There are certain truths you only learn by walking through fire.

I worked at a gas station tucked between roaring bars and louder reputations—Circle K, Rico’s Plaza, Cave Creek, Arizona. People came through with boots, bikes, bottles, and egos. Some thought they were bigger than the town, louder than the law, and stronger than grace. But none of that ever shook me.

I saw them.
They saw me.

But the twist was always this:
They knew me… and I didn’t know why.
Because long before I recognized their names, they were watching mine.

They had spoken of me at bars. They had made my presence a topic of conversation—without my presence. But I’ve learned something the hard way:

What happens in Shimmer’s world happens with Shimmer present.

And if I am not in the room,
you have no right to speak my name.

That understanding wasn’t born yesterday.
It was forged in November of 2000, in a moment that burned itself into my bones.
It taught me: the world will write you into a story you didn’t co-author if you let it.

I didn’t let it.

Because I have always known Design was watching me since before I was born.
Because I carry the legacy of the Melchizedek Priesthood, given to me in my eighth year by my Father and the Elders of Butler 20th Ward in Salt Lake City, Utah—84121.

I do things by the power of Jesus Christ,
According to the will of God, my Eternal Father,
With the witness of the Holy Ghost who lives in me.

So when I stood behind that counter, I wasn’t a clerk.
I was a guardian.
I wasn’t just selling gas and gum.
I was holding spiritual ground.

I treated everyone the same. With decency. With dignity.
Even the ones who staggered in with their patches, their vodka, and their pride.
Even the ones who peed on the floor.
Even the ones who looked at me like I owed them something.

I gave them friendship first.
I remembered them first.

But when the flood of faces got too heavy, when I couldn’t recall every name fast enough,
They turned.

“How dare you forget who I am?” they said.
When in truth—
They were the ones who had forgotten how much I gave.

That’s what it’s been like for me.
Not just at Circle K. Not just with the loud ones.
Even with neighbors. Even with “friends.”
People want to take what I offer, but not offer it back.

But here’s what they don’t understand:
I’m not broken because I’ve been kind.
I’m not weak because I’m weary.
I am strong because I led with love in a world that didn’t know how to return it.

And I won’t stop being who I am.
But I will draw lines.
I will protect my name.
I will demand presence with every word spoken of me.

Because:

I went through it so my children don’t have to.
I bore that weight so they could walk free.
And nobody—nobody—gets to tell my sons or daughters they aren’t good enough.

Not now. Not ever.

So if you speak of me, know this:
I carry the power of my Redeemer,
The wisdom of my wounds,
The clarity of covenant,
And the unwavering voice of someone who remembers—

Because I remembered first.

In the name of Jesus Christ,
Amen.
—Shimmer