Biography

To left is a picture of Shelley on her 3rd Birthday. 

 

The late 1950s was a progressive time for most young Americans. Business was good, jobs were plentiful and prosperity reigned—just about everywhere, that is—except in Palmer Alaska. The state's laboriously long distance from the rest of the nation and a population of less than half a million people created high unemployment and few opportunities, even for such a talented and intelligent young man as Ladd Huntley.

He and his wife, Virginia, lived in a run-down, converted Quonset hut—a slap-shod building with a few tiny windows and a round tin roof. The structure resembled a large tin can, cut in half vertically and laid on it’s side. It also sounded like a tin can whenever it rained. There was no indoor plumbing, and the drab linoleum floors were ice cold.

Into this world, the Huntleys welcomed their second of three daughter, Shelley Ann, on August 17^th, 1959. Shelley was about three months of age when the family noticed that something about her eye-development was amiss. After tests and exploratory surgery, it was determined that Shelley was and always would be legally blind. Just how much sight she did have was hard to determine, but the prognosis was not encouraging.

One of the first people to receive the news was Ladd’s Mother, Beatrice. Being a devout Christian, she went to her knees for Shelley, praying daily that Shelley would come to faith in  Jesus Christ. She was certain that Shelley wouldn’t make it in life without Him.

Shelley’s father had no formal education beyond high school. To complicate matters, they soon discovered that the kind of education Shelley needed didn’t exist within the state. They learned of an outstanding Special Education facility in Seattle, some 2,500 miles south of them. In the spring of 1963, a miracle occurred.

An Anchorage-area businessman recommended Ladd to a growing sign company in Seattle. The family moved south, a few months shy of Shelley's fourth birthday. Shelley began Kindergarten that fall. The family soon settled into a modest, attractive home on Seattle's Queen Anne Hill. The family soon found a church about a mile north of their home and began attending regularly.

From very early in life, Shelley was tremendously distrustful of new people and situations. Her timidity was only eclipsed by her tenacity. She bristled at too any interferences by others once she had gained confidence in whatever she was doing. 

It appeared to her that everyone wanted control and seemed to intervene any time her efforts were likely to produce anything  less than perfection. She was often quite obstinate toward nearly anyone who interfered.

The Huntley girls, Sharon, age 5, Keri, age 1, Shelley, age 3 and Mom in her early 20s. 

 

When the Sunday School teacher talked about God, a whirl of concepts and images filled her fertile imagination 

How could a God that is as big as they claim fit in her heart? And how could He know about her, love or care for her, yet create  her with poor eyesight? If she accepted God, would that really mean she wasn't capable by herself? Did that mean those who interfered were right? 

She feared appearing helpless or hopeless.

She was pondering all these thoughts one Sunday morning when her Sunday School teacher asked everyone to sit very quietly while God spoke to them in their hearts. The whole concept had begun to resemble a Santa Clause story How does an invisible being exist?. There didn’t seem to be much proof--until,

“Shelley”, 

She heard her name called 

It was a distinct, inaudible little voice—a voice far deeper than mere speech—a voice that captured the heart as well as the senses. She hadn’t heard it before, yet there was something warmly familiar about this presence.

“Shelley, I know all about you Shelley. It’s okay. I know.”

Tears welled up in the little girls eyes, though she managed to conceal the event from everyone, even if she’d had the courage to tell someone. She didn’t have the words to describe what had happened. God wasn’t just there, but He knew her name and everything about her.

Through the years, those tears would reappear again and again, every time the Sunday morning altar call was given. Shelley was of very stubborn stock. She began to resent her circumstances and saw Christians and God himself as the help she didn't want or need.

It was like climbing the stairs in the Sunday School building. Others would try to lead her up or down them. She ardently refused as this was usually more cumbersome for her than if she were left to herself. She wanted to show the world she could climb the stairs herself. She was equally willing to prove this to God. 

Life soon evolved into a routine of the on-going weeks of school, piano lessons, Saturdays at the zoo or the local park and the occasional drives to visit relatives. All seemed happy and secure until one day when she heard her parents fighting. It was like an ominous little cloud that came to settle upon the house.

Some mornings the breakfast table seemed ice-cold—even during the summer. Her parents snipped at one-another. The laughter faded and the family seemed to bob downstream, unable to control the direction or the turbulence.

It was a week prior to Mother’s Day when Shelley entered the house to find the cloud had ruptured into a firestorm of harsh words, tears and slamming doors. She ran to her bed, covering her ears with a pillow, helpless to drown out the chaos. Long after her Father loaded his belongings into the car and left, Shelley relived the events in agonizing, vivid detail.

Shelley had been very close to her Father. His leaving sent her into a tailspin that went on for years. She seldom slept, idly picked at her food and avoided responsibilities such as homework despite the threats of her teacher and parents. It was too hard—everything was too hard. When she tried to study, nothing made sense. She gave up. There was no progress, just another day---an ugly repetition of the one proceeding it.  She wanted to fall asleep and never wake up, but sleep continually eluded her.

She was often sick and endured long spells of uncontrollable weeping. By the time she reached her teens, Shelley had become embittered and silently hateful toward just about everyone. She longed for just one friend. They seemed impossible to find. When she tried to get along with the other students, she was teased, shoved, kicked and slapped in the face—literally.

Once, when she bought a school lunch, someone put Cole slaw in her milk carton and paper in her mashed potatoes. After that, she usually had a milk shake for lunch and often didn’t finish that. At least no one could do anything to it.

It seemed the adults stood by and watch uncaringly, the goings on each day. Others seemed afraid to come to her defense. But when she reached what she was certain to be an all-time low, she heard that voice again, quiet and steady.

“I know all about you Shelley. It’s okay. I know. Come to me. Come to me, Please.”

Everybody had braces on their teeth and didn't want to smile, but at age 13, stress is evident in Shelley's face.)

 

Shelley only dug her heels in all the more.

Shelley pined to be with her Father. In January of 1975, she went to live with him.  

It seemed things began to look up.  The school situation was vastly better. She had a room to herself and, for the first time in years, some really nice clothes to wear to school. She even made a few friends. She had everything she had always wanted— everything that she thought would bring happiness and contentment, but she was more miserable than ever

Shelley’s father tried to coarse her back into piano lessons. She had taken piano lessons as a young child, hating every minute of it. She never did grasp the intricacies of music theory, but winged her way along.  By hit-and-miss. She determined what the teacher wanted her to play, then reproduced it.  Shelley, at age fifteen, was no more interested in the piano than when she was six and made no bones about her disinterest.

At school, Shelley was assigned what was known as a “Peer tutor.” This was a student who excelled in all subjects and was afforded the opportunity to earn credits by assisting another student who needed help. Among other subjects, Shelley struggled with typing. She hated it as much as piano—more in fact. She was supposed to type 50 words per minute by the end of the school year. She really did try, but got bogged down somewhere between 35 and 40 WPM.

She immediately noticed something about her tutor. Cynthia was not like anyone else. She never said things like, “’can’t you do anything right?” or “You're not trying hard enough." 

When failing that magic 50 W.P.M., she exploded, threw the text and papers onto the floor, refusing to go any further. Cynthia was the friend—the safe place Shelley had been looking for. Shelley vented every bottled-up, ugly emotion on the young woman.

With each eruption, Shelley was quite certain this time was it and no amount of threats or chastising would deter her from giving up. Cynthia reminded Shelley of someone—her gentle, praying Grandmother. 

"I HATE typing! I'm DUMB! I'm STUPID! and I'M NEVER GOING TO GET THIS RIGHT! I CAN'T   DO IT!"

Cynthia would sit quietly until Shelley had spent her energy, never batting an eyelash, no matter what Shelley said. When Shelley finished venting, Cynthia would  smile warmly at her, saying, “Now you know that isn’t true. Try it just one more time, for me, please?”

Shelley pushed every button she could think of in an effort to drive Cynthia away. All she said and did only seemed to strengthen Cynthia's steadfast commitment to the girl. Shelley was quite certain, in fact, that if she refused to sit at the typewriter, that Cynthia would have sat and typed the lesson herself. This stubborn, gentle perseverance angered Shelley to no end because there was no shaking it. Shelley may have been able to defy just about anything, but that loyalty was too strong and too loving to reject. Invariably, she would pick herself up and try again. Over time, her anger subsided.

The end of the school year came. Shelley did indeed pass the typing course. Cynthia was graduating and going back to Mexico’s mission field with her parents. The two girls were talking one day when Shelley’s curiosity could no longer go unanswered.

“Cynthia,” she began. “How is it that you have put up with me all this time. I’ve acted like a real baby. You never yelled at me or got me back. How did you do it?”

Cynthia's response, in it’s characteristic gentility fell with the impact of a ton of bricks. Shelley found herself blinking back tears.

“I have Jesus in my heart Shelley. He died for my sins. He has forgiven them and given me joy and peace. Because He loves me, Shelley, I can love you—and Shelley—He can do the same for you.”

For nearly three agonizing months, those gentle words haunted Shelley constantly. She could rationalize anger at God for whatever He sent her or allowed to happen to her. She could blame Him for the way others treated her or for creating--as she now saw herself--a freak.

Shelley found no valid argument against what Cynthia said. Anything else paled alongside it because Cynthia had proven those words with her life, long before they were spoken. She was the love of God, the personification of that little, inaudible voice,

"It’s okay Shelley. I know.”

It was at a youth camp, three days after her 16^th Birthday that Shelley finally came to the end of herself, confessed that she had been wrong and God had been right all along—that she was a hopeless sinner who was destroying, rather than controlling her life. The hate and bitterness melted away and an inexplicable joy took its place. 

She waked out of the lodge that evening. It had just stopped raining. She sat on a bench. listening to the rain drip from the trees. A gentle breeze blew. She could smell the lake, the cedar trees, the ferns, the soil pine pitch and grass. What a glorious array of aromas. She had always loved these scents of nature.Enthralled by all those lovely smells, she heard her Lord speak. 

"I made these smells for you Shelley. I made them so that you could enjoy them without the need to see them. I made them for your pleasure."

Shelley found herself weeping again to realize that the God she had pushed away and even screamed at did all this out of His love for her, no strings attached.

She started for her cabin in the pitch dark, realizing she didn't have her flashlight, hoping to find the log that marked the beginning of the trail. She Asked God to help her find it, wondering if this was a foolish request. As she stumbled squarely onto it, she heard that voice again. 

"This is how I want you to walk. I just want you to trust me. I can see in the dark."

The change in Shelley was so complete that it transformed her physical appearance. It was evident to everyone, including her family and teachers.

As always in life, this was not the end of Shelley’s troubles. It was the beginning of them. She had monumental issues to overcome, not the least of which was believing she was mentally-challenged.

This self-image issue is common to children schooled in the special education system, for they are often enclosed in a world with children who truly are mentally-challenged. In those days, there was no one to talk to about such  fears or explain the differences between her and some of the other students.

Shelley struggled for years. Her first attempt at college was a dismal failure that took a heavy toll. About the time she was certain she had really botched God's plan for her life, another miracle occurred.

While sitting down to write in a journal one morning, she found herself writing a sort of poetry—a tender reminder from her Lord that all He said was true, that she only need trust him and not worry about what she couldn’t control. It was Jesus, talking to her, saying 

“Don’t run. Stand fact. You’re not alone and you cannot  imagine the things I have in store for you. I am pleased with you.”

The poem became a song—a song she tried to plunk out with three or four fingers on the piano.

"Don't run from the rain

Don't try to hide where it's warm

For how can you grow strong

If you've not been in a storm

 

And ther'll going to be pain

But just keep in mind one thing

If you've never been through winter

How can you rejoice in spring."

 Shelley didn’t remember anything from piano lessons, but tried to, as she did in childhood, reproduce what she heard in her head--a melody that raised itself higher and higher until it lifted her and everyone else who heard it, out of the depths of despair.

"Don't run from the rain

Cause you know, it won't be long

Til the sun comes out again

And I'll help you to be strong

 

Don't run from the rain

Think of all that I've been through

And I know just how it feels

And I'll always be with you

It was somehow familiar and fresh at the same time, like that sweet, constant, inaudible little voice--the one who never gave up on her. When she first stood to sing it in public, her entire body quivered with fright.

“How is anyone going to get anything out of this Lord?” she wondered. 

She was so tense that she could hardly sing, but something must have come through to her small audience.  Halfway back in the crowd, a woman lifted her hands to the Lord and wept openly, a tearful thanksgiving prayer.

Suddenly, her stage-fright left her. Everything began to make sense—the hardships, the rejection and ridicule—they were a tiny piece of what Jesus experienced at the hands of ignorant sinners. Though a small piece, it was more than enough to cover all who would hear, including the singer. It was now a little piece of God’s comfort, passed on to her, to pass along to someone else.

"Now that's more like it!" At age 22, Shelley is all smiles.

 

Shelley’s ability to play the piano suddenly flourished, almost overnight. She wrote more songs and found opportunities to sing. The desire burned within her to proclaim to others, the incredible hope and healing she found. She never tired of singing and worshipping. The music she found became a bridge that led her to those from whom she had felt so isolated for so long.

She discovered that she took herself and her disability far too seriously. She learned to laugh at, rather than fret over, the awkward and sometimes frustrating situations she so often faced. There had been a time when Shelley would do anything to keep others from finding out about her visual impairment. She eventually grew to the place where she owned, rather than avoided its presence. 

(Shelley embracing a yellow Labradore named Katie, her first Seeing Eye dog, March, 1993)

 

 

Shelley relates her experiences the same way she faces them, with a frank and lively humor that celebrates the blessings that result rather than dwelling on the difficulties that sometimes arise. Though this approach makes some feel a little uncomfortable, they quickly discover that God can enable His people to rejoice in Him no matter what is at hand. 

"Laughter about the mishaps, trials and every-day events of life makes people feel safe." Shelley says.

They find that when all is said and done, that everyone is more alike than different—that everyone has some sort of weakness to remind them, as it did the Apostle Paul, that Christ is strong where we are weak and that this Christian life wouldn’t mean much without the weaknesses. It is these issues that make us vulnerable and needy of God’s grace and abundant love.

A Christmas Wedding, complete with mistletoe. (The best man is holding a bouquet of mistletoe over Paul and shelley's heads as they partake of their first weeded kiss.)1994

Today, Shelley and her husband, Paul, live in a quiet, Seattle-area neighborhood.  Paul, a Seminary graduate, is a graphic artist and a technical illustrator by trade.

“Paul placed a personal ad in a local advertising paper.” Shelley recalls, “which I answered. It was pretty evident, very early on in our relationship, that we belonged together. We’ve had many similar experiences growing up. Paul is such a servant. He's my fan club. I thank God he is willing to support me from the sidelines. There aren’t many people that can do that.”

Both of them being avowedly eccentric, their Tudor-style home is filled with an endless variety of plush toys, model cars, dolls and just about anything else these two pack-rats find intriguing. They often refer to it as "the house of myrth" and when you pass by, you will usually hear laughter.

If you drop in, you're likely to find Shelley wearing one of her Victorian-stule dresses. Having recently taken up sewing, she now has several. "THey make me feel beautiful", she says. "I sometimes wonder what the neighbors think, but they're quite comfortable. It's something I've always wanted to do."

 

(Shelley at age 36)

 

“It seems like we’re now reaping in abundance, the hard years we’ve both sewed.” Shelley says. 

To date, Shelley has written some 40 songs, two plays, more than 20 poems and has published some of her essays and anecdotes on other websites. (See the Links section of this page).  Shelley enjoys computer-painting. 

She has designed several business logos and enjoys making greeting cards.

“I got the idea one Mother’s Day back in the 80s,” Shelley says. “I couldn’t find a card that suited me or reflected my feelings at all, so I made one. I’ve been making them ever since. I doubt my Mother will admit us for dinner on Mother's Day if I don’t have a home-made card for her.  My Mom gets several Mother's Day cards each year. Mine are the ones she keeps. That says a lot to me. ”

Shelley has served as a church pianist and worship leader for 15 years. She has taught Sunday School on occasion and served five years as a camp director. She and Paul directed a small group of players in a radio-format ministry known as The Mind’s Eye Theatre. 

Paul and Shelley have an unofficially adopted son and daughter as well.

(Mom & son, on Atta's 22nd Birthday during the Magnussens' visit to Kiev. Atta is wearing a huge Uncle Sam hat. 2000)

As Shelley related, “I met Atta on the Internet. He found my name on an E-mail Pen-pal site. I almost didn’t respond to his first letter. I am so glad I listened to God on this one.” 

In the fall of 2000, the couple traveled to Kiev Ukraine to meet Atta for the first time. A native of West Africa, Atta was sent by relatives, to Ukraine for his education. Subsequently, they essentially abandoned him there where he was unable to find work due to racial discrimination.

“This adoption may be unofficial," shelley says, "but it definitely ain't superficial. As far as I’m concerned, he is my flesh and blood. He is the son I never had and it was worth the wait.”

The same goes for daughter Melissa, who Shelley cared for when Melissa was a child. Currently, Melissa lives with the Magnussens and often serves as a driver for Shelley

"She claimed me as her mother and I was quite happy to comply."

 

Shelley & Melissa, (left) posing with the other participants in Shelley's Christmas CD. Kay Barrett, (far right) and her seven children took part in several songs. Melissa sang with Shelley on two songs. (Everyone in the picture are cheering).

 

When asked to sum up her life thus far, Shelley responds with this:

 “I have a life-verse, from Psalms 18:18-19. 

"They came upon me in the day of my calamity; But Jehovah was my stay. He brought me forth also into a large place; He delivered me, because he delighted in me."

It says ‘He delivered me and brought me forth into a large place’. I once asked God what this meant. I was reminded that when in battle, soldiers prefer an open field to a wooded area or a valley. In an open field, the enemy is more easily-seen and the likelihood of victory is greatly increased. In the woods, the opposing side can easily ambush you and take you captive.

I don’t have much physical sight, but Christ put me in that ‘large place’, whereby I can see my enemy. It is Jesus who will give anyone who will ask this spiritual sight that is not determined or limited by one’s physical sight. Not only can I see the enemy, but I can see God's hand all the more! 

This is a treasured promise, but there’s a deeper principle here that really blesses me.

The scripture says, ‘He was delivering me because HE delighted in me’.

It matters not which name I was born with, what I have or haven’t accomplished or whether or not I am desirable by the world’s standards. He delivered me because HE delighted in ME! It is His unqualified and unearnable, gracious love that has delivered me."

 

Shelley hugging her  current Seeing Eye dog, Gus, (a yellow Labrador.)

 

"It’s like the line in a song they used to play on Christian radio, that said, “He won’t un-love you for that”. It is steadfast and changeless. This is how dear each of us is to God’s heart."

It is clear that Shelley has been called to minister to the emotionally wounded. Her music, speaking and writings reflect this, but there is more to it than that. It’s not uncommon to see Shelley leave the house carrying a large baby doll and subsequently return home without it. Although she loves collecting dolls, it’s much more than just a hobby.

"Sometimes, I know God is going to lead me to someone who needs a doll. Dolls are like a perpetual hug." Shelley says. 

 “I want people to know what it took me so long to learn. I want them to know how valuable they are in God’s sight. Many people are uneasy receiving such a gift because they don’t think they deserve it. They say things like “but it’s too nice”, or “I think I'm too old for this.' We often respond to God in the same way. We forget that we remain His precious children, especially if we've blown it spiritually.

So, I tell them; “You deserve it. This is how God values you—like you are endeared to this doll—only much more so. Most women want one, but they feel awkward admitting it. There's something healing about receiving a beautiful doll. I've seen it happen so many times. Incidentally,  no one is too old for a little comfort.”  

To learn more about Sheley's doll ministry

CLICK HERE

 

Shelley, with her synthesize, (2006)

 

There is a scripture that sums up Shelley’s ministry in a nutshell, from 2nd Corinthians, 1, verse 3-4.

“Blessed by our Lord, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles so that we ourselves may comfort one-another in any trouble with the comfort we received from Him.” 

When Someone offers Shelley a compliment, concerning her ministry or talent, she always says the same thing.

"God's been very good to me."

 

 

(to the right,) a heart with a cross in its center,Shelley's  symbol for the love of Christ. It's here in an iridescent pink design.

 

 

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