WAYS WE CANNOT IMAGINE
It was December 3rd, 2021. I was a college student in Dallas, TX when I received a call that changed my life forever.
I was running errands, when my phone rang; Mom was calling. I picked up and after a short conversation, she made it clear through her quiet, yet firm tone of voice that I needed to get back to campus before she explained any further. I remember racing through traffic, angry and confused, because it felt like everyone in the world knew what was going on, besides me.
After arriving at home, I immediately called my mom. Her voice was calm, but her words were earth-shattering. “Dad isn’t here anymore.”
My father, Richard Houston, was a police officer who responded to a domestic disturbance in a grocery
store parking lot. Within seconds of arriving on scene, he was ambushed, shot four times, and killed instantly by a man named Jamie Jaramillo.
The morning after my father’s death, I spent some time on my parents’ front porch, needing fresh air. It was early. I couldn’t sleep, and all I found myself asking was Why God? Why me? Why him? In that moment, I felt God bring the image of Jesus on the cross, to my mind. I saw his sad, suffering eyes— eyes that told a story: it wasn’t supposed to be this way. I was confused as to what he meant, until he whispered to my spirit, “Shelby, I did this for you— but I did this for Jamie, too.”
I was running errands, when my phone rang; Mom was calling. I picked up and after a short conversation, she made it clear through her quiet, yet firm tone of voice that I needed to get back to campus before she explained any further. I remember racing through traffic, angry and confused, because it felt like everyone in the world knew what was going on, besides me.
After arriving at home, I immediately called my mom. Her voice was calm, but her words were earth-shattering. “Dad isn’t here anymore.”
My father, Richard Houston, was a police officer who responded to a domestic disturbance in a grocery
store parking lot. Within seconds of arriving on scene, he was ambushed, shot four times, and killed instantly by a man named Jamie Jaramillo.
The morning after my father’s death, I spent some time on my parents’ front porch, needing fresh air. It was early. I couldn’t sleep, and all I found myself asking was Why God? Why me? Why him? In that moment, I felt God bring the image of Jesus on the cross, to my mind. I saw his sad, suffering eyes— eyes that told a story: it wasn’t supposed to be this way. I was confused as to what he meant, until he whispered to my spirit, “Shelby, I did this for you— but I did this for Jamie, too.”
But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.
2 CORINTHIANS 12:9–10 (NIV)
In the following days, despite my needing God’s help to get out of bed, to muster the strength to eat, I knew there was no other option, but for me to freely give the forgiveness that was given to me on that cross. I decided to present the eulogy at my father’s funeral.
At the funeral, I publicly forgave Jamie.
God really does use our deep pain and suffering as a catalyst to display his glory. After losing my dad, I leaned heavily on 2 Corinthians 12:9–10 (NIV): But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.
Suffering taught me that to make it through, I had to allow the weak parts of myself to fall into God’s hands. I had no other option, but to let him carry my weakness. Only then, would I find the strength to carry on in a life without my father.
Little did I know the life and opportunities on the other side of this heartache. A year later, in the courtroom, I came face-to-face with Jamie, the man who killed my father. I knew he was looking for a way out—anything to keep him out of jail, a way into a better life. So, I told him the only real way: the Gospel.
That day in the courtroom, I understood this was one of the most important chances I had. So, I told Jamie about the only way out—Jesus—and he quietly nodded, tears streaming down his face. In that moment, I knew there was something holy about those tears. I knew that deep down, those tears meant life change. I wanted to see more of it.
Before this day, I had never understood why, even as child, I had such a heart for inmates. I remember countless times, crying over the brokenness of humanity behind bars. You name it, movies, shows, books, stories, they all pulled some heartstring in me. I never understood it, until coming face-to-face with the one who took my father away.
I realized God’s hand had started weaving intricate details together years earlier. My dad never failed to make sure we went to church every Sunday. He walked me through what salvation meant when I was seven years old, and he was there with me when I received the Gospel for myself.
Since that day in the courtroom, I’ve had the honor of working with many ministries that partner with prisons across the country. A few months after the trial, I connected with Bob Goff and the Love Does team. I joined them inside San Quentin Prison to tell my story. Now, I work frequently alongside them, and God Behind Bars. Both are incredible ministries that share the Gospel where it is desperately needed.
2 CORINTHIANS 12:9–10 (NIV)
In the following days, despite my needing God’s help to get out of bed, to muster the strength to eat, I knew there was no other option, but for me to freely give the forgiveness that was given to me on that cross. I decided to present the eulogy at my father’s funeral.
At the funeral, I publicly forgave Jamie.
God really does use our deep pain and suffering as a catalyst to display his glory. After losing my dad, I leaned heavily on 2 Corinthians 12:9–10 (NIV): But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.
Suffering taught me that to make it through, I had to allow the weak parts of myself to fall into God’s hands. I had no other option, but to let him carry my weakness. Only then, would I find the strength to carry on in a life without my father.
Little did I know the life and opportunities on the other side of this heartache. A year later, in the courtroom, I came face-to-face with Jamie, the man who killed my father. I knew he was looking for a way out—anything to keep him out of jail, a way into a better life. So, I told him the only real way: the Gospel.
That day in the courtroom, I understood this was one of the most important chances I had. So, I told Jamie about the only way out—Jesus—and he quietly nodded, tears streaming down his face. In that moment, I knew there was something holy about those tears. I knew that deep down, those tears meant life change. I wanted to see more of it.
Before this day, I had never understood why, even as child, I had such a heart for inmates. I remember countless times, crying over the brokenness of humanity behind bars. You name it, movies, shows, books, stories, they all pulled some heartstring in me. I never understood it, until coming face-to-face with the one who took my father away.
I realized God’s hand had started weaving intricate details together years earlier. My dad never failed to make sure we went to church every Sunday. He walked me through what salvation meant when I was seven years old, and he was there with me when I received the Gospel for myself.
Since that day in the courtroom, I’ve had the honor of working with many ministries that partner with prisons across the country. A few months after the trial, I connected with Bob Goff and the Love Does team. I joined them inside San Quentin Prison to tell my story. Now, I work frequently alongside them, and God Behind Bars. Both are incredible ministries that share the Gospel where it is desperately needed.
“We serve a God who works in glorious ways we cannot comprehend, in ways we cannot imagine.”
Time after time, I’ve watched incarcerated men and women walk into church service events with walls built up, buried emotions, and broken hearts. Yet, after I uttered the words: “I forgive you,” the walls begin to crumble. As someone who was a victim to a crime many of them had committed, not only did I stand in those shoes to forgive them, but I told them about the One who hung on the cross with their sin in mind, where ultimate forgiveness was displayed.
As Christians, we love talking about the glory of God until our world is rocked—myself included! Too often, we’re believing in an inverted Gospel, with us at the top instead of God.
But it’s not about God doing great stuff for us. It is about building God’s Kingdom. We serve a God who works in glorious ways we cannot comprehend, in ways we cannot imagine.
My family has spent long days, weeks, months and even years, questioning where his hand was, on the horrific day of December 3rd, but I’ve learned, when
you can’t trace his hand, you can trust his heart. His thoughts are bigger, his ways are higher, and his plans are better. To be a part of his plan, to let him use us to help build his Kingdom is the real honor and glory. In my deepest wound, I have seen the glory of God, and it has astounded me.
Time after time, I’ve watched incarcerated men and women walk into church service events with walls built up, buried emotions, and broken hearts. Yet, after I uttered the words: “I forgive you,” the walls begin to crumble. As someone who was a victim to a crime many of them had committed, not only did I stand in those shoes to forgive them, but I told them about the One who hung on the cross with their sin in mind, where ultimate forgiveness was displayed.
As Christians, we love talking about the glory of God until our world is rocked—myself included! Too often, we’re believing in an inverted Gospel, with us at the top instead of God.
But it’s not about God doing great stuff for us. It is about building God’s Kingdom. We serve a God who works in glorious ways we cannot comprehend, in ways we cannot imagine.
My family has spent long days, weeks, months and even years, questioning where his hand was, on the horrific day of December 3rd, but I’ve learned, when
you can’t trace his hand, you can trust his heart. His thoughts are bigger, his ways are higher, and his plans are better. To be a part of his plan, to let him use us to help build his Kingdom is the real honor and glory. In my deepest wound, I have seen the glory of God, and it has astounded me.
Seacoast Church partners with the Crossroads Prison Ministry Mentoring Program. Crossroads connects people in prison with mentors who help them grow in their faith by studying the Bible and writing encouraging letters. For more information, contact Peyton Pickens at peytonpickens@seacoast.org or visit cpministries.org.
If you are grieving the loss of someone close, you don’t have to do it alone. Visit seacoast.org/griefshare to find community and resources that can help you in your pain.
If you are grieving the loss of someone close, you don’t have to do it alone. Visit seacoast.org/griefshare to find community and resources that can help you in your pain.
