Sheila K. Campbell

I’m a writer and the author of My Journey With Justin. It has taken me a long time to see that God’s beautiful, redemptive work is most often seen in brokenness, so I’m learning to live more than mended. I write for the grieving, the broken, the outcast (LBGT Christian parents and adult children), the lonely, and the abused, and I share how I have found joy and peace in all of these hard places.

Peace to You

A year after attending Second Baptist for the first time, I am still awed by the love and beauty I experience there every week. I love the people, the music, and the traditions observed there. This is where I am called to worship. Recently, as I looked around me during this time of fellowship, I was reminded of the priestly blessings of Numbers 6:24 -26. And so, as a benediction to 2024 and a blessing for you in 2025, I pray this for my church congregation, my dear friends, my precious family, and all who ‘stumble’ across this message. This blessing is for you.

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God With Us

As I gaze out my kitchen windows while the morning sun begins to inch above the trees on the eastern horizon, I am touched by the melody and the words of Into the Silent Night. As I linger in the morning light that streams through my kitchen windows on this December morning and let the words of this song fill me, I think of the words of Isaiah, “….She will give birth to a son and will call him Immanuel (which means ‘God is with us’). God is WITH us! He is with me, and He is with you too!

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Pause and Pay Attention

I don’t know about you, but as I struggle with decisions, I want clear signposts that say, “You’re on the right track. This is the way to a happy and fulfilled life. This is the door to your dreams—open here.” But our decisions usually aren’t simple; most of the time, there are no signposts. Perhaps, like me, you’re wondering if you – if I – dare to take the less traveled path. Do we even know how to do that? What is the next step?

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Loving the Lost, Lonely, and Missing

I see the young man walking down the highway almost a mile before I pass him. I watch him walk with his head down and hunched shoulders as though he expects to arrive without assistance wherever the road takes him. I wonder who he is, where he has been, and if someone somewhere is missing him. My heart aches for him, for those who love him, and for myself and the son who is never far from my thoughts, so as I pass, I pray.

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A Season of Summer

It is a beautiful summer evening, reminiscent of many others: summer evenings in my childhood spent playing on green summer lawns, the breeze flowered with the sweet smell of honeysuckle; summer evenings in my teen years spent perched on the top rail of the fence gazing dreamily at the serene West Texas sunset; and summer evenings in the field sitting on the tailgate of a pickup listening to the drone of an irrigation motor, the lapping of water in the ditch, and the laughter of small boys as they tossed dirt clods into the water.

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