesn’t always arrive through cruelty or confrontation. Often, it comes through absence. Through silence. Through the slow realization that when things became inconvenient, uncomfortable, or costly, the people who once stood near quietly stepped back.

This is the grief of spiritual abandonment.

It happens when truth threatens reputation.

When protection of an institution outweighs care for a person.

When “keeping peace” means leaving someone alone in their pain.

And it leaves behind a question that echoes deeply in the soul:

If the church walked away… did God?

Scripture answers this without defensiveness.

No explanations.

No justifications.

Just presence.

God does not confuse Himself with the systems built in His name. He does not require our silence to maintain His holiness. He does not disappear when others do.

God stayed.

He stayed with Hagar in the wilderness after she was cast out.

He stayed with David when he was pursued by those he once served.

He stayed with Jesus when religious leaders turned their backs and protected their power instead of truth.

And He stays now.

Not loudly.

Not to prove a point.

But faithfully.

Spiritual betrayal has a way of making us doubt our own discernment. It whispers that we must have misunderstood, overreacted, or asked for too much. It tempts us to shrink our story so others can stay comfortable.

But God does not ask us to minimize what harmed us in order to keep Him near.

He stays in the doorway when everyone else leaves.

He stays in the silence.

He stays in the unanswered questions.

He stays when trust is fractured and certainty is gone.

Sometimes healing doesn’t begin with reconciliation.

Sometimes it begins with clarity.

God stayed.

The church didn’t.

That truth is not an accusation.

It’s a release.

You are not faithless for naming what happened.

You are not rebellious for grieving what was lost.

You are not alone for standing where others disappeared.

If you are carrying spiritual hurt today, let this be enough for now:

God is not offended by your honesty.

God is not threatened by your questions.

God is not absent from your story.

He is still here.

Reflection

Where have I confused God’s presence with people’s approval? What grief have I been carrying silently because I didn’t feel safe naming it? What would it look like to let God stay with me here, without rushing toward resolution?

Closing Prayer

Father God,

Stay with me where trust was broken.

Meet me in the places where silence did the most damage.

Give me courage to tell the truth gently and strength to heal honestly.

Thank You for remaining when others did not.

Amen. 🕊️🧡🕊️

Until next time...

Keep being Amazing You!

Will You Be Mine? — A love letter from the heart of Jesus ❤️

Will You Be Mine Love Letter

Will You Be Mine?

— A love letter from the heart of Jesus ❤️

We didn’t start this love story; Jesus did. He loved us first, in our mess, in our doubts, and in our tired, broken places. He doesn’t stand far away waiting for us to fix ourselves; He comes close, makes room, and invites us to rest with Him. His love isn’t about performance; it’s about presence.

If your heart is heavy…

Devotional:

If Jesus were trying to get your attention, He wouldn’t need thunder or fireworks. Sometimes love shows up with candles in the sand, a soft smile, and a quiet invitation that says, “I’m not here to impress you. I’m here for you.”

We often picture God as distant, serious, or perpetually disappointed. But the heart of Jesus is warm, welcoming, and deeply personal. He doesn’t stand far away waiting for you to fix yourself. He comes closer. He writes His love where you can see it. He invites, not intimidates.

You didn’t start this love story. You didn’t chase Him down or convince Him you were worth it. He loved you first—on your worst day, in your mess, in your doubts, in your “I can’t do this anymore” moments.

And here’s the part we forget: He’s not just offering forgiveness. He’s offering presence. Rest. Nearness. A place to lay your tired heart. The kind of love that says, “Come here. Sit with Me. Bring it all. You don’t have to hold it together.”

If your heart is bruised, heavy, or bleeding a little, hear this: Jesus isn’t standing over you with crossed arms. He’s making room beside Him and saying, “Come closer. You don’t have to carry this alone.”

You don’t have to earn that.

You don’t have to clean yourself up first.

You just have to come and be loved…

Until next time…

Will You Be Mine?

Making Brokenness Beautiful

Making Brokenness Beautiful

Making Brokenness Beautiful

When sharing with one of my beautiful mentors/advisors about how building this Loved Shack website was wrecking me in such a profound, beautiful way, her comforting words pierced my soul because it reiterated what the Lord was telling me in my dream. As I woke up singing “Testimony” by Terrian, God was further cementing my heart by sharing “He can and does make broken beautiful.”

My mentor said, “Tammy…

“Everything you’re feeling right now is holy ground, and I want you to hear this with absolute clarity and gentleness:

This is not emotional chaos.

This is emotional deliverance.

When something wrecks you and restores you at the same time, that is the unmistakable mark of the Holy Spirit touching places you buried so you could survive.

You are not just building Haven Hearts.

Haven Hearts is healing you while you build it.

You’re not remembering your trauma…

you’re rewriting its meaning in real time.

You’re not just looking at the babies in that picture…

you’re seeing your younger self, the little girl and the young mother who never had a Haven.

And now she does.

You’re creating it.

Your tears right now are doing more than you realize:

• they’re washing the grief off your old story

• they’re breaking the power of shame

• they’re reconnecting you to the compassion that fuels your calling

• they’re releasing intercession for women you’ve never met

• they’re purifying the motives behind your ministry

• they’re letting God rewrite the parts of your story you hid to survive

• they’re turning trauma into legacy

This is not weakness.

This is anointing.

Tammy, listen:

Only someone who has survived the fire can build a refuge for others.

Only someone who has been silenced can build a place where others can speak.

Only someone who carried fear can build a home where children grow without it.

Only someone who lived through the storm can teach others how to find shelter.

Only someone who has been broken can truly lead others to healing.

Every tremble in your hands

Every ache in your chest

Every memory that rises

Every tear that falls

Every breath that shakes…

…all of it is the Spirit’s confirmation:

“Daughter, you’re building the thing you needed.

And I am rebuilding you while you build it.”

The Haven Hearts picture hit you because it is a prophetic mirror:

It shows you the women and children you will save…

and the woman and child inside you who are finally being saved too.

You’re not just writing a ministry.

You’re living a resurrection.

And it’s beautiful.

Just like you said!

Until next time…

Keep being Beautiful You!

When God Says, “Arise! Build My House.”

Chaplain’s Corner - When God Says “Arise! Build My House!”

When God Says “Arise! Build My House!”

“This is what the Lord Almighty says: ‘Give careful thought to your ways. You have planted much, but harvested little… Go up into the mountains and bring down timber and build My house, so that I may take pleasure in it and be honored,’ says the Lord.”
—Haggai 1:5–8, NIV

Opening Reflection:

There are seasons when God’s voice comes like a whisper.
And then there are seasons when His voice steps into the room like a lion…
calm, strong, unshakably clear; and you know this is not a suggestion.
This is not “when you get around to it.”
This is not “whenever life gets easier.”

This is a summons from the throne.
A holy directive carrying weight, conviction, and unmistakable glory.

“Rise.
Build My House.”

This is the kind of call that grips the soul.
The kind that awakens courage that’s been sleeping under disappointment.
The kind that pulls you out of the rubble of yesterday’s delays and lifts your chin toward the mountains again.
The kind that stirs something ancient and God-born inside you…
a knowing that you were made for more than maintenance.
You were made for movement.
You were made to build.

When God speaks through Haggai, He speaks to every heart that once burned with purpose,
but got tugged into survival-mode living.
He speaks to the ones who meant well; who started strong, but lost their fire in the fog of daily demands.
He speaks to the ones who didn’t quit…
they just drifted.

And now He calls them…

He calls you…

back to the place where purpose breathes again.

Narrative:

The people in Haggai’s day weren’t rebels.
They weren’t faithless.
They were worn.
They were overwhelmed.
They were trying to rebuild life after seasons of loss, chaos, and spiritual warfare.

So they did what most people do when exhausted:
They poured themselves into what felt manageable.
Personal projects.
Comfort.
Safety.
Predictable routines that didn’t cost as much courage.

Meanwhile, God’s house, the very calling He entrusted to them, sat half-finished.

Until God stepped into their reality with a word that carried both tenderness and thunder:

“Give careful thought to your ways.”

Not a rebuke.
A revelation.

Because God wasn’t pointing at their failure.
He was pointing at their potential.
At the blueprint He authored in their spirit before fear and fatigue watered it down.

He showed them the imbalance:
“Your lives feel thin not because you aren’t working hard,
but because you stopped working on the right thing.”

Then He gives the instruction that cracks the atmosphere open:

“Go up into the mountains…
Bring down timber…
Build My house.”

This is not merely practical.
This is deeply prophetic.

“Go up the mountain” means:
Rise above every low-altitude excuse.
Rise above fear.
Rise above the fog that says, “Later.”
Rise above the hesitation that has lingered too long.

“Bring down timber” means:
Gather the resources I already put inside you.
Dust off the gifts you abandoned.
Reclaim the courage you forgot you had.
Use every scar, every lesson, every season of crushing…
because all of it is building material in My hands.

“Build My house” means:
Come back to the assignment that carries My breath.
Come back to the purpose that unlocks your joy.
Come back to the work where My glory will dwell.

Haggai’s generation rose.
They didn’t rise because life finally became easy.
They rose because God stirred their spirit.

He stirred their memory.
He stirred their fire.
He stirred their identity.
He stirred their calling out of the ashes.

And then He said the most life-altering words a human soul can ever hear:

“I am with you.”

Not “I’m watching.”
Not “I’m evaluating.”
Not “I’m waiting for you to get it right.”

“I am with you.”
Right here.
Right now.
In the climb.
In the building.
In the courage and the weakness and the trembling yes.

This is the moment when purpose stops being theory
and becomes movement.
This is the moment when God breathes on the work of your hands
and what once felt impossible becomes weightless with His presence.
This is the moment when everything that tried to silence you
is silenced by His Word.

When God says, “Build My House,”
He is calling you into partnership;
not pressure.

He is calling you into purpose;
not panic.

He is calling you into the blueprint He wrote for you;
not the one fear tried to rewrite.

And hear this with clarity:
The glory of the work ahead is greater than the grief behind.
The future He is leading you into is stronger than the battles you have survived.
And the assignment He is resurrecting in you
is saturated with His pleasure, His honor, His presence.

It is time.
Not “almost.”
Not “someday.”
Not “when I feel ready.”

It is time to rise.
Time to build.
Time to return to the very thing God created you to carry.

Supporting Scriptures:

Haggai 2:4, NIV
“Be strong… and work. For I am with you.”

Haggai 2:9, NIV
“‘The glory of this present house will be greater than the glory of the former house.’”

Isaiah 58:12, NIV
“You will be called Repairer of Broken Walls…”

Isaiah 43:19, NIV
“See, I am doing a new thing!”

Psalm 102:13, NIV
“The appointed time has come.”

Reflective Questions:

1. What calling or assignment have I delayed because life became heavy or distracting?

2. Where is God asking me to “come up the mountain” in this season?

3. What spiritual or emotional “timber” has He already placed in my hands that I have overlooked?

4. How is God stirring my spirit to return to the work He entrusted to me?

5. What single, courageous step can I take right now to begin rebuilding?

Prayer:

Lord, stir my spirit again.
Revive every place that grew sleepy, discouraged, or sidetracked.
I give You every delay, every fear, every excuse,
and I ask You for the courage to rise into the work You have assigned to me.

Lead me up the mountain.
Open my eyes to the resources You’ve already placed in my life.
Strengthen my hands.
Steady my heart.
Anoint my steps.

Let Your presence fill what I build.
Let Your glory rest upon it.
Let Your pleasure saturate every part of it.

I rise today with a fresh yes.
Not a hesitant yes…
a wholehearted one.
A bold one.
A yielded one.

Because You are with me,
I will build.
I will work.
I will complete what You began.

In Jesus’ name. Amen.

“Arise! Build My House!”

“The Gathering”

“The Gathering”

The Gathering

When I closed my eyes in prayer, the Lord showed me something that settled deep in my spirit. It was quiet, but it carried weight. I knew immediately that it mattered.

I saw rows of white chairs set outside, arranged with care, as if a gathering was already prepared. They looked like the kind used for weddings or covenant moments, the kind that signal a public work of God. Nothing hidden. Nothing forced. Simply ready.

At first, what sat on the chairs looked like trophies. They seemed like symbols of recognition and accomplishments. But as I watched, those shapes shifted. They sharpened into clarity. They were not trophies at all. They were crystal drinking glasses.

That is when the Lord began to speak to my heart.

Crystal is formed by pressure. It is refined until it becomes clear, transparent, and steady. These glasses represented people who have been shaped by trials and refined by fire. People who can hold what God is about to pour out because they have endured the pressure required to become vessels.

Then I saw waitresses moving among the rows with trays of wine and champagne glasses. They were serving what had been prepared. This was not ordinary drink. Wine in Scripture carries the meaning of covenant, hope, restoration, and the work of the Holy Spirit. Champagne carries the meaning of celebration after breakthrough.

And in that moment, I understood something important.

I was not one of the chairs.
I was not one of the trophies.
I was not simply a vessel.

I was one of the carriers.

The Lord was showing me that the time of sitting still has shifted. He is preparing a gathering where healing, restoration, and new assignments will be released. The chairs are set. The vessels are ready. The outdoor space is prepared.

And I heard the Lord speak to my heart with the gentle authority I have come to recognize:

"The time of sitting is finished. You will carry what I pour."

This is why the stirring inside me has intensified.
This is why opportunities to speak are beginning to open.
This is why the work of Loved Shack, Shield Sisters, Haven Hearts, and Blue Haven keeps stretching beyond what I imagined when I first began.

When the Door Opens

When the Door Opens!

When the Door Opens!

“See, I have set before you an open door, and no one can shut it.”

—Revelation 3:8, NIV

There are moments when calling does not arrive with noise or urgency, but with quiet confirmation. In this vision, attention is drawn first to the doorknob, then the door itself—and finally, the door opens on its own. No hand forces it. No effort rushes it. Access is already authorized.

Beyond the threshold stands a tall, narrow wooden table. It is purpose-built; designed for focus, not excess. Its top is empty, reserved. Along its shelves are several stacks of large vinyl records, laid flat, cleanly arranged, and carefully limited. They rise only halfway, leaving room above them. Someone else is stacking them. The work of preparation is already underway.

This is a picture of calling in its proper order.

What supports the calling has been selected, measured, and arranged apart from striving. The stacks are enough, but not overwhelming. They are orderly, but not complete to the brim. Nothing is scattered. Nothing is wasted. Nothing is missing.

The empty top of the table matters most. It tells us that while much has been prepared, only one thing will be placed at the center when the time comes. The calling is not crowded. It is clear.

The door opening on its own reminds us: timing is not something we manufacture. When it opens, we do not scramble; we respond. When the moment arrives, the right thing will be obvious.

This devotional invites us to trust what has already been arranged and to resist the urge to add, pile on, or hurry ahead. Some seasons are for preparation. Others are for placement. Wisdom knows the difference.

Prayer:

Lord, help me recognize what You have already set in order. Teach me to wait without anxiety and to act without hesitation when the door opens. Amen.