Day 7: Things you want to say to someone who is no longer your friend.

I think part of the reason that I allowed our friendship to end as suddenly as it did was that I was so eager to shake off my old self that I pushed you away as well.  A piece of me was certain that you would only remind me of that dark place I had finally been able to overcome.  At the time, I wanted every part of my life to be brand new and unshadowed, but I handled this situation the wrong way and I'm sorry for that.

Sometimes I do wonder what life would be like if we were still good friends today, but what happened back then is already said and done, and I definitely think the Lord has worked for the good in both of our lives.  I'm not angry at you anymore, not at all, and I am pretty sure you aren't angry at me either.  We've exchanged some kind words since the friendship ended so many years ago and I'm glad time has helped to heal things between us. 

I will always care about you and think about you.  Thank you for the impact you made on my life.

Day 3: Something you feel strongly about.

I'd like to share a story today.  On Friday, a beautiful ten-year-old fifth grade girl named Ashlynn Conner committed suicide in her home.  Yesterday was her funeral.  Her picture is to your right.

This breaks my heart. 

When I first read the article about young Ashlynn, about how her teenage sister found her hanging from a scarf in her closet, about two weeks before she had come home from school and begged to be home-schooled because of the bullying she faced each day, I burst into tears.  Ten years old.  Ashlynn was still the age to play with dolls and make up games on the playground, not to be contemplating her own death. 

Ten years old.

Obviously, something must be done about the bullying.  Students at Ashlynn's school called her a "slut" and teased her because of her weight... although look at the picture to the right, I don't see anything but a beautiful little girl with a smile that could light up any room.  If the bullying in public schools has gotten so bad that fifth grade girls are turning to suicide, then there is obviously a huge problem. 

However, I'd like to discuss something else I feel strongly about that involves Ashlynn's death. 

I feel like suicide is taken far too lightly.  Popular websites like Go Cry Emo Kid joke about dark and depressed young people, self injury, and even suicide.  Everyone seems aware of suicide these days and it seems like I hear jokes about it on a weekly basis.  Almost every day, I see fellow students bringing a finger to their head and pretending to shoot themselves out of frustration about school work or stress... not seriously, of course, but as a joke... like suicide is "funny."  I've spoken to groups of young girls and received multiple emails from readers of this blog and it seems like many, many young people have contemplated or even attempted suicide before the age of eighteen.  I did as well.

What is it that has made life seem like something to be thrown away so easily?

It's almost as if contemplating suicide has been accepted as a normal behavior of young people, and that is entirely unacceptable.  It's not okay.  Life is meant to be valued and treasured, not hated and destroyed. 

Look at the face of beautiful Ashlynn Conner.  Look at her smile, at the light in her eyes.  With one stupid mistake, she has thrown away her life.  She has broken the heart of her family and friends.  She has taken away her bright future on this earth.  And part of me wonders if she even fully understood what she was doing and how final death actually is, or if she was simply following what has become a terrible, terrible option. 

I lost a good friend to suicide.  He was only fifteen years old at the time.  His decision was impulsive and hurt so many people who knew and loved him.  He was extremely talented, loving, and smart.  He loved music and was the best guitarist I've ever met.  I saw what my friend's actions did to his friends and family and to my own heart.  I grieved for him.  After my friend committed suicide, I was quickly forced to learn what suicide really meant, the finality and pain and selfishness of it all... and I was horrified to have to admit to myself that even I had dealt with those issues myself only a year before.  Until suicide affected me personally, I had no idea how serious it actually was.

Please, please never joke about suicide.  It isn't funny.  It isn't okay.  It only breaks hearts and ends bright futures.

And finally, I feel like suicide is made to be too much of an option.  We talk about how bullying leads to suicide so often and they even have little workshops in a lot of schools and health classes to raise awareness about what red flags to look for in your friends... and I'm torn about it.  To an extent, raising awareness about suicide is a good thing.  It can save lives.  But does the magnitude of awareness being made about suicide in high schools, middle schools, (and now even elementary schools) only place the idea of suicide in young students' minds?  I'm not sure.  Ashlynn had to get the idea from somewhere.  I was bulied in the fifth grade, but I'm not sure if hanging myself would ever have even occurred to me as a ten-year-old girl. 

When I saw Ashlynn's photograph and heard her story for the first time, I cried.  Even now, my heart breaks for her family and for her lost future.  And my heart also breaks for her bullies.  They were so young as well and they will hold the guilt of Ashlynn's death in their hearts for a very, very long time.  Let's be sure to lift up everyone who knew Ashlynn in prayer this week and whenever we remember her sweet smile.

(These pictures were taken off of Facebook.)

Today I'd like to share a verse with you that has been brought to my heart the last week and a half or so.  Ahem, please open your Bibles to Philippians 1:21... or keep reading right here.

"For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain."

I enjoy reading multiple translations and paraphrases, so here is the same verse in the New Living Translation.  I love this translation of the verse.

"For to me, living means living for Christ, and dying is even better."

This last week has been one of the hardest weeks I've had in a quite a while.  Nearly every day I've woken up and become immersed in my own worries and hurt.  It's so easy for me to lose track of what life is all about. 

To live is Christ. 

I've felt alone, broken, stressed, and hurt.  I walk to class, study, go to sleep, struggle to maintain new relationships and continue to build my friendships here... and occasionally, I'll spend an entire day focusing on my concerns more than I focus on Him... or on anything, for that matter.

This reminds me of my favorite Shane and Shane song called "I Miss You."

I had a fleeting thought this morning and I mentioned You today.  It breaks my heart just to know You in part and not to be with You where You are.

Living means living for Christ.  I want every part of my life to be for Him.

My life isn't easy right now. 

But it's not about me.  It's about Him.  Lately, I've been trying to change my perspective around... and that's hard to do sometimes.  But here's how I'm re-molding my mind with His help.

• On bad days, I purposely wear Christian t-shirts and cross necklaces so I'll be constantly reminded to act like a city on a hill, even when I don't feel like it. 
• I've tried putting encouraging Bible verses around me so I'll think of His promises rather than my own doubts. 
• I make it a little game to mention Him in every conversation I have. 
• And Stephanie and I have been meeting every Thursday as accountability partners.  We share Scripture with each other, pray together, and talk through any of the doubts or struggles we've been facing throughout the week.  That's been a huge blessing in my life. 

And you know, I think this is working more and more each day.  The Lord is restoring my heart piece by piece.  And even during the hardest weeks like this one, I am constantly reminded that He is there.  He is holding me.  He loves me despite everything I've ever done. 

It's funny because many days living here, I feel so pumped up in my faith.  Living in a place where I'm the minority is invigorating.  It's one of the biggest mission fields I've ever seen.  And then a week like this will happen and I'll start to lose focus.  Again.  I can never forget all that He has given me.

Living means living for Christ.

I wrote a song a few days ago on a day when my emotions and frustration felt nearly overwhelming.  Over the last couple of weeks, I have been dealing with some things that have broken my heart again and again.  This experience continues to show me how small I am and how big God is. 

I really want to write a whole post about this, but unfortunately, I do not have the time today to truly write out my heart, so instead, I will be sharing the song I wrote, temporarily titled "College Life."  Perhaps in a few days, I will be able to set aside the time to spill out my heart and describe how the Lord has encouraged me so much these last couple of weeks.

The song is on YouTube, so you can check it out here.

 

College Life

I've been away for quite a while.

I'm living life with a brand new smile.

I've made some friends. I've learned some things.

It's true.

I'm finding myself. I'm growing up.

I've learned to live on Your sweet love.

Your presence, God, is just enough.

Just You. All I need is You.

 

'Cause when I'm lonely, You lift me up,

When I'm empty, You fill my cup,

When I'm broken, You're just enough for me.

When my family is far away, You lead me to a brighter day.

It's true. The One I need is You.

 

You're the only constant that remains.

You see me through my every day.

The good, the bad, the in-between,

It's true.

Sometimes I miss my life back home,

While living here outside my comfort zone.

I know I'm not alone. I've got You.

All I need is You.

 

'Cause when I'm lonely, You lift me up.

When I'm empty, You fill my cup.

When I'm broken, You're just enough for me.

When my family is far away, You bring me to a brighter day.

It's true. The One I need is You.

 

College life is not the easiest.

Your love means so much more than this.

You hold each precious tear.

And with You at my side,

There's no need for me to ever hide.

You take my every fear.

 

'Cause when I'm lonely, You lift me up.

When I'm empty, You fill my cup.

When I'm broken, You're just enough for me.

When my family is far away, You bring me to a brighter day.

It's true. The One I need is You.

It's true. All I need is You.

2008

She is seven years old.  Her eyes shine blue beneath a swollen bruise, and dark bruises also mar her arms and legs.  Guarded, even at such a young age, she smiles hesitatingly at me, glancing at the drab concrete beneath her feet. 

We are outside, sitting on the cement steps in front of the PAC, a place where children who have been abused go to be assessed before being sent to various foster homes.  "So why did you come to talk to me today?" I ask her gently, reaching out to put a hand on her shoulder.  She cringes, so I pull away.  "What do you want to talk about?"

"I want to tell Jesus I want to go to heaven."  She picks up a twig, fiddling it in her fingers.  She won't look me in the eye, but a shy smile is on her face.

I question her gently.  "Why can't you go to heaven on your own?"

"Because I sinned."

I smile at the girl encouragingly, getting out my Wordless Book and explaining to her how to ask Jesus to be her Savior.  She is afraid to pray on her own, afraid that she will 'mess it up,' so she follows the lead of my friend Cathy, her eyes squeezed shut as she talks to Jesus.  When she finishes, her eyes open, and she looks nervously into mine for the first time. 

"I did it."

"That's right.  You did.  And do you know what that means?  You are God's child now, and He is your Father, and He will always take care of you."

The mention of a father causes her eyes to drop again and then her expression changes.  "God is my Father?"  The thought must frighten her in a way, but give her strange assurance.  Surely this Father will be a better one that however many duds she's had in the past.  "God is my Father."

"That's right.  You're a child of God.  You're His little girl and He loves you."  I read to her John 1:12 and then ask her, "Do you have a Bible of your own?"

Her face falls.  "No."

Cathy runs inside the PAC and returns with a children's New Testament.  The girl thumbs through it, her eyes wide with excitement, and then her face falls.  "I thought it was bigger than this."

"It is bigger.  This is only half of the Bible, the New Testament.  Maybe when you're older you'll be able to get a full one."  I wish with all my heart I could give her both testaments.  The little thing she holds in her hand just doesn't seem like enough.

"Thank you," she whispers. 

"You are very, very welcome.  Do you have any questions or do you want to go back inside?"

"I don't have any questions."  She gets up slowly, cradling the Bible in her arms.  As she climbs up the concrete steps and walks out of the afternoon Texas heat and back into the air-conditioned PAC building, I reach out gently to stroke her blonde hair.  This time, she does not flinch.

She finishes the Good News Club with glowing eyes.  Fifteen minutes before, she had been whispering and fighting with the others... now she is listening attentively to the lesson.

I watch her as another little girl comes up to her and knocks the Bible out of her hands.  It clatters to the floor.  "Why do you have that?" she sneers, folding her arms across her chest.

The girl kneels to the ground, carefull picking up her Bible and stroking the cover with trembling hands.  She gets to her feet and hugs the book to her chest, giving the child a firm stare.  "Don't do that.  It's my Bible." 

"Whatever," the other girls says and flounces away.

I hold my breath, unsure if this new Christian will be able to take persecution after being saved for such a short time, but she continues rocking the Bible in her arms and watching the lesson, refusing to back down in her newfound faith.  She reaches a small hand up to brush the golden hair out of her face, exposing her black eye.

I am reminded again of this little girl's dark past.  What has she been through?  What has she endured in her short seven years of life?  Any day now, she will finish her evaluation and be sent to a foster home or to some decent relative... or if they can find no one to take her, she will be sent to a children's home.

I catch her eye from across the room and she grins, a new confidence in her face.

After class, everyone is leaving.  I walk up to her and touch her shoulder.  "Today's a special day.  You became a child of God today."

"And on Father's Day," she says with a quiet laugh.

I smile at her encouragingly.  "That's right.  I'm very proud of you.  Have a good day, Julie."

She looks at me, nods, and hugs the Bible closer to her chest before joining the line of children to go back to the dorms for the rest of the day.

The heavens are rejoicing right now.

Continuing after Friday's post... I found this recently.  I wrote it a couple of months after a friend of mine committed suicide. 

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The person I thought was me is slowly crumbling into nothing.  I'm not sure what is wrong with me.  I'm tired.  My mind is gone.  My personality isn't even the same.  Is this all because of Gatlin?  I don't know. 

I'm tired of fighting.  I'm so tired of being strong, of being so fake.  I don't want to be like that anymore.  I want to be myself, but who is myself?  I can't find me.  I'm searching my heart every night to the point of not being able to sleep.  I haven't slept in days.  I'm so tired.  Why is this happening to me?

The night before he died.  Gatlin: What doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

What does this mean?  What purpose does this have?  What is the point of life if you're just going to die without DOING anything?  Gatlin died at fifteen.  How many people die at such a young age, in so much pain?  I mean, WHY did God put us down here if life is just going to suck?

I don't know.

I'm so ready for something new.  Last year, God blasted into my summer and saved my life.  I wonder if He could do it again.  This summer has to change something in me.  It has to be different.  It has to be.

Gatlin, I miss you.  Why have you done this to me?  Come back.

----------------------

I wrote this next little entry a few months after that.  See how much my heart had already healed.

----------------------

I still smile.  :) 

I still believe in Jesus. 

I still love. 

I still dance in the rain.  (I just did the other day.)

I still listen to music about changing the world.

I still dream of doing just that.

I'm still Emily, although a different one than I ever thought I'd be.

I'm going to be me. 

I'm going to figure this out. 

I promise.

----------------------

I also found a few entries from the day Gatlin committed suicide and two days after that.  They were so filled with hurt and confusion that I decided not to share them.  I'm not sure what good they would do for anyone.

However, reading these snapshots of my heart from this difficult time in my life has brought me so much encouragement. 

With the Lord's help, I can make it through anything.  He brings healing and peace and true joy.

Romans 8:38-39

For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

So today I remembered that I used to have a MySpace page.  I hadn't been on in literally years, so I logged on and began to look through some of my old pictures and comments.  There was a "blog" feature similar to Facebook's "notes," so I clicked on that and found several private blog entries I wrote that I had completely forgotten about.  In fact, even while re-reading them, I don't remember writing any of them.  It seems like so long ago.  With each paragraph I read, it doesn't feel like me.  Not my writing style anymore, way too much sarcasm... but I know it was me.  Funny how much I've changed in the last four years.

I wrote the little journal-style entry exactly two weeks before my friend Gatlin committed suicide.  What's fascinating to me is the way the Lord was preparing my heart before I went through such a difficult time in my life.  Things were being revealed to me that would help me heal and grow over the next few months, but I had no idea why.  

Another thing that's neat about the entry below is that this was written right in the midst of my coming-back-to-Christ experience that has become such a wonderful part of my testimony.  I didn't remember that I had written something so honest and personal during this time of my life, but I'm so glad I did.  This leaves me in awe of the way God was transforming me.  He was working in my heart before my friend died.  His love for me is so evident here, even within the words of doubt and hesitation in the entry below.

This is brutally honest and contains many of my doubts, so I feel a little hesitant to share it, but I feel like I should.  This shows the awesomeness of God.  Tears are forming in my eyes the more I realize how He has worked in my life every step of the way.  I had no idea what was going to happen in two weeks, but He did.  And He was already preparing me to heal from the pain.

(The entry was incredibly long, so I deleted a few sections, but you will get the main idea of it.)

---------------------------------

Recently, I've been praying... a lot.  Mainly because there's been a lot of things going on the past few weeks that have sent me spiraling down into that moment where I'm sitting there in the midst of horror and I'm just like, "I'm about to get hurt, aren't I?" and then I have to decide whether or not to be depressed and bitter or to endure and trust God and push forward with my true friends.  Most of my life, I've chosen the depression.

Most of my life, when I get to that moment, I choose to pity myself and take all of my problems on myself and shut down my emotions and shut out everyone else and then blame God for absolutely everything.  It's a sin that I seem to fall for the easiest.  Only recently have I realized how wrong that truly is.

So that's basically what the past few weeks have been like for me.  A lot has happened.  It's just left me down in the dumps, and I'm refusing to become all depressed and suicidal, so I've turned to God for the first time in... forever.  Even when I am going through a rough patch--even if someone has taken my heart and then given it right back to me--I need to have faith.  I'm not all-knowing.  I don't know what God's plan is for my life, but it's my duty to trust in Him... not decide that I'm an agnostic every time something goes wrong.  I have to have faith.

So I've been praying and I've found out a lot.

Jesus loves me.  Hello, obvious.  I just haven't been able to accept that Jesus Christ actually loves me and died for me and cares about me just like He cares about every other human being on this planet.  I'm not worthless.  I'm loved too.  Everyone is loved, and most of us can't seem to get that.  I sure couldn't.  And now I think I can.

Recently I've been praying.  Even the most simple prayers have been hard for me the past eight months or so, because last year was crazy-bad for me and I lost a lot of faith.  But I've still been praying.  You know, this is your chance, God.  If you let me down this time, I'm giving up on you forever.  I can't handle this on my own.  Will you just help me get through today without having to hide to keep from crying?  And I wasn't quite sure what would happen, but wow... it worked.  God listened.

Life is getting better... I'm getting over it.  Disappointment is still there, but life is okay.  Everything is not all on my shoulders.  I can breathe for once.  Jesus has taken this burden for me and made me whole again... and that amazes me.  To think I have been trying to handle my own problems eight out of ten times my whole life--I have held that tiny bit of me from God, unsure if He could handle it--but now I've tried it, and look where I am! 

And suddenly, I want to help others.  I'm still embarrassed about what I've done.  I'm still finding out who I am inside.  But I've found out who I can go to when I'm hurt and when I'm broken.  I'm not alone in my problems.  God's not just here when everything's going great.  He's the one who's waiting to take my hand when I'm split in two, but He can only take my hand if I let Him.

So all I really need is to just trust in Him.

---------------------------------

Despite the fact that the little girl writing the entry above was broken and confused and about to be hurt beyond all words, I will treasure this journal entry forever.  I'm so glad I found it. 

The Lord is so loving.  Thank You, Jesus, for holding me through everything.

Z: Zen.  What calms you down?

Fear is one of my biggest struggles.  I've dealt with anxiety my entire life, as you can read in my testimony.  The Lord has helped me overcome so much, but at times, I still struggle.  I am frequently tempted to doubt and turn to fear rather than to peace and joy.

The last few months, my anxiety has increased quite a bit.  I think it's because I know I'm about to leave home and live ten hours away from my friends and family.  I know I'll be on my own.  I'm going to have to make an entirely new group of friends.  It's a scary thought.  I don't like change at all, and moving away is going to be a huge change all at once.

While I've been preparing to move away, I've been very focused on creating an environment in my future dorm room that will be very peaceful and calming.  A sanctuary of sorts that will be a place to go and be alone with the Lord when I'm feeling overwhelmed.

Some things calm me more than others.  For some reason, stones are a symbol of peace to me.  Ever since I got my laptop in December, I've refused to change the background.  If you have a Mac, then you perhaps can think of which background it is: round, smooth stones.  I have a "peace" playlist that I listen to when I'm having trouble at night.  One of the first songs on the list is "Stones Under Rushing Water" by NeedtoBreathe.  For some reason, it always gives me a sense of peace and security when I hear that song.

Crosses and pearls always give me a sense of peace.  For graduation, a friend of mine gave me a BEAUTIFUL cross that he made himslef.  It'll be placed on my dorm room wall, first thing.  It's stunning.  Certain colors calm me more than others.  Gentle shades of blue.  Some purples.  Black and white.  My dorm room colors are the same colors of my room back at home; since I don't like change, I think having similar bedrooms will ease the adjustment. 

I put calendars everywhere, on nearly every wall.  For some reason, knowing the day always gives me a sense of security.  Right now I have five calendars sitting out in my bedroom. 

A friend gave me a book called "Jesus Calling."  It's a devotional filled with an uplifting message from the Lord for each day of the year.  The devotions often focus on overcoming fear, peace, and transformation in Jesus Christ.  Little else gives me more peace than a chapter or two of the Bible, a few moments of prayer, and an entry from "Jesus Calling."

Writing will always calm me.  Sometimes I'll stay up all night scribbling into a journal or typing on my computer.  Occasionally if I write fiction, I'll become so worked up and involved in the experiences of my characters that I'll be wired and shaken for days... but even then, I feel a sense of peace in life.  When I'm writing for this blog, I almost always feel a sense of peace and calm. 

The transition to college will probably be hard on me at first.  I have trouble with change and new things.  However, I am cradled in the Lord's arms.  I know He will not let me go.  I must constantly remind myself that I am not alone.  I have Him.  He will always protect me.  There is no need to be afraid.

Peace is such a beautiful gift from the Lord.

John 14:27

"Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you.  I do not give to you as the world gives.  Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid."

What gives you peace?

Lately I've been trying to memorize my high school.  That might sound strange, but since I'm going to leave soon, I want to start memorizing the things I know will slip my mind later on.  There are little things- little details- that don't even cross my mind now, but they are so small I know I'll forget them later.

I don't want to forget.

The way the windows of the front office are blanketed in paintings from art class.  You can always tell which students are artistically gifted from those paintings.  There have been many groans of embarrassment, mine included, as we've walked through the lobby and caught a glimpse of a familiar- and ghastly- painting.  The way the library is full of old and musty books with titles like And the Angels Were Silent and Surprised by the Power of the Spirit.  The way the halls become almost painfully crowded when all of the classes are let out at once.  A hundred and fifty people aren't meant to squeeze together in a hallway that's less than five feet wide.

I don't want to look back in a few years and not be able to remember where I spent four years of my life.  My high school is where I've spent the vast majority of my time.  Sure, bad memories have taken place within these walls, but they've mostly been happy.  I've experienced joy here, amidst all of the typical high school boredom and stress.

I made some of my best friends in the entire world at my high school.  My teachers have shown that they honestly care whether or not I'm having a difficult time at home or if I don't do my best on a paper.  After Gatlin died, there were teachers who frequently checked up on me to make sure I was okay.  When we watched "Romeo and Juliet," I was actually sent to another classroom so I wouldn't have to watch the suicides.  My school has been great.  I have seen Christ through my teachers, principals, and friends.  I couldn't have asked for anything more out of my high school years. 

You'd think some things I wouldn't mind forgetting, like the cheesy fake plants that decorate the shelves on the library walls (I'm looking at them right now) or the gaudy yellow tiles on the bathroom floor... or even the old locker room at the gym.  Ancient lockers, creaky toilets, awkward memories.  Yeah, those things don't always bring a grin to my face, but I don't want to forget them.  I never want to forget.

I'm sitting in my high school library as I write this, realizing with a touch of horror that I can easily count the number of days I have left to spend in this room.  At times, I feel like celebrating.  "No more school!  No more hours spent in this library, typing on these senile computers!  No more boredom!  No more waking up early!  No more!  No more!"  But it's sad.  A chapter of my life is closing forever.

So in a way, I will miss the fluorescent lights that are glaring down on me right now.  I'll miss the saggy, half-empty beanbags that have served as a bed when I come to school and nap for an hour (I have a free period every day).  I'll miss the old clock that has hung crooked on the wall for as long as I can remember.  I'll miss the out of place 4th of July decorations and the pumpkin-shaped pots of peppermints and jolly ranchers.  I'll miss the bright yellow trashcan.  I'll miss the stacks of musty, aging books.  I'll miss just being here.

On the last day of school, I'll probably feel sad.  I'll know that there will be no more time spent bantering with teachers, whispering in the bathroom with Ali to avoid having to go back to class, trying to write under the curious stares of my classmates (I hate writing when people watch me), and opening my familiar old locker every day.  Number 33, the one with the taped smiley face on the front.  I'm not the one who put the face there, but I've never had the heart to remove it.

I haven't said goodbye yet.  Not for good.  But I know the goodbyes are coming.  I can feel them already.

I know one day I'll miss these times, so I'm trying to memorize everything while I can.  Every corner, every quirky wall decoration, every scuff on the walls, every near-forgotten memory sparked by a crooked poster or a dented locker.  I want to remember every detail.

I will not forget.
  

Day 30: Share your testimony.

Aww, the blog challenge is over after today.  Sad, isn't it? 

I've already shared my testimony on my blog before, but I thought I would copy/paste from the last one and just add a little more about some of the things I brushed over.  Sound good?  Good.

Here we go.

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I grew up in a Christian home.  Some of my earliest memories are of Sunday School and AWANAS.  When I was younger, I thought the faith of my parents could get me to heaven.  I didn't bother to believe for myself when my family could believe for me.  I accepted my parents' faith without question.

When I was eight years old, the Twin Towers were attacked.  This tragedy shattered my young mind to pieces.  I was a little girl who did not understand why the same bad men who killed so many people in New York wouldn't come to my town in Texas and hurt me too.  I began to suffer from severe anxiety, depression, and panic attacks.  I wouldn't eat or drink without being forced.  I wouldn't go outside and play with my friends.  I couldn't bring myself to cross the street to get the mail in the good neighborhood where I lived.  I couldn't sleep at night. 

My panic attacks would cause me to be nearly unable to breathe.  My heart would race in my chest, skipping like a rabbit.  One severe panic attack even sent me to the emergency room... at nine years old.  I was a little girl who suffered with big issues, and my parents were at a loss of what to do.  My mom began to get up thirty minutes earlier than the rest of the family to pray that God would save me from my fears.

The day before my tenth birthday, I was reading a book called "Left Behind" by Tim LaHaye and Jerry B. Jenkins.  The book was about the rapture and everything involving that subject.  I began to think about what it would be like if Jesus came and took all of the Christians up to heaven and left everyone else behind.  I knew I would be the only one out of most of my family and friends who would be left.  I would be alone.  This frightened me to the core.  I finally realized that I could not rely on my parents to believe in Jesus for me anymore.  I had to shoulder my own faith and believe in the Lord because I knew it was true.

I got on my knees right where I was and told Jesus that I was a sinner, I believed that He died on the cross for my sins, and I accepted Him as my Savior and my God.

Almost immediately, there was a change in my life.  I was transformed.  The panic attacks went away almost entirely.  I could sleep through the night without fear.  I was able to travel the world without my parents.  I could finally smile again.

I was around eleven or twelve years old when things began to change.  I've always felt a huge empathy for those lost in poverty.  I began to wonder, "If God really does love everyone, then why does He let so many kids starve to death every day?  He can't love us."  And I started to doubt.  Doubt, if not put in check, can spread like a wildfire.  I soon began to dismiss God completely.  I openly denied to my friends that He even existed... and if He did, I thought He surely must hate the world.

Depression and feelings of worthlessness hit me hard after I dismissed my faith.  I felt stupid, ugly, and unlovable.  I was more depressed than I had ever been before.  I began to cut myself... occasionally at first, but then it became a dangerous addiction and an outlet for me to release my anger and sadness and pent up emotions that I would never let anyone else see.  I wanted to hurt.  I felt like I deserved the pain I caused myself.  Soon, I was out of control, hurting myself frequently without telling a soul for a long time.  When I finally told a couple of my friends, they were too young to understand the true impact of what I was doing to myself. 

When I was thirteen, I attempted suicide and failed.

My parents found out about my self injury and obviously panicked.  They were once again at a loss of what to do.  I was depressed, miserable, and I put a wall up against everyone around me.

The summer before my freshman year of high school, I made a 'deal' with God.  I basically said, "God, if You exist, then I want You to show me a sign.  Prove that You can work through me.  Prove You exist.  If You don't, I'm going to kill myself (and make sure it works this time) before school starts back in August.  If You give me reasonable proof that You can work in my life, then I'll give my life to You.  You can have it.  I don't want it anymore."  I thought my promise was an easy way out of my problems.  I could justify my suicide by blaming God's lack of presence in my life.  It seemed perfect. 

That summer, my parents sent me to a nine day training program that teaches teens how to witness to kids.  I was mortified.  I didn't want to share my so-called faith in a God I hardly even believed in.  I wasn't allowed to quit the program, so I simply shut down.  On the fourth day, they took me and some of the other teens to a park to witness to random people.  I had to share my 'faith' with a nineteen-year-old girl.  I spoke in a fairly monotone voice, inwardly begging the girl to ignore my words.  The girl was quiet and shy, but she accepted Christ that day, explaining that she had just graduated from high school and received a Bible for graduation.  She hadn't known what to do with it until I came along and explained to her what it truly meant.

This crushed me.  I went home that night and cried because I realized that God had used me, even though I was fighting against Him with all of my might.  He still used me to further His kingdom.

I went to Mexico City on a mission trip soon after.  I was able to see poverty, serve the needy, and witness to the lost through an interpreter.  I went to Angel Tree Camp and shared a cabin with several young girls whose parents were incarcerated.  Most of these girls had been abused and neglected throughout their lives and a few of them accepted Christ that week.

By the end of the summer, I was able to lead more than thirty people to the Lord.  Me: a young, timid girl with wavering faith.  There was no denying that God had worked through me.  I had my end of the deal to keep.  My life was His.  Suicide was no longer an option.

The year after I made my 'deal' with God, a friend of mine named Gatlin committed suicide.  I'd talked to him the night before and had no idea about the decision he was going to make.  Gatlin's death was devastating.  For months, I battled with God.  "I gave You my life.  I thought You could take control and keep me safe... but look at what's happened.  I'm grieving harder than I've ever grieved before.  You're doing a terrible job of taking care of me!"  To be honest, I was furious with God.  I felt like He allowed Gatlin to die out of some sort of cruel vengeance for the things I had done.  I nearly relapsed into self injury and agnosticism, but somehow, I decided to wait.  I had so strongly felt God's presence over the previous summer.  I knew He had to be there somewhere.

The first time I felt God's presence after Gatlin's death was only a couple of weeks later when I opened my Bible for the first time.  I didn't know where to turn, so I let the Bible fall open.  Psalm 77:19 was what caught my eye.  It was an obscure verse.  I'd never paid much attention to its words before, but this time, they blazed through my mind.

Psalm 77:19 helped me realize that even though I couldn't see God anywhere in the chaos after Gatlin's death, He was still there.  My grief and guilt had become as strong as an ocean, crashing over my head until I felt like I was nearly drowning.  However, God's footprints were silently moving through every moment in my life.  God was softly but surely healing my wounds and bringing my head above water.  I wasn't going to drown.  He was there, even if I couldn't see Him.

Although the thought of Gatlin's death still makes my heart ache, that tragedy in my life has helped me learn to hold onto the Lord when I'm breaking.  He's the only One who can hold the pieces of my broken heart in His hands and gently piece them back together.  He's always here for me.

I'm eighteen years old now and about to graduate from high school.  I have no doubt that God has worked in my life.  I'm still growing in Him every day.  There are still difficult times I have to struggle through, but Jesus has held my hand through each trial.  Hard situations that would have broken my faith a few years ago now strengthen my relationship with the Lord.  I haven't cut since May 12, 2007.  I'm not depressed.  I have a joy and a hope inside of me that is indescribable.  You can't know how that feels unless you have it for yourself.

I want to allow Jesus to control my life now because He is so much wiser than I am.  Believe me, I've tried to run my life on my own.  It never works.  I am so glad I made the decision to keep my life.  I've been able to do and experience so many things that I never would have imagined four years ago.  I've gone to Africa, mentored young girls who have problems with self injury and depression, wrote music, made many new friends, wrote a book, and gotten the experience of sharing my home with my amazing and beautiful best friend.

A big and exciting future is ahead of me.  I'm going to move out and go to college in a few months.  I can't wait to see what God has in store for me this time.  If He's gotten me through the sorrows in my life so far, I know He can get me through the transition into a university.  His footprints are still in my life, even on the days when I can't see Him.  I can already sense the adventures ahead, and you know... I can't wait.

I've never been happier.  And it's not just happiness that I feel.  It's joy. 
 

During my first three years of high school, I always used to perceive the seniors above me as being crazy.  Not the clinically insane kind of crazy, but rather living the ideal high school life: partying all night long, never doing homework, and always, always having a good time kind of crazy.  At least, it sure seemed that way.  No matter what time it was, whenever I saw the seniors, they were all smiling and laughing about something.  In class, in the halls, at lunch, at Bible study... the seniors always seemed to be having a crazy good time.

What an unbelievably exciting thing to anticipate for my senior year.

Even towards the end of my junior year, my friends and I would discuss how eager we were to become seniors.  "Now we're just going to be able to relax and have fun," we'd tell each other.  "I can't wait to become a senior and just go crazy!"  Even a mere four months away from being actual seniors, my friends and I had no idea.

Our perception of seniors was correct... in a way.  Do we act crazy?  Yes.  Definitely in the partying together kind of way, but perhaps a little in the clinically insane kind of way too.

My senior year has probably been the biggest emotional rollercoaster I've experienced since middle school (when everything was reason for drama) and most of my friends would probably agree with me.  Senior year has been crazy.  Sometimes in a good way and sometimes not.

I think everything I experience these days comes in extremes.  I'm either having a blast with friends while fighting shaving cream battles and prank wars and hosting movie nights... or I'm panicking about my future, wondering where on earth God wants me to go for college... or I'm terrified about leaving my family and friends and I feel both sad and scared at the same time.  Occasionally, I'll feel mellow, but even on those days, I seem to switch to the extreme.  "I don't care.  I just don't care.  Why do school work?  Why hang out?  Why do anything?  I think I'll just sleep for the rest of my life."  I think at times, there are so many confusing emotions and fears churning around in my head, it's hard to feel only one thing at once.

There is a peace that comes from the Lord, and when I'm as frantic as I so often am, it's very easily recognizable.  There is nothing more comforting than to be faced with a life-altering decision and then to feel a flood of peace fill my heart.  It helps me realize that God is there and taking care of me, even when I feel like I'm about to go insane.

I'm sure the seniors in my class seem just as crazy to all of the underclassmen as the previous seniors did to me.  You know, we are trying to make memories and leave a legacy behind us and enjoy the last few weeks we have with each other.  Imagine if you were told you had nine months left to live.  During those nine months, you'd try to enjoy yourself as much as possible, right?  On a lesser scale, we've been given nine months together as a class before we must go our separate ways... forever.  That leaves just a little bit of pressure.  If we want to have good memories, we've got to make them right now.

Honestly, I don't know one senior right now who isn't dealing with some tough issues.  Every single person in my close knit group of friends has struggled with something difficult this year.  Perhaps God is preparing us for our futures, which are sure to be filled with occasional trials.  Perhaps it's just a part of the stress that comes with entering a new chapter of our lives.

I've enjoyed my senior year of high school.  I truly have.  God has taught me so much during these stressful last months.  I know it has been good for me.  But I'm writing this to debunk the theory that all seniors are crazy.  ...Well, perhaps we are crazy, but it isn't always in the partying all day kind of way.  Half the time, we're crazy in the clinically insane kind of way.  It's tough to grow up.

But I wouldn't give up these moments for anything.

Osama Bin Laden is dead.

When I first heard the news, I'll admit that my immediate reaction was a huge sigh of relief.  He's gone.  He's dead.  He can't hurt any more people.  I proceeded to run downstairs, saying excitedly, "Turn on the TV! He's dead! He's finally dead!"  I felt like one of the munchkins from the Wizard of Oz, singing, "Ding dong, the wicked witch is dead."  At first, I was so very excited. 

Although I never personally knew anyone who died on 9/11, I was still hugely affected by that attack.  I was nearly nine years old at the time and I was old enough to understand that something very, very cruel and inhumane had just occurred, but I was too young to truly understand what was going on.  He killed all of those people, so why would he not kill me?  I was terrified that Bin Laden -the evil man on the television- would come after me and my family next.

Osama Bin Laden represented all of the fear I felt for two terror-filled years of my childhood.  I had panic attacks as a nine year old girl that sent me to the emergency room.  My insomnia began around that time.  I wouldn't go outside.  I wouldn't eat or drink for fear of anthrax poisoning.  Whenever I heard a plane fly overhead, tears would fill my eyes.  Of course Bin Laden wasn't the sole cause of the Twin Towers attack, but because he was such a leader, in my young mind, he represented everything horrible and frightening and inhuman about what was going on in the world.  Even for years after, an image of his face would send cold chills down my spine.

So why am I not glad he's dead?

After watching the news with my family, when I went back upstairs to my bedroom, I sat down and burst into tears because an image of my Savior flashed through my mind.  Jesus Christ, sitting in heaven with tears streaming down His scarred face.  After He suffered and died for every person on earth, yet another of His children will spend eternity in hell.  Despite how many people Osama Bin Laden murdered... despite how many lives were destroyed because of this man, Jesus still died for him.  Jesus gave His life for Osama Bin Laden.  And now Bin Laden's soul will burn in hell for eternity.

Did he deserve it?  He certainly did.  Do I deserve such a thing?  Yes.  Yes, I do.

A tear rolls down my cheek as I write these words. I never, never thought I would cry over the death of Osama Bin Laden.

Right now, nearly everyone I know is rejoicing over the death of Osama Bin Laden and for a little while, I was too.  In my mind, the last piece of that part my life is finally gone.  No more destruction at the hands of Bin Laden.  But I can't rejoice at the death of the man anymore.

Osama Bin Laden was created and cherished by God.  He turned away from God's plans, and I'm sure that must break the Lord's heart.

We may be rejoicing down here on earth, but surely, surely Jesus is mourning.  His child is lost for eternity.

After a long, rambling, and probably purposeless blog entry, I've come to a final thought.  I will rejoice that no more destruction will come at the hand of Osama Bin Laden.  I'm so glad he can do no more damage and will shatter no more lives.  But I ache for the lost soul of a fellow human being.  And I ache because surely the heart of Jesus Christ -the One who suffered and bled on a cross for those like Osama Bin Laden and me- is aching too.

Day 19: What is your favorite Bible verse and why?

I've shared this on here before, but my favorite verse is Psalm 77:19.


I took the picture to your right a couple of weeks after Gatlin's death.  Around this time, about two weeks after Gatlin committed suicide, I was still feeling angry with God.  Only months before I had rededicated my life to Him after years of abandoning Him.  That summer, I had decided I couldn't handle my own life anymore.  It caused too much pain.  I gave my life to God instead.  At the time, it seemed like God had failed.  I still felt pain.  In fact, I was feeling more pain than I had possibly ever felt in my entire life.

Gatlin was dead.  He wasn't coming back.  I blamed myself.  And it hurt.

"God, how could you let this happen to me?" I would pray bitterly, but God wouldn't give an answer.  I couldn't feel Him at all.  Where was He?

After a couple of weeks, I decided to try reading the Bible.  During the previous summer, my thirst for God's Word had enveloped me.  I read through the entire Bible in a couple of weeks, making notes and highlighting passages and feeling a hunger for truth.  I didn't want to believe just what I'd been taught my entire life anymore.  I wanted to know God for myself. 

I hadn't read the Bible since Gatlin died.

I let the Bible fall open onto my lap, not caring what passage I read.  I couldn't think of anything at the time that could possibly make me feel better.  Not Romans 8, not Psalm 23.  Nothing off the top of my head could possibly soothe my aching heart.  The Bible flipped open to Psalm 77.  Sure, I'd read the passage before, but nothing about it had stuck out in the past.  This time a verse seemed to scream up at me. 

Your path led through the sea, Your way through the mighty waters...

That was me.  My life was an absolute mess.  Gatlin's death had thrown everything to pieces around me.  My life was a raging sea of pain and grief and confusion.  I was drowning.

...though Your footprints were not seen.

Was this a message from God?  I couldn't feel His presence anywhere around me.  He hadn't seemed to be responding to my desperation and my pleading for Gatlin's life.  I hadn't felt God in weeks.  Could this be Him? 

It was like He was holding me that night, rocking me in His arms like a little child.  My footprints are there, Emily, even though you can't see them right now.  I'm still working through this mess.  

At that moment, I felt peace wash over me like a gentle wave.  Yes, the pain was still there, hurting as bad as it ever did.  Yes, I still felt incredible guilt and hurt over Gatlin's suicide.  But I could feel God.  I finally felt God.  His footprints were there in my life, even when I couldn't see them.

There are other passages of the Bible that I absolutely adore, like James 1:27 and Psalm 91 and others, but I'll never forget how the Lord gave me Psalm 77:19 when I needed it so badly.

What is your favorite verse and why?  

Day 15: Have you ever regretted something you DIDN'T do?

Of course I have.  Some people keep a "no regrets" mindset, but I don't.  I think it's okay to have regrets, so long as they don't define your life.  I regret every sin I've ever committed because each one has hurt God.  I've also regretted things I haven't done that I should have.

I think I've written about this instance on my blog before, but I'll go ahead and share it again.

A few years ago, I was hanging out at a basketball game with some old friends of mine.  We merged with another group of teens and the talk soon transformed into swearing and sexual innuendos.  I didn't want to seem rude and holier-than-thou by abruptly leaving the group, so I stayed in the conversation, although I avoided the cussing and inappropriate topics. 

A little while later, one of the guys from the other group of kids pulled me aside.  "There's something about you that's different from all of us.  You stand out.  What is it?" he asked me outright. 

I've always been shy, and I was much more shy back then than I am now.  I was a bit embarrassed by this strange boy's full attention on the way I acted.  I didn't want to sound preachy or too Christian.  I was terrified that I would say the true reason I was different -because of how Jesus had changed me- and then he would laugh and walk away.  I hesitated before saying, "I don't think there's anything different about me."

"No, there is something different.  I can see it.  What is it?" the boy pressed further.

In my heart, I knew this was my chance.  I could share my faith with this kid who had so obviously seen Christ in me.  He wanted to know what made me different.  But I chickened out again and said, "It's nothing.  I'm just a unique person."  The boy finally accepted my words and didn't say anything else about the subject.

I went home that night and cried.  I'd missed my opportunity.  I had acted like I was ashamed of Christ, not like I was a radical follower of Him.  That boy was searching for the truth and he sure didn't find it through me. 

I still think about that moment with regret.  How I wish I could go back sometimes.  My biggest consolation is that I know God still loves that boy.  He'll send another opportunity to find Him that kid's way if He hasn't already.  I just wish I had done my part and fulfilled my purpose in the Lord.

Do you regret anything you didn't do? 

I think one of the strangest things about being a senior in high school is when it starts to hit you that you aren't going to be around for much longer.

I've attended my school since the middle of fifth grade.  I've been with the same people for years.  I've had the same learning environment for the longest time.  And the fact that I'm not going to be in the same place anymore baffles me.  I think every senior goes through this at some point, but it's started to hit me recently.

Caleb and I were dancing at prom a couple of weeks ago when we started to talk about how fun it would be to have a prom without fancy clothes... if we could have a prom where everyone came in their pajamas to dance and have fun.  A pajama prom.  "Next year, let's do that!" Caleb said eagerly, but I tapped his shoulder.  "We won't be here next year," I reminded him.

And then we both got quiet.

At times, attending a university seems like an absolutely foreign concept to me.  It won't be like anything I've ever experienced before.  It'll be totally new, so how can I ever comprehend something like that?  I can't quite imagine it.  I can't know for sure what college will be like until I experience it for myself.  It'll be so new.  So different.

I often forget about the fact that I won't be at my high school anymore after this year.  It's easy to walk through the halls at school and think to myself, "I'll be here forever.  This is where I belong."  My school is where I've always been. 

I can't imagine what things are going to be like come the end of school.  There'll be no more, "See you next year!"s and "Have a good summer... I'll see you in August!"s.  No, it's going to be more like, "Goodbye.  If you're one of my best friends, I'll keep in touch, but otherwise, this is going to be the last time we talk for ten years or more."  That's a scary thought.

No more of the same teachers and classmates and familiar four walls surrounding me every day.  No more laughing at the underclassmen for their drama.  No more sameness.

I still catch myself saying, "Well, there's always next year."  Even when I'm at home, thinking about the superbowl or daylight savings or really anything, I start to think, "Next year, I'll do it this way."  But I won't be at home next year.  I won't be with my family next year.  I'll be at college.

Everything will be new in college.  Newness scares me.  Change scares me, I'll admit.  I know it has to come and I know that it will ultimately be good for me, but that doesn't change the fact that I don't look forward to it.

Does this not concern any other seniors out there?!

Day 3: What are three of your biggest passions?

Before I answer this question, I'd like to put Jesus at the top of this list, but because that is an obvious Sunday school answer to this sort of question, I'm not going to include Him in my list today.  Just putting that out there.

Writing.
Writing has been a passion of mine for as long as I can remember.  I've wanted to be a writer since I was three or four years old.  I made up stories before I could actually read.  Nothing else on earth gives me that same feeling of excitement and joy than writing does.  It's truly a passion of mine.  If I go more than a day without writing, my heart starts to ache in my chest.  I feel like a day has been purposeless if I haven't written something. 

Writing is a love that God has given me.  Whether He's given me talent is up to you to decide, but even if I'm an awful writer, that's okay.  That won't change my passion for writing.  I know a lot of people find my passion for writing to be funny.  Most people hate it... like my friends, for example.  But I don't.  I have a love for writing the way some people love nature and the way some people love music. 

When I write, I create. 

Africa.
My heart hurts for everyone in the world who is struggling with poverty, but for some reason, a huge chunk of my heart lies with the people in Africa.  When I visited Kenya, my love for Africa expanded even more... and I didn't think that was possible.  The people I met were filled with joy and peace and beauty.  They taught me so much, even though they had so little.

No matter what I end up doing with my life, I know God is going to use me to help Africa in some way.  He's given me that love. 

Those struggling with self worth.
As a young teen, I struggled with depression, suicidal thoughts, and self injury.  I've been through those emotions and feelings of absolute hopelessness.  I was once a little girl who felt worthless and unlovable.  I hurt myself because I thought I deserved the pain.  I thought I deserved to die.  As I've grown older, the Lord has shown me how much worth I truly have.  I am His treasured possession.  At times, that is a hard thing to accept, especially after I've taught myself to feel stupid and ugly and without value. 

I feel a great empathy for other young girls who are struggling with these issues.  I know what it's like to feel worthless and I don't want any other girl to have to feel the same way.  It is sometimes difficult for me to forgive myself for the things I've done.  I've damaged God's temple.  I hated His creation when I hated myself.  When I have the chance to talk to girls who are struggling with the same things that I once struggled with, in a way, I feel redemption.  The Lord can use my most shameful and painful mistakes to glorify Him and help others. 

For the rest of my life, I want my struggles and past to be available for the Lord to use for His glory.  If there is a young girl who will be encouraged by my testimony, then I will be eager to share it with her. 

No girl should ever feel ugly or worthless.

Here are today's questions:
1. What are your three biggest passions?
2. Have you ever struggled with self worth?    
 

Day 2: Has a painful experience ever had a positive impact on your life?

When I was fifteen, a close friend of mine committed suicide.  That was probably the most difficult time of my entire life.  It's hard to accept the fact that your friendship isn't enough to keep someone alive. 

Before Gatlin died, I had never really experienced death.  A couple of great grandmas had passed away and I was extra close to one of them, but they were old and their deaths didn't come as a shock like Gatlin's did.  I had never lost someone close to me... and I had certainly never known someone whose death was self-inflicted.  I think it's most difficult to come to terms with a suicide, more than with any other death, simply because you keep asking yourself, "Why?" and "Could I have prevented this?"

Guilt was a huge issue after Gatlin committed suicide.  I couldn't stop wondering -and I still sometimes wonder- whether or not I could have done anything to keep him alive.  I didn't understand why he would end his life over something so silly.  I didn't understand why he would willingly hurt every single person who knew him.

When we were both in middle school and struggling with depression, Gatlin and I made a promise to each other, "If you go, I go."  We basically agreed that if one of us committed suicide, the other one would too.  We were each other's accountability in a way.  Gatlin died years after we made this "deal."  Although I had already overcome my depression, I was suddenly faced with the issue of our promise.  I felt deep down like I was breaking my word, even though dying would have been much worse than not keeping a silly promise.  And why did Gatlin get an escape from life when I had to stay on earth, suffering without him?  It just didn't seem fair.

Another struggle I dealt with was with God.  The summer before Gatlin died, I had rededicated my life to Christ.  I gave every part of me to the Lord after realizing I could never handle it on my own.  However, after losing Gatlin, I was faced with the painful reality that even though I had found the Lord again and found joy, there was still suffering.  I didn't like that at all.  I was angry at God for a long time.  "After all I've given You, after all You've promised... You let this happen?  How could You?"  I began an ongoing struggle with God.  Why did He let me feel so much hurt?

The first time I opened my Bible after Gatlin's death, I stumbled across Psalm 77:19.  It was an obscure verse.  I'd never paid attention to its words before, but this time, they seemed to blaze through my mind. 

This verse made me realize that even though I couldn't see God anywhere in the chaos after Gatlin's death, He was still there.  My grief and guilt were like an ocean of churning waters.  I was nearly drowning.  However, God's footprints were silently moving through my life, slowly healing my wounds and bringing my head above water.  I wasn't going to drown.  He was there, even though I couldn't see Him.

It's been a little over three years since Gatlin died.  These three years have brought a transformation in my life.  I've been forced to trust the Lord in difficult circumstances.  Without Him, I could not have made it through.  He has shown me that I can survive anything with His help.

While I still ache over Gatlin's death and wish he never would have made the decision to end his own life, God has turned his death into a source of healing and transformation.  So in a way, the painful experience of losing my friend to suicide has made a positive impact on my life.  I've learned how to be strong.  I've learned how to trust God, even when it hurts.  And I've learned that it's possible to heal.     

I have to take care of a Ready-or-Not Tot for my economics class at school.  It cries all the time: while I'm driving, sleeping, taking a shower.  It's torture.  Everyone in my senior class has to take care of one of these babies at some point.  Yesterday, my friend and I were joking around about how much we hated taking care of the baby, and my friend laughed and said something like, "You know what? Life isn't even worth living.  Let's just get a couple of guns and end it all.  We can point them at our own heads- no, I'll point mine at your head and you point yours at my head- and we can die together."

To be honest, I wasn't sure how to respond.  I know he was kidding, but I've been thinking.  At what point is it okay to joke about suicide?  When does it cross a line?  Should it be crossing a line? 

If you're a regular reader of this blog, then you know that a friend of mine committed suicide three years ago. 

More than 5,000 teens end their lives every year.  That breaks my heart.  5,000 teens is like a small university being wiped off the face of the earth.  5,000 is nearly double those who died on 9/11.  5,000 is more than many small towns in Texas.  Those were 5,000 kids who had families and friends who were devastated after they learned their loved one was gone.  5,000 is a lot of people, and that's just the teens.  30,000 people of all ages commit suicide each year.

Joking around about suicide, twisting your hand into the shape of a gun and bringing it to your head when you're bored or annoyed, making suicide sound so lighthearted when it should be such a serious thing... this needs to end.  Now.

Suicide isn't a joke.  It ends a life and it emotionally destroys those who care about the one who died.  It's such a difficult thing to heal from.  And as one who has once considered suicide as an alternative to the life I lived, let me tell you... feelings of suicide are no joking matter either.  They're so, so, so serious.  I can't emphasize this enough.  Don't let someone who is struggling with suicidal thoughts or depression see you make a joke about suicide and make light of the feelings that are consuming his life right now.

You've possibly joked around about killing yourself before.  You know, before my friend committed suicide, I would.  I'd bring my finger to my head like a gun and say "Just kill me now" if we had a pop quiz or if I had to do an extra chore that day.  I didn't think it was that big of a deal.  Since my friend has died, I've become more aware of the emotions surrounding that subject.  When someone jokes about suicide, I can't really laugh anymore.  I freeze.  Something in my heart hurts. 

When we make light of a situation, we're lessening its impact.  Suicide is making a huge impact in the lives of countless people right now.  30,000 lives are ending every year.  Don't make that a joke.

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SUICIDE HOTLINE
1-800-273-8255

The other day, I talked about how precious life was and how we shouldn't ever waste it.  Today I'd like to expand on that topic a little more.  Your life is valuable.  You're precious to God.  But there are other precious lives that are vanishing every day, and that's what I'd like to discuss right now.

When I see images of the kids in third world countries who are dying from preventable issues such as hunger and malaria, my heart feels like it's literally splitting in my chest.  The children who have died and are dying from starvation and diseases were never even given a chance to survive.  They've been restrained within the barriers of poverty.  Their deaths were painful and easily preventable.  They died without being remembered.  They died without the world knowing they ever even existed.  It's like they've been invisible.

It really is.  Look at the photograph to your right.  Don't turn away because it makes you uncomfortable.  I want you to feel uncomfortable.  Allow your heart to start pounding in your chest.  Let chills rise on your arms.  Let your stomach churn and your hands tremble.  This child is dying.  If you're thinking to yourself, "Oh, that's so sad," but plan to do nothing more than think about this image for the next few days or weeks or even months, then this child is invisible to you.

If you see the World Vision ads that appear on the sides of your screen while you're surfing the internet and all you feel is a twinge of sadness before you move on to something happier and less uncomfortable, then these children have become invisible to you.  You're ignoring the deaths of precious children who have a Father in heaven who cherishes them and feels terribly grieved when they die.  These kids may not have anyone on earth who cares for them or remembers them, but Jesus Christ died for them too.

A dying child should make you leap from your seat with shock and horror.  It should make you shout, "No!  His death doesn't have to happen.  None of these deaths have to happen.  I'm going to stand up and do something."  Children are dying.  What are you doing about it?

I went to Kenya, Africa a couple of summers ago.  I saw many things that changed my perspective on poverty and sacrifice while I was over there, but an instance sticks out in my mind especially today.  A friend and I were taking some pictures of kids to send to those who sponsor them through Christian Relief Fund.  We would go down the long list of names and ask the kids who would crowd around us, eagerly waiting to help, to find the child we needed to photograph and interview.

At one point, we asked the kids to bring us a little girl.  I don't remember her name now.  I wish I did.  There were many names we read off that day.  The kids grew silent for a long moment until a young girl finally spoke up.  "She died," she told us in a somber voice.  When we questioned her, the girl's response was, "She died from chicken pox two weeks ago."

She died from chicken pox.

In the world today, there are still little children dying from chicken pox.

I remember that moment quite often.  Children are dying from preventable issues every single day without a chance to leave their mark on the world, without a chance to change someone's life, without a chance to learn or experience new things or to grow.  The lives of these children are truly a mist, likes James 4 discusses, but their tragic lives could be made longer than they are now.  We could be making a difference.

James 1:27 says, "Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress..."  You've probably read that verse before, but take a moment to read James 2:15, 16, located a few verses down.  "Suppose a brother or sister is without clothes and daily food.  If one of you says to them, 'Go in peace; keep warm and well fed,' but does nothing about their physical needs, what good is it?"  What good is it?  When you see the images of starving children and feel bad or say a quick prayer for them, in all honesty, what good will that do?  What good is it?  What tangible difference are you making in their lives?

Here's a quote by A.W. Tozer that impacted my perspective on faith and prayer.  "...I believe the problem is that we have been trying to substitute praying for obeying, and it simply will not work... Prayer will become effective when we stop using it as a substitute for obedience."  Here, A.W. Tozer was talking about praying for revival, but the same concept works with praying for God to end poverty.  You may be praying for the starving children, but what are you doing to obey God's law?  What are you doing to help the orphans and widows in their distress? 

I read somewhere that if everyone in the word who claimed to be a Christian tithed 10% of their earnings to the church, then we would eradicate world poverty and AIDS in less than a year.

What are you doing to help the needy?

Every minute, more than 110 kids die from starvation, equaling about 160,000  a day.  Each minute, two kids die from malaria.  Every two minutes, a child dies from AIDS.  What are you doing to try to prevent these deaths and save the lives of these little children?  If you're not fighting for the destitute and needy, then it may be time to reset some priorities.

In the ten minutes it took you to read today's blog article, more than 1,125 kids have died from preventable issues.  1,125 babies who are treasured by the Lord. 

Life is precious.

It's time to stand up for those who can't stand up for themselves.

I found the pictures from this article here, here, here, and here.  

 

Lately, I've been thinking about how valuable life is.  I often hear stories about people who have died in tragic accidents or from diseases.  I see their smiling faces in photographs that have merely snapped a glimpse of who they were when they were still alive.  Life is precious.  I forget that sometimes.

A few months ago, I read about a girl named Shannon Tavarez.  At eleven years old, she'd already achieved remarkable success in her life.  She was Young Nala in New York's Broadway show of "Lion King."  She was known for her big voice, beautiful smile, and determined spirit.  Last April, Shannon discovered she had a serious form of cancer called acute myelogenous leukemia and would require a bone marrow transplant to save her life.  Unfortunately, Shannon was part Hispanic and part black, so it was nearly impossible to find a perfect bone marrow match.  Multiple celebrities such as Alicia Keys and Rihanna rallied for Shannon, begging people to be tested and donate bone marrow for Shannon, in hopes of saving her life.  Even 50 Cent offered to donate his own marrow if he was a match.

Unfortunately, on November 1, 2010, Shannon succumbed to leukemia after a six month battle.  Her death was a huge blow for the many people who had rallied for her and tried so hard to save her.  How discouraging!  Shannon was so young.  She had such a promising future.  And suddenly, she was gone. 

When I first heard about Shannon's death, I was incredibly discouraged.  "After all that," I thought to myself, "after so many people stood up and fought with her, she still died.  This is one of the most depressing stories I've ever heard."  However, Shannon's story doesn't have to be so depressing.  Her legacy encouraged people to donate their marrow and be tested... and that donated marrow will save lives.  Many celebrities donated their time (and even offered their own marrow!) for Shannon's cause.  Shannon taught so many people empathy and positivity and sacrifice and hope.

Shannon's death was very tragic.  She was only eleven years old... and her death could have been prevented if the right bone marrow match had come forward.  But Shannon stayed positive and strong, and she made the best out of the life she had.

You may be having a difficult time in your life right now.  You may be struggling so badly that you feel like you're drowning in a world where nobody understands, where nobody cares.  I've been there before.  I've contemplated and even attempted suicide.  I've been there.  Life is a gift, but it can be very hard at times.  If you're struggling with depression or thoughts of suicide right now, please remember the value of the life you've been given.  God gave you your life for a reason.  Deuteronomy 14:2 says that the Lord has chosen you to be His treasured possession.  You're His.  You're valued.  Your life is precious.

Three years ago, a friend of mine committed suicide.  In one moment of recklessness, he ended his entire life.  He stopped the plans God was working in his life.  He abandoned his purpose because he didn't think life was worth living anymore.  Gatlin had so much potential.  He was smart and kind and talented.  But he gave it all up.  It's difficult to come to terms with the fact that your loved one didn't find your friendship enough of a reason to stay alive.  That's tough.

If you or a loved one or an acquaintance is contemplating suicide, please seek help.  Life is precious.  Nothing is worth destroying the plans that God has made for you.  Jeremiah 29:11 says, "'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.'"  Life is precious.

You may have been walking through life recently, trying to wish the time away.  "I'm tired of high school.  I just can't wait till I graduate."  "Life is so hard right now.  If only I could move forward a year or two."  "I wish I could make time go faster."

We don't know how much time God has given us.  But whatever situation you're in right now, try to savor every moment you've been given.  Today will be the only February 16, 2011 you'll ever experience.  Don't waste it.

You may have fifty years left of your life.  You may die today.  James 4:14 says, "Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow.  What is your life?  You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes."  Make the moments you've got count.  Shannon Tavarez made a legacy with the little time she had.  She changed lives with her determination and her joy.  She helped to save lives by asking people to donate their bone marrow.  She gave people hope.  Shannon's life was short, like a mist, but she made a mark on the world with the time she had. 

Make every moment worth living.  Your life is so valuable.  Don't let it go to waste.

How will you leave your mark?

I got the pictures used in today's entry here and here.