Just sharing.

How God Used My Dark Past

Mat went through hard times, he never imagined they would help him witness to a friend.

MORE TO LIFE: In high school, Mat Kearney probably seemed like a popular and happy soccer player. But to Mat, now an artist on inpop records, high school was the "worst, darkest, loneliest time in my life." Mat says he thought he had no purpose or hope in life. He tried to fill his emptiness by smoking and selling weed, striving to be popular, and chasing girls. But none of these things changed how empty he felt. There must be more to life than this, he thought.

When he was at his lowest point, Mat says, God reached out to him. For the first time, Mat really understood who Jesus was. He finally felt like he had a purpose: to live for God.

SOMETHING IN COMMON: While recording his debut album, Bullet, Mat and a friend started meeting weekly at Starbucks with non—Christian high school guys. The first guy to attend regularly was Matt Linheart, a junior who heard of the meetings through one of Mat's friends.

Matt grew up in a Christian home but had lost interest in God. Like Mat, he'd turned to drugs and girls to fill his emptiness. Mat Kearney sensed that his similar struggles and experiences in high school might have an impact on Matt's life. He was right.

A FRIEND TO CALL: At Starbucks one night, Matt Linehart listened to Mat talk about his past. He realized his life was also out of control. Later, he came up to Mat and said, "I want to change the way I am living my life. I want what you have."

The next day, Mat and Matt talked about what a relationship with Christ meant. Matt prayed for Jesus to save him and his life changed—but it wasn't all easy.

Mat watched his friend struggle with making the right choices. Matt's friends kept asking him to do stuff he knew he couldn't do anymore. It was tough, but Mat was there for his friend. He encouraged Matt, telling him he could call him anytime. He remembered what it was like and could help direct Matt through the tricky parts.

A NEW CONSTRUCTION: One day, Mat was driving by Matt's high school. What he saw there reminded him of Matt and inspired Mat's hit song "Undeniable." "His school was being demolished," Mat says. "A lot of destruction had to take place for something new to rise. That was like Matt's old life being demolished so a new faith could rise."

Today, Matt's faith stands tall. Now, he leads the Starbucks group. About 20 guys gather each week and Matt likes sharing his story of how God changed his life.

And it's all because God used the struggles of Mat's "worst, darkest, loneliest time" to change the future of someone who could relate.

Jordan Bilyeu, Tsunami Survivor

It was the day after Christmas and Jordan Bilyeu, 17, sat on a beach absorbed in a good book. For the last couple of days, Jordan had been vacationing on his grandparents' sailboat off of Thailand and decided to hang out by himself on nearby Phi Phi Island. His grandparents sailed off and he was left to read.

At the end of a paragraph, he glanced up to look at the ocean. It wasn't there. It simply seemed to have "disappeared" as if it had been sucked away. Just then, a huge wall of water—a tsunami—raced toward the beach.

The massive wave crashed on shore and the raging current jerked Jordan under water. Objects smashed into him and his legs were tangled in debris. As he gasped for breath and choked in mouthfuls of water, he desperately prayed: God, please help me! Don't let me die!

Just when he was certain he'd drown, his head poked out of the tossing waves. Desperately, he grasped onto the very tip of a palm tree. "All I could see was water," he said. "I knew if I let go, I'd be washed away into the ocean." He prayed: Oh God, please give me strength to hold on.

When Jordan noticed the water was moving toward land and not out to sea, he released his grip on the tree and floated on a propane tank until he drifted toward a hotel. Hands stretched down through a broken window and pulled him to safety. Once inside, his rescuers bandaged one of his fingers because it had been severed at the tip. But he soon forgot his own pain and started helping others.

"As soon as I could, I ran to the window to see if there were more survivors," Jordan said. "In two hours, we rescued 13 people." When the waters receded, Jordan's grandparents landed on Phi Phi Island and found the group searching for victims on the shore. They joined Jordan in locating and aiding victims throughout the night.

The December 26, 2004, tsunami, caused by an enormous earthquake, killed almost 300,000 people in several countries and islands across southern Asia and eastern Africa. Of more than 200 people on the Phi Phi Island beach that day, Jordan was one of only two known survivors.

"I'm thankful to be alive," Jordan says. "But I'm even more thankful that God used me to help others. God changed my life. I don't take anything for granted anymore."

Jordan's always been active in his youth group in Oregon, but his faith has new meaning now. "I want all that God has for me. He not only saved me from my sins, he saved me during the tsunami. I owe my life to him and I'll go wherever he wants me to go—even into the face of another storm."

I Was the Team Joke


As my brother Scott drove me to my first day of high school basketball camp, I cranked up the radio's volume knob until the floorboards shook from the thundering boom of the bass. I was pumped. All summer long I'd been working in my driveway to perfect my ball–handling skills.

My jump shot was great, and I was sinking free throws left and right. Wait until my teammates see what I can do! But when we got to school and I stepped inside the gym, I couldn't believe my eyes.

Last year I was the strongest, tallest eighth–grader on the team. But now, I looked like a Chihuahua lost on an NBA court. Everyone towered over me. And these guys hadn't just been growing taller over the summer; they'd also spent time bulking up in the weight room.

"Hey, Casbon!" someone yelled from across the gym. I didn't recognize the guy at first, but when I looked more closely, I realized it was Steve*, one of the puny nerds I used to run over every time I charged down the court for a lay–up. Steve wasn't so puny or nerdy anymore. He had to have grown four inches and gained 30 pounds.

"So, watcha been drinking this summer?" Steve asked with a laugh. "Not much milk, I take it," he smirked as he slapped me hard on the back.

Just two seconds into camp and already a joke about my height. And it didn't stop there.

After a few drills, it was clear that I was no longer the fastest or strongest kid on the team. As my dad would say, I'd had my "day in the sun." Now, it seemed, I was living under a dark cloud—a cloud that hung above the court and wouldn't budge. Even Coach jumped on the browbeating bandwagon, suggesting that my jersey read "Little Cas" rather than "Casbon."

As my brother drove me home from practice, I thought back to the last year when I'd been the athletic stud everybody looked up to. Now I was the one looking up.

That's it, I thought to myself. I'll just quit the team. That way I won't have to worry about getting hassled and teased every day. But I wasn't usually the kind of guy to just quit when things got tough. Besides, I didn't want to drop the one sport I really loved.

That evening as I practiced free throws in my driveway, I thought about something from the Bible I'd studied a few weeks earlier at my church's youth retreat. It was from Luke 9:46-48: "An argument started among the disciples as to which of them would be the greatest. Jesus, knowing their thoughts, took a little child and … said to them, 'Whoever welcomes this little child in my name welcomes me.… For he who is least among you all—he is the greatest'" (NIV).

As I thought about that verse, I realized I was acting like the disciples. I was all worried about being bigger—and better—than the other guys. But my size didn't matter to Jesus, so I figured it shouldn't matter to me. I loved basketball and I loved the thrill of playing. I decided to try my best to not let all the ribbing get to me.

Maybe the guys will decide that playing ball is more interesting than teasing me, I thought. Maybe tomorrow will be better.

I was wrong. For the next three weeks, the short jokes continued.

"Casbon, want me to get you a step stool to make those free throws a little easier for ya?"

"You should gel up your hair. That might add an inch."

"Hey, Little Cas, I can hoist you onto my shoulders if you want."

Finally, I'd reached my boiling point.

"I've had it," I vented to Scott one evening after practice. "I hate my life!" I yelled as I flung my gym bag across the driveway.

Scott's eyebrows shot up. "What's with you?" he asked.

"My teammates are such jerks," I snarled through gritted teeth. "You'd think they'd run out of putdowns, but no—every day they've got fresh material. I'm sick of it!" I sat down on my basketball and buried my face in my dirty, calloused hands.

"Remember last year?" I moaned. "I was the star of the team. Now I feel like such a loser."

"Hey, man, you're the same guy you were then."

"Yeah, that's the problem," I shot back. "I've stayed the same and everyone else changed for the better."

"So your teammates have a few inches on you," Scott stated, shrugging his shoulders. "What's the big deal?"

"Easy for you to say. You're not the one getting ripped on day after day!"

I was mad. Mad at my body for not growing. Mad at my parents for not providing me with better genes. Mad at God for giving me the sweet taste of stardom one year and then ripping it away from me the next.

"Why is God punishing me?" I shouted. "What did I do to deserve this?"

"Oh, gimme a break," Scott groaned. "We've been getting teased for one thing or another since we were first–graders."

"I knew I could count on my big brother for support," I said sarcastically.

He laughed. "Seriously, T, you shouldn't be blaming God. He's been great to you. Sure, you'll never rival Michael Jordan on the court, but if, academically, you had to go head–to–head with Air, you'd blow him away."

"Ya think so?" I said, a little surprised by my brother's compliment.

"Hey, don't get a swelled head or anything, but do you know how many guys on your team would trade their height in a heartbeat if they could have your great grades?"

"Well, maybe …"

"You take it for granted because studying comes easy to you, but not everyone is so lucky. A lot of us work really hard and still can't pull off decent grades."

It's true that I'd always done well in school and kind of took it for granted. I stood there for a moment, really quiet. I am the guy I am and I need to be satisfied with that, I thought. Sure, if I happened to grow in the next year or two, I definitely would be happy, but if not, well, maybe that's how God wanted it. Maybe he had a reason for making me this way … and who am I to knock God for his creation?

"Yeah, I guess I'm OK with the way I am," I finally admitted.

Scott leaned against the basketball goal, crossed his arms, and asked with a smirk, "So, T, seriously, you've gotten, what, like one B in your entire life?"

I paused and grinned. "Actually, straight A's."

"Loser," Scott groaned, rolling his eyes toward the sky.

"We'll see about that," I said as I bounced the basketball over to him. "How about a little one–on–one?"

"You're on, Little Cas," he said, trying to rattle me with my new nickname. But his strategy didn't work. I wasn't 6 feet tall, but I still had some smooth moves. I bobbed to the right, faked Scott out, weaved to my left, drove to the basket, and jumped up for the shot. Swish.

Little Cas: two. Scott: zip. Even for a short guy, things were looking up.

Why Was I Talking to Him?


I stood on the porch and knocked on the screen door, probably a little harder than I should have. Finally, Jason* came to the door and immediately gave me a funny look that said, What in the world are you doing here?

For a moment, I felt like turning and running. Yet I knew exactly what I was doing there. I'd gotten home from school that afternoon and felt like I should invite Jason, a guy I knew only from school, to my church's youth retreat.

The feeling just wouldn't go away. It was like God was telling me to get going. So I hopped on my bike and rode to Jason's house. I had a little trouble finding his place because I'd never been there. But along the way, I met up with his cousin and he gave me directions.

So, there I was, standing on Jason's porch talking to him through his screen door. After I told him about the retreat, I also talked about what it meant to have a relationship with Jesus Christ.

Early in our conversation, I turned briefly and watched a carload of kids from school drive past. I cringed, hoping they wouldn't see me. Then I quickly thought, Amber, what are you thinking? Why does it matter what they think? Even though it didn't matter, it probably seemed weird that I was on Jason's porch.

He wasn't exactly the most popular guy around. In fact, he was different from all the other kids at my small Midwestern high school. He painted his fingernails black and wore Ozzy Osbourne T–shirts. He was the type of kid others ignored and talked about behind his back.

When I met Jason back in ninth grade, I found him pretty scary at first. But then I thought about how I'd once felt like the outsider, too. When I moved here a few years ago, I didn't know anybody.

And it seemed like everybody was happy to keep it that way. In time, though, the barriers came down for me and I managed to fit in better. But I still remembered what it was like to be the outsider. I was pretty sure Jason experienced this same feeling every day. So when I'd see Jason in the hall, I'd smile and say hi.

When we had a class together, I tried to talk with him. To be honest, Jason wasn't very open about God. Each time I'd bring up my faith, he'd say something weird or try to change the subject.

But I was determined not to give up because I saw so much potential in Jason. He was the kind of guy who didn't care what others thought of him—the kind of person who would make a great follower of Christ! He also was pretty passionate about his opinions and interests. I figured if he got to know Jesus, his commitment would be unstoppable.

He'd probably change his Ozzy T–shirt to those in–your–face shirts about God. More than that, he seemed so sad and lost. I wanted him to know the hope and joy that came from a relationship with Jesus Christ. And I wanted Jason to know that when he died he'd go to heaven.

So there I was, standing on that porch, with a screen door between us, talking to Jason about his need for Jesus. Unlike other times I'd witnessed to him, he seemed interested. He didn't back away, tell me to get lost or try to change the subject. He asked good, honest questions this time, and he really listened as I explained how Jesus had died for his sins.
When it came time for me to leave, I asked Jason if he'd like to have a relationship with God. He thought a moment, then said no. He also said he wouldn't be able to make the retreat.

But as I hopped back on my bike, I couldn't help but believe something good had just taken place. I believed God was working and helping Jason take one small step closer to salvation. If nothing else, I was sure Jason believed I really cared about him and his life. If he knew that, I was sure he also somehow knew God cared for him, too.

I Hid My Pain

I chucked a stack of old CD cases across my room. They can't do this! I thought, grabbing a pillow and hurling it against the wall. They're Christians. Christians don't get divorced.

It was May of my eighth–grade year, and my parents had just told my brother and me that their marriage was over. All evening long, one word screamed in my mind over and over: "Why?" But I kept the question to myself. I also hid my anger, letting it escape and explode only when I was alone.

After my parents told us about their plans to divorce, my family lived like strangers in the same house. My parents slept in different rooms and we never ate meals together. No one talked much. Most days, Dad didn't say a single word to anyone.

As much as I hated hanging around the house, I dreaded going out, too. Everyone had heard about our family's situation, and every Sunday at church I had to face hundreds of sympathetic stares. My friends and youth pastor asked me lots of questions.

"How are you holding up, Alex?"

"Fine."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"No, thanks. I'm fine."

Deep down, though, I knew I wasn't fine. I was mad. Sometimes I thought maybe I should pray, but I really didn't think it would do any good. While I'd prayed to accept Christ when I was a small child, my faith wasn't something I'd really thought that much about. As I looked at how awful my life had become, God couldn't have seemed farther away.

Then about a month after that awful family meeting, I'd had enough. I stuffed clothes into a duffle bag and went to the front door. I didn't know where I'd go; I just had to get out. I grabbed the doorknob, then paused.

As badly as I wanted to leave, I couldn't make myself open the door. I headed back upstairs to my room and dropped my duffle bag on the floor. Flopping onto the bed, I couldn't think of anything else to do but pray.

"All right, God," I said aloud. "If I'm going to stay here, you have to help me."

As I lay there staring at the ceiling, I realized how much I needed God. And I not only needed him to help me through this awful experience, but I knew I needed him all the time.

Sobbing, I begged God to forgive me for not trusting him, for trying to get through this tough time without his help. It's strange, but I didn't feel so angry anymore. While I was still very sad, I no longer felt like I wanted to throw stuff and I certainly didn't feel like I had to run away.

I prayed more after that day. At first, I didn't know what to say, so I just repeated again and again, "Help me, please help me! I can't do this."

At youth group one night, my buddy Mike grabbed my arm. "You OK, man?"

My first thought was to tell him I was fine. Instead, I took a deep breath and said, "Um, not really. Can we talk?"

Talking to Mike felt good. Since his parents had also divorced, Mike knew exactly what I'd been going through. After that conversation, I started opening up more with my close friends and youth pastor. It even got a little easier to talk with my family. The more I talked to others, the easier it was to pray. Soon, I found myself talking to God all the time—about decisions and problems and even everyday stuff.

My parents' divorce four years ago was the worst thing that had ever happened to me. But out of it came a closer relationship with God—the best thing that's ever happened to me.

Those difficult days taught me that I couldn't make it on my own. It's such a relief to open up to people who really care about me. Most importantly, I discovered how much I need God, and how important it is to really live for him.

Another Boring Talk?

I sat near the middle of the room as the worship band hit a guitar chord and asked us to stand. Eventually, I got up, stuck my hands in my pockets and stared blankly toward the front of the room. Of course, when worship ended, I'd have to sit through a long, boring retreat talk. Boring.

That one word summed up my attitude about worship times during retreats. It's not like I hated retreats. If I had, I wouldn't have gone. I liked the games we played and I liked hanging out with my friends. But I sure didn't like those times I had to sit in a hot room with dozens of people and listen to talks that seemed to go on forever.

When the singing ended, the retreat speaker walked to the front of the room. His name was Sam and for some reason he immediately caught my attention. Maybe it was his cool personality. Or maybe it was the great stories he told. Whatever the reason, I was excited to hear more.

I don't remember everything Sam said during that first talk. I do know he challenged us to live for God. He also stressed that our day–to–day actions were ways to worship God.

After Sam ended his talk, I found myself singing a little more loudly during the closing worship time. When the session ended, I wasn't ready to go, either. And it was like that for the whole retreat. I still enjoyed the fun stuff, but I couldn't get enough of Sam's talks.

Throughout the retreat, Sam kept relating God and worship to our daily lives. Whether we're doing chores around the house or hanging out with friends, he said, we should try to act in a way that would make God happy.

I want to do that, I thought. I want my life to make God happy to know me. I want to live in a way that will bring a smile to his face.

During his closing talk, Sam said something like this:

"Don't let what's happened here slip away in a week. Don't go back to your normal life. Live for Christ every single day."

I must admit that it would have been easy to just let the excitement of the retreat die away and go back to my "normal life." So shortly after the retreat, I got into a small group with some other guys who were also serious about living for God. We did devotions together. Our group leader, Nate, showed us how to make the Bible more real in our lives. We supported each other through tough times and just had a lot of fun together.

It's been a couple of years since that retreat and my life hasn't been the same. I don't mean to say that I'm somehow perfect. There are plenty of times I don't live like I should.

But I am different. I don't fight with my older brother nearly as much as I used to. I also find myself wanting to share God's love with others. Awhile back, I was kicking a soccer ball around the church parking lot with some of my friends. I noticed this kid standing all by himself. So I kicked the ball his way and encouraged him to kick it back. He did. It didn't take long for him to join us.

Before attending that retreat where Sam talked, I don't think I would have even noticed a kid standing all by himself. But now it just comes kind of naturally.

I'm glad I no longer see singing praise songs and talks about God as something to just "get through" so I can go have fun. I'm also glad I have a better understanding of what it means to worship.

Worshiping God is really important to me. It keeps me on track. It helps me do the right thing and make better choices. And I really do believe that each act of worship brings a big grin to God's face. What could be better than making God smile?

My Best Friend Needed God

I punched Rick. He punched me. We ended up in detention together. As we walked out of detention, we got to talking about how stupid our fight had been. Before we knew it, we were best friends. After that, we only fought for fun, like when we watched pro wrestling together. That was way back in fifth grade.

Then something happened in middle school that totally turned my life around. A guy from school named Dave kept bugging me to come to his church youth group. For three months, he nagged me and nagged me. I finally said, "Dave, I'll go once, if it will shut you up!"

To make a long story short, I went, met a lot of cool people there, went back again and again, and I soon ended up asking Jesus to be my Lord and Savior. God totally changed my life, too. I know it sounds weird, but life suddenly seemed like an exciting adventure.

The bad thing was, Rick didn't feel the same way about God as I did. That really bothered me. After all, he was my best friend in the whole world. I wanted him to go to heaven and I wanted to spend eternity with him. And I wanted him to find out how cool life could be with Jesus Christ at the center of it.

One night during the summer before eighth grade, we camped out in his back yard. As we stared upward at the star–dotted darkness, Rick started asking me a lot of questions about religion. Soon I was telling him about everything I knew at the time. No big theological insights. I just knew the basics: Without God, we're sinners bound for hell. With Christ, we're saved and that means heaven. Most of all, I told him how Jesus had changed my life.

"I don't know too much, dude," I remember saying. "But I do know that without Jesus we're lost. Just try it, just try asking God to change your life. If it doesn't work, forget it. But at least try it."

He told me that what I'd said seemed to make sense and that he'd like to give God a try. So I asked him to repeat a prayer: "God, I know I'm a sinner. Please change my life for the better. Take away my sin. I want to give my life to you."

God did change Rick's life that night. Now he's one of the strongest Christians I know. He's even shared Jesus with his mom and now she's a Christian.

It's really cool to think about how sharing God works. Dave invited me to youth group and I became a Christian. I then told Rick about God and he became a Christian, and then Rick talked to his mom and she became a Christian. Who knows how God will use Rick's mom to lead others to Jesus. It's like this cool ripple in a pool that keeps going and going and going.

Witnessing gets me excited, but I know I need to be careful. I can't measure success by how many people pray after I talk to them. When I get that kind of attitude, my youth pastor tells me to lighten up. He says to leave the results to God. That makes sense. God is the one who changes hearts, not me. I just need to share my beliefs with the right attitude and then let God do what he wants to do.

Sometimes people wonder why I'm so into letting others know about my faith. I like to tell them something like this:

"If you understand what Jesus did for you on the cross, why wouldn't you want to share it with others? I just want to be a helping hand that helps people in need. I want to be a shoulder to cry on for someone who's hurting. I just want to be there when people have questions about God that I can hopefully answer. That's what's important."

And that's why I do what I do.

Exclusive

I lay on my bed, letting warm, wet tears fall as I picked up the phone and dialed *Paul's number. As he answered with his usual, upbeat "hello," I thought about how close we'd become after three years of dating.

We were best friends. And that's why this was so hard. For a moment I felt like hanging up and pretending I hadn't called, but I couldn't. I needed to go through with this. I hesitated, pausing. My throat felt dry as I told him why I'd called. "We have to break up."

Paul was quiet for a long moment before letting out a long and frustrated sigh. I told him why I decided to end the relationship. "We never talk about God. He's … so important and being with you … is hurting my relationship with him."

"Sometimes you're just too serious about God," Paul mumbled.

I cried harder, barely getting out what I wanted and needed to say.

"We don't hang out with friends anymore. … We … we have different interests, but we never get to do them because we're always together. I never talk with my parents anymore and I can't remember the last time I hung out with my little sister." Paul sighed again. "Do you really think I care about them? If you want to break up, then whatever."

In that moment I realized how far off track I'd gotten. We were both Christians, but really weren't compatible. He didn't think our exclusive relationship was a problem. But I knew focusing only on him had hurt so much in my life. Paul and I said goodbye and I pressed the "end" button on my phone.

It was over. Curling up in bed and crying harder than I ever had before, I let my mind drift back, hoping to discover where things went wrong.

It was early December, five years ago, and I was the new girl at a Christian school. Julia, a fellow eighth–grader, had befriended me. One afternoon we were jogging side–by–side, doing our warm up laps around the school gym.

"Do you really think Paul likes me?" I asked hopefully.

"I think so. I mean, he wrote you that note."

During my next class I wrote Paul back. We wrote notes for two weeks. Then one night he came to my choir concert.

"I was wondering if you wanted to go out with me." Paul asked me after the concert. He looked as nervous as I felt, but I tried to keep my heart from leaping from my body.

"OK."

After that night we hung out almost every weekend and were officially considered "an item" by our classmates.

By sophomore year Paul and I were inseparable. I began missing my friends, but I knew I'd miss Paul more. I didn't realize it at the time, but my relationship with him was beginning to consume me.

It was mid–June and the summer before my junior year. I sat in the living room reading entries in my sophomore yearbook when the phone rang.

"Mom! If that's Sarah just let it go."

Sarah left a message on the answering machine.

"Kate, I really miss you. We haven't hung out in forever. I know you love Paul, but you need to make time for your girlfriends. I'm not the only one who feels like this. Call me." Click.

My mom sat down next to me.

"You need to go out with your friends more, sweetie. Paul isn't everything."

I looked at my yearbook and didn't answer. I was rereading a short message from a girlfriend.

"Well, Kate," it read. "I didn't get to see you a lot this year. Except for in the hall when you were talking to Paul."

I shut my yearbook hard and thought about Sarah's message a few minutes ago. Part of me had really wanted to pick up the phone and talk to her, but I really didn't want to hear Sarah lecture me one more time on how I was becoming a different person around my friends, family and God.

Lecture or no lecture, down deep inside I knew Sarah was right. I was compromising my relationships and especially my relationship with God. My thoughts and heart weren't where they should be. I didn't spend time with God each day. Sure, I attended church on Sundays, but all I cared about was how my outfit and hair looked. I wanted to look good for Paul.

I knew what I had to do.

Kate! Get up! Why aren't you ready to go?"

My head was heavy. I had just broken up with Paul an hour before. I slowly sat up in bed and stared at my sister. "We have to go! We have to be at camp in half an hour!"

Anne and I were volunteering at a local Christian camp for underprivileged children and today was our first day. I had completely forgotten about it. I was groggy, tired, and still really upset, but my sister wasn't taking no for an answer.

At first, going to camp was the last thing I wanted to do on such a horrible day. But as I helped the kids color and paint, I found myself smiling and laughing. I was able to look around and see a world that was about so much more than a relationship with one guy. I started to understand I'd done the right thing and that eventually I'd feel better.

It's been two years since I broke up with Paul. Since then, my relationships with my family, friends and God have grown. I've been involved in a lot of cool things like mission trips, student council, student chapel and the school newspaper.

It hasn't always been easy. I sometimes find myself wishing I had a boyfriend. But when I get down, I think about all the great times I've been having with friends and family. And I've been involved with activities and service projects I'd probably had missed out on if I'd kept dating Paul or anyone else.

It really is good to no longer be defined by a dating relationship. I'm not just "Paul's girlfriend" anymore. I'm my own person with many wonderful goals and plans for my life. Most of all, I'm God's child. What could be better than that?

Sandcastles

Emma was busy–very busy. Her little mind raced with all the things she needed to get done on her sandcastle city. To her, getting her castle just right seemed to be the most important thing in the world.

Little did Emma dream that soon the ocean would sweep away all her work. She was stressing about something temporal and fleeting, and letting it rob her of really enjoying her day at the beach. Why, she practically ignored her father and those around her in her obsession with her sand creations, not realizing that she was ignoring the important for the unimportant.

“And the world passeth away, and the lust thereof: but he that doeth the will of God abideth for ever.” 1 John 2:17 (KJV)

“Labour not for the meat which perisheth, but for that meat which endureth unto everlasting life, which the Son of man shall give unto you: for him hath God the Father sealed.” John 6:27 (KJV)

“Whereas ye know not what shall be on the morrow. For what is your life? It is even a vapour, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away.” James 4:14 (KJV)

Job Position

POSITION: Mother, Mom, Mama

JOB DESCRIPTION:
Long-term team players needed for challenging permanent work
in an often chaotic environment.

Candidates must possess excellent communication and
organizational skills and be willing to work variable hours,
which will include evenings and weekends and frequent 24
hour shifts on call.

Some overnight travel required, including trips to primitive
camping sites on rainy weekends and endless sports tournaments
in far away cities. Travel expenses not reimbursed.

Extensive courier duties also required.

RESPONSIBILITIES:
The rest of your life. Must be willing to be hated, at least
temporarily, until someone needs $5. Must be willing to bite
tongue repeatedly. Also, must possess the physical stamina of a
pack mule and be able to go from zero to 60 mph in three seconds
flat in case, this time, the screams from the backyard are not
someone just crying wolf.

Must be willing to face stimulating technical challenges such
as small gadget repair, mysteriously sluggish toilets, and stuck
zippers.

Must screen phone calls, maintain calendars and coordinate
production of multiple homework projects. Must have ability to
plan and organize social gatherings for clients of all ages and
mental outlooks. Must be willing to be indispensable one
minute, an embarrassment the next.

Must handle assembly and product safety testing of a half
million cheap plastic toys and battery-operated devices.

Must always hope for the best but be prepared for the worst.
Must assume final, complete accountability for the quality of
the end product.

Responsibilities also include floor maintenance and janitorial
work throughout the facility.

POSSIBILITY FOR ADVANCEMENT AND PROMOTION:
Virtually none. Your job is to remain in the same position for
years, without complaining, constantly retraining and updating
your skills, so that those in your charge can ultimately surpass
you.

PREVIOUS EXPERIENCE:
None required unfortunately.
On-the-job training offered on a continually exhausting basis.

WAGES AND COMPENSATION:
Get this -- you pay them!
Offering frequent raises and bonuses. A balloon payment is due
when they turn 18 because of the assumption that college will
help them become financially independent.
When you die, you give them whatever is left.

The oddest thing about this reverse-salary scheme is that you
actually enjoy it and wish you could only do more.

BENEFITS:
While no health or dental insurance, no pension, no tuition
reimbursement, no paid holidays and no stock options are
offered, this job supplies limitless opportunities for personal
growth and free hugs for life if you play your cards right.

Not Good Enough?

The bell rings and the halls flood with students darting from class to class. Friends goof around and couples talk. But for Bethany Dillon, the time between classes wasn't always fun. Bethany, 16, says attending high school as a freshman made her feel a lot of pressure to look a certain way. It was like all eyes were on her as she passed through the halls. And anything that was different about her or made her stand out was open game for people to make fun of.

So, Bethany learned to put on her "game face." She'd walk through the hallway staring directly ahead of her, not smiling or making eye contact with anyone.

"As I walked through the halls, I didn't want to catch anyone's eye or stand out because that might invite judgment or mean comments," Bethany says. "As I got ready for school each morning, I'd look in the mirror and try to just be pretty enough or good enough to get by. But once I got to school, I knew I wouldn't be good enough in someone's eyes. To be worth anything to others, I sometimes still feel like I have to have the right clothes, look a certain way or have a boyfriend. I can feel so judged for things I can't control."

More Than This
During a series of youth group talks, Bethany learned that her desires to be noticed and to be valued are not wrong. These feelings, her youth pastor said, actually come from God. He wants us to find acceptance in him, Bethany says. But too often, we look elsewhere to fulfill this sense of worth.

Bethany wrote in her song "Beautiful" that she's worth more than what the mirror says. She's not just skin deep. "I struggle with self–esteem, but despite pimples or how kids are judging me, I know God thinks I am beautiful," she says. "There's more than this. I am worth God's love and I don't have to be pretty enough, wear enough makeup or have the right outfit."

With His Eyes
Whenever she struggles to like herself, Bethany tries to remember the story of David in 1 Samuel 16:7. She explains: "David was the son his dad didn't want anyone to know about. He was sort of the runt in the family. But God looked at his heart first. This verse is such a good reminder that God is not concerned with how we look. He doesn't even think about it. God has totally different eyes than we have. His sight is better than our sight."

Being Ok
Of course, it's easy to say you're OK with how you look because God loves you, Bethany says, but it's far harder to remember this truth when you're having an ugly day. "To be honest, I don't always look at the positive," Bethany says, "I throw pity parties. But I continually ask God to make me aware of what he cares about. I hope by getting to know him better, I will better realize what will pass away and what will last. That's what I want to concern myself with, not whether or not my shirt is in style."

Bethany has also learned that while mean words in the hallway can tear her down, kind words can make her day. "People who make me feel good are the ones who boldly tell me something they like about me," she says. "I try to do that for others too. In my youth group, we've talked about how important it is for girls to support each other, but it's also special for guys to encourage me.

"I know it's hard for guys to know what to say, but they should pray for wisdom. Think, What would I say if this was my little sister? I can still think of specific times my youth pastor, my dad or my brother have said, 'I'm praying for you' or 'I love what God is doing in your life.' Being reminded of God's promises by others means so much."

Letting go of anger

"What did you say?" I glared at the other waitress.

"You heard me," she shot back.

It was true. I had heard. She'd made a racist comment about my Mexican family.

"If you have a problem, we can talk in private, not in front of the customers," I said icily.

I felt my temper rising, but I kept calm. Then she pushed me on our way to the break room. I warned her to quit, and she pushed me again. My anger exploded, and I punched her in the face.

The manager fired both of us on the spot. Without a word, I grabbed my keys and marched out of the restaurant. She deserved what she got, I thought as I slammed my car door.

My temper hadn't always been so explosive. In eighth grade, it took all the courage I had to stand up for a girl who was often teased. From that day on, the bullies picked on me instead—at lunch, in the hallways and after school.

A group of girls followed me home from school almost every day, calling me names and shouting rude comments about my Mexican heritage. I took the abuse without saying a word. But inwardly, my heart screamed. I felt scared, ashamed and angry.

When I started high school, I made friends with some of the upperclassmen on my softball team. They warned the bullies to back off. With friends behind me, I found the courage to stand up for myself. One day freshman year, I overheard a couple of girls gossiping about me. I yelled and swore at them and warned them to get off my back. My intense reaction surprised me. I guess all that built-up anger was bound to spill out sooner or later. Pretty soon, my fiery temper earned me a reputation as someone who wouldn't take bullying from anyone. I started talking tough and even got into a few fistfights.

Even though I was a Christian, I hadn't allowed God into this angry part of my life. Then something happened to change all that. At youth group one Sunday night, two guys got into a shouting match, and one of them shoved the other to the floor. The next week, they stood in front of the group and apologized to each other, to us and to God. One of the guys read Proverbs 22:24 (NIV): "Do not make friends with a hot-tempered man, do not associate with one easily angered."

The words hit me like a blow to the gut. That verse is talking about me.

And what was it saying? Don't be friends with angry, hot-tempered me. I thought about the fights … the people I'd yelled at … being fired from my job. I thought about a guy from school who had made a rude comment to me a couple days earlier. I'd backed him against a locker and warned him never to mess with me again. What kind of person have I become?

The next day at school, I took my seat next to the boy I'd threatened. When our teacher passed back some homework, I handed him his paper.

"Thanks," he said.

"You're welcome."

My friend at the desk ahead of mine turned around and stared at me in shock. I felt stunned, too. Where did that come from? Normally, I would have antagonized the kid for at least a week. After class my friend asked me what the deal was, and I told her something had happened at church to change my attitude.


I've noticed a lot of changes in my life these days. I've even tried to say I'm sorry to people I've hurt with my anger. I also have been biting my tongue—something I never used to do. I find I'm able to stay cool in situations that used to send me into a rage. In spite of all the positive changes, I still get angry and swear sometimes, and I feel frustrated and wonder if I'll ever get things right.

I know if it were up to me, I wouldn't. Thankfully, it's not. I know Christ is working on my heart to change me little by little from the inside out.

Bitter Cures

One day as I sat musing,
Sad and lonely,
And without a friend,
A voice came to me,
From out of the gloom,
Saying, "Cheer up, things could be worse!"
So I cheered up,

And, sure enough,

Things got worse.

Sometimes it does look like things get worse when you do the
right thing.

It’s just temporary.

Sometimes it’s like medicine.
It’s bitter and often the cure seems bad, but it’s working.

Clayton Lillard doesn't look like Santa Claus. No beard. No red outfit. No sleigh. But to hundreds of needy kids, he might as well be the big guy in the red suit. After all, he's the one who dropped off a bike for them a couple of days before Christmas.

It all began in 1998 when he found two battered bikes on top of a pile of brush in his San Antonio neighborhood. The thought hit him: It would be really great to fix up those bikes and give them to kids who don't have one.

Clayton started by persuading a local radio station to announce that he was looking for 25 used bicycles, and soon other stations and newspapers began talking up his project. When a hundred bikes were dumped in his yard, he organized a group of neighborhood kids to help him repair them. With help from his dad, Clayton and his friends cleaned the bikes, replaced the tires and made minor repairs.

Then he rounded up donations for bike helmets and locks. He donated them as Christmas gifts to children who had a parent in prison. Since that first year, "Clayton's Backyard Crew" has repaired and donated more than 600 bikes through area churches' Angel Tree ministries, which give Christmas presents to kids who have a parent in jail.

"The kids think the bikes are from their incarcerated parent," says Clayton, now 16. "That's OK with me. Just seeing the excitement on their faces as they realize 'My Daddy loves me!' is the best reward."

Whenever he can, Clayton makes sure they know their Heavenly Father loves them, too; and that's why Jesus was born.

"This was God's idea," says Clayton. "He just allowed me to be the instrument that he used to bring his love to the children."

Forgiveness and Reconciliation

Then Peter came to Jesus and asked, “Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother when he sins against me? Up to seven times?” Jesus answered, “I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times. [Matthew 18:21-22]

"A Bad Dream"

“DAD how dare you look in my diary?” Max screamed at his father in fury. Chuck was red with anger at his little boy for what he read in that diary.

“How dare you lie to me? You said you would never smoke a cigarette and right here in this diary, you confess you have. Your promises are no good to me now Max!” Chuck yelled at his young son.

“Well my privacy is ruined. How I can ever trust you again!” Max said crying.

“Me? Its you who lied and I can never trust you again. I wish I never had a son.” Chuck said and right away he was sorry he said that. Max burst into tears and ran out the door to go down the block to his friends house to hide. Chuck slammed his hand down on the counter and hurt it. He hated fighting with his son. Parents hate it when their children are mad at them. It hurts them way down inside but sometimes they are proud and don’t know how to make things are ok.

“That kid drives me crazy.” Chuck fumed thinking of what he read in that diary. “Let him go. I will just take a nap.” And with that Chuck laid down on his sofa and went soundly to sleep.

Chuck woke up suddenly and looked around. It wasn’t his bedroom but some other place. He was on a flat white stone sleeping and there was no furniture and everything was dark all around him.

“Fluffy, where are you fluffy?” Chuck heard a familiar sound.

“Grandpa?” Chuck said as the elderly man walked past him looking for his dog. He said curious of how this could be considering Chuck’s grandfather went to be with Jesus long ago.

“Why hello little Chucky, are you ok?”

“Yes Grandpa, just didn’t expect to see you. Where are we?”

“Well I am in heaven. I am looking for our dog Fluffy. You remember Fluffy? You loved him so much. Well he is here now and he still likes to run away. Where are you Fluffy! Say, I am not sure why you are here. Is something wrong Chucky?”

“Well I sort of had a fight with Max and I guess that is on my mind. Oh yeah, Max is my son, your great grandson. He looks a lot like you Grandpa.”

“Aww, well I am sure he is a spark plug like you and your dad were growing up. Listen, the only regret I have from my life is that I went to heaven with some people who had not forgiven me. You probably don’t know this that when I died, I was not speaking to your mother, my daughter. It was something silly now that I look back on it but I wish I had apologized and got past it so I could have hugged her before….”

“ARF ARF.”

“Oh there you are Fluffy. Gotta run now. I have to get Fluffy home. Grandma is waiting supper on us.” Chuck’s grandfather said and then he was gone. Chuck didn’t know exactly what to make of it when he looked up and a large powerful man walked past him as he sat on the slab. The man walked like he had someplace important to go and did not look to the right or left.

“Dad?” Chuck said with amazement. The big man stopped in his tracks and looked at Chuck curiously.

“Son? Is that you? What are you doing here? Wait a minute. Are you asleep?” The big man asked.

“Well no Dad. Well, ummm, yes, I think so.” Chuck confessed.

“I thought so.” Chuck’s deceased father said with his big barrel laugh. “Ok spill it, what did you do wrong. When you were a kid, you always took a nap when you had done something wrong.”

“Well, it’s Max. He and I had a fight. I read his diary which was wrong but found out he lied to me which made me really mad and now I can’t forgive him.” Chuck told his father, the one guy he could always talk to.

“Chuck do you think you have ever been forgiven?” His Dad asked.

“Well, by you maybe, a few times.”

“Try 10,316 times Chuck. But that’s not what I mean. Who forgave you of everything and made it possible for you to go to heaven?”

Chuck thought for a moment and then he remembered his Sunday school classes when he was a child. “JESUS. That’s it isn’t it? He died on the cross so I could be forgiven.” Chuck said with excitement for getting the right answer.

“That’s right Chuck. God forgave us all of lots worse things than Max has done. And if He was willing to give his life for our forgiveness. It’s the least you can do to forgive Max, ask his forgiveness too. Do it now son, before it’s too late.” And with that Chuck’s dad stood and began to fade out.

“Wait dad, I wanted to ask you about how to build a shed.”

“No time now son. I have to go. Have you seen your Grandpa? He just stepped out to walk Fluffy.” And he was gone.

Suddenly Chuck woke up with a start. He realized he was home now but the visits from his ancestors had not been for nothing. Suddenly he heard the door to the house open. “Max is that you?”

Max entered the room looking very sad and staring down. Chuck stood up and put his hands on his shoulders and just said, “I’m sorry.” To stop themselves from crying (which men don’t like to do), Chuck and Max hugged and Chuck knew he would never let some little issue come between him and his son again.

“Therefore, the kingdom of heaven is like a king who wanted to settle accounts with his servants.

As he began the settlement, a man who owed him ten thousand talents was brought to him. Since he was not able to pay, the master ordered that he and his wife and his children and all that he had be sold to repay the debt.

“The servant fell on his knees before him. ‘Be patient with me,’ he begged, ‘and I will pay back everything.’
The servant’s master took pity on him, canceled the debt and let him go.

“But when that servant went out, he found one of his fellow servants who owed him a hundred denarii. He grabbed him and began to choke him. ‘Pay back what you owe me!’ he demanded.

“His fellow servant fell to his knees and begged him, ‘Be patient with me, and I will pay you back.’ “But he refused. Instead, he went off and had the man thrown into prison until he could pay the debt.
When the other servants saw what had happened, they were greatly distressed and went and told their master everything that had happened.

“Then the master called the servant in. ‘You wicked servant,’ he said, ‘I canceled all that debt of yours because you begged me to. Shouldn’t you have had mercy on your fellow servant just as I had on you?’

In anger his master turned him over to the jailers to be tortured, until he should pay back all he owed.
“This is how my heavenly Father will treat each of you unless you forgive your brother from your heart.” [Matthew 18:23-35]

Pennies from Heaven

A woman of modest means and her husband were invited to spend the weekend at the husband's employer's home. The boss was very wealthy, with an estate home and several cars costing more than the average house. The woman delighted to experience first hand the life of the extremely wealthy. The boss indulged his guests both at home on his estate as well as out as exclusive dining establishments.

On one occasion as they were about to enter an exclusive restaurant, the boss was walking slightly ahead of them. He stopped suddenly, looking down on the pavement for a long, silent moment. An awkward silence folllowed. There was nothing on the ground except a single darkened penny that someone had dropped, a few cigarette butts and assorted litter.

Quietly, the rich man reached down and picked up the penny. He held it up and smiled, then put it in his pocket as if he had found a great treasure. How absurd! What need did this man have of a single penny? Why would he even take the time to stop and pick it up?

Throughout dinner, the penny bothered her. Finally, she causally mentioned that her son once had a coin collection, and asked if the penny he had found had been rare. A smile crept across the man's face as he reached into his pocket for the penny and held it out for her to see.

"Look at it." He said. "Read what it says." She read the words "United States of America." "No, not that; read further." "One cent?" "No, keep reading." "In God we Trust?" "Yes!" "And?" "And if I trust in God, the name of God is holy, even on a coin.

Whenever I find a coin I see that inscription. It is written on every single United States coin, but we never seem to notice it! God drops a message right in front of me telling me to trust Him?

Who am I to pass it by? When I see a coin, I pray, I stop to see if my trust IS in God at that moment. I pick the coin up as a response to God; that I do trust in Him. For a short time, at least, I cherish it as if it were gold. I think it is God's way of starting a conversation with me.

Lucky for me, God is patient and pennies are plentiful!"

The Speed of Life

The busier I get, the less I get done...
The faster I go, the less I progress...

The Bible?! I don't have time to read that.
I'll hear it on Sunday anyway...

Prayer?
God knows my heart and the Holy Spirit can read my mind...

I cannot stop to pick him up,
appointments won't allow...

to get into a conversation--
I cannot see how...

I don't have time to listen to
that man that said "Hello..."

Have I too many things to do
to really get to know?

Who are those people growing up
before my very eyes?

It seems each time I stop and look
they are another size!

Who is that woman in my home?
Her beauty changes not,

but if I have to ask these,
what priorities have I got?

"O where did I ignore that compass
keeping me on track?

Each chapter and each verse of such--
Lord, have I been that slack?

Stable me again upon
that course that prospers all:

where I am guided by Your Spirit--
answering Your call."

Repentance. It MUST be from the heart!
It MUST start in the home.

It MUST be done if I am to be effective at all...
ANYWHERE!

I Was Boy-Crazy

About a Boy:

The picture didn't show the guy's head, but ZOEgirl's Chrissy Conway knew who it was: It was Will. No, Chrissy, a high school sophomore at the time, didn't know him. They'd never even said "hi" in the halls. But when Chrissy found a photo of this cute boy from the neck down, she hung it in her locker. She looked at it all year and planned ways they could meet.

"I was obsessed with trying to find him after class," Chrissy says. "He didn't even know my name, but I wasted my whole year just obsessing over this guy."

Wrong Choices:

Chrissy regrets spending so much time in high school obsessing over boys like Will. "When I didn't have a boyfriend, I was busy looking for one," Chrissy says. "But I wasn't mature enough to even really know what I wanted. So, I was making bad decisions based on the wrong things."

This wasn't just a waste of time—it was bad news too. "When I would try too hard, wear revealing clothes to impress guys, or base choices on popularity and looks, I'd attract the wrong type of guy," she says. "This is really harmful because guys can get into your mind in weird ways. And they can get you doing things that you thought you'd never do."

Wasted Time:

Chrissy, who got married this year, says she wishes she could take back all her high school boyfriends. "I just wasn't ready to know who I was or what I needed, so I didn't always make wise choices," she says. "The guy I married is completely opposite of anyone I would have looked for in high school."

"If I had set my mind on my friends, activities, God or enjoying high school instead of making sure I had somebody to date, I would have been so much happier," she says. "I wish someone would have told me that the best years were yet to come and to make high school a fun time and a time to discover who I was—not a time of finding someone to marry. When you're alone, it's hard to trust God has that right person waiting for you, but now I know he does."

I Felt Dead Inside

Two weeks before the end of my sophomore year, I noticed a teacher's gaze linger on my arms just a second too long. I panicked as I imagined what he was thinking. How on earth did her arm get that way? Could it have been an accident?

Before he could ask, I chuckled and told him the scratches came from one of my family's cats. He bought the story, even though my nervous laughter was half an octave too high.

I was usually more careful—wearing long sleeves to cover my arms, changing for gym in a corner so the other girls wouldn't see the marks on my stomach—but today I'd carelessly worn a short-sleeved shirt and almost got caught. That was one of several times my secret could have come to light. But somehow, I made it to graduation without anyone finding out the truth: I was a cutter.

I grew up in church and Christian school, and until I was 13, my childlike faith was unshakeable. I won contests for memorizing Scripture verses and lived for the approval I got at church.

At the same time, I had a difficult time at home. My mom was often busy, and my dad, who wasn't a Christian then, was usually yelling at me—when he wasn't ignoring me. I spent my childhood trying to fill the hole that loneliness left inside.

I was depressed. I was full of emotions I couldn't handle alone. But since I got straight As, was rarely in trouble and didn't seem to need close friends, no one noticed how bad I was hurting. Late one August night when I was 13, I sat in my mom's home office watching TV. As scene after scene of smiling, laughing people flashed across the screen, I felt overwhelmed. I'd had another rotten day, and the heaviness in my heart was as inescapable as the Alabama humidity.

I rummaged through Mom's desk drawers and found a small, sharp knife. My glasses fogged over with tears. My mind raced, full of unwelcome thoughts that finally caught up with me.

What's wrong with me?

The world around me seemed still, peaceful. Crickets chirped contentedly in the summer night.

Why can't I have any of that peace?

The soft rumble of the TV's laugh track echoed off the walls.

Why am I so alone?

I gasped, choking back sobs in the sauna-thick air and drew the knife across my arm.

Cutting seemed at first to give me a release for my feelings. It made me feel like I was in control. But like any addiction, the cutting began to control me. For the first few minutes, I'd feel better. Then the shame I felt afterward for hurting myself caused even worse pain than the hurt I'd tried to escape. Years passed, and I couldn't stop.

One night, everything changed.

I sat on the balcony of my apartment and looked into the April night. The clear sky was filled with stars and the scent of spring—of life—wafted along in the air. But I felt dead inside.

Already drunk, I went inside and mixed another drink. I found a kitchen knife and was reckless
When I couldn't stop the bleeding, I chewed a dozen mints to mask the scent of alcohol on my breath and drove to the hospital. I didn't want to die. I only wanted to stop hurting, and cutting relieved my inner pain for a few moments.

I knew the nurse in the ER was on to me when she asked, "How did your arm come to look like that?"

There was no way the usual lie about my cat would work.

I told her what happened in a bored, matter-of-fact voice. "I cut my arm. I was mad." I shrugged and looked away, but not before I saw the disgust in her eyes. She'd come to work to care for people who'd been hurt by things out of their control— car accidents, fires—and here she was, helping someone who'd injured herself.

I was ashamed.

I started seeing a counselor after the ER trip. The first day in his office, I flopped into the leather chair across from his desk. He glanced at my paperwork, swiveled to face me, and said, "So, you're depressed, and you suspect you have a drinking problem. Anything else I should know?"

I looked him directly in the eyes. "Yeah. This. I'd like to stop doing this." In one motion, I pushed my sleeve up to my elbow.

He nodded without judgment or pity. "OK," he said, and held my gaze long enough to show me he wasn't avoiding my eyes. He placed me in the hospital's psych unit because he was afraid I would commit suicide. He was right to be afraid. I might have taken my life or died the way many cutters do—in an accident that looks like suicide, a cut too near an artery that causes death before the cutter can get help.

After treatment at the psych ward, I saw my counselor regularly for nearly two years. I realized how destructive my behavior was when he asked me to imagine myself cutting my worst enemy the way I'd cut myself.

I couldn't picture it. My legs squeaked against the leather chair as I shifted, eyes shut, trying to imagine myself hurting the person I liked least. I would never do that to another person, not even people who treated me badly. Why was I willing to do it to myself?

My counselor helped me understand that I'd become so desperately sad because I felt utterly alone. I felt separated from everyone—even God—because I focused on my painful past instead of asking for help to look toward the future.

My counselor helped me change my thinking, but the permanent changes in my heart came from God's love. A godly Christian became a mentor and caring adult friend to me. He helped me understand I was broken. I knew that on my own, I was helpless to stop hating myself.

But I wasn't unfixable. Like everyone else in this broken world, I needed God to be my Father, protector, Lord and Savior. Accepting Jesus gave me the connection and the firmness in faith that made the difference in my healing.

My mentor suggested I read Brennan Manning's book, The Ragamuffin Gospel. As I read, I learned that I didn't have to be afraid of God. Asking him for help wasn't like going to a mean boss and asking for time off from work. Instead, I, God's little girl, was asking him for things he already wanted to give me: love and care, help and healing, protection and guidance.

Everything has changed for me in the six years since that night in the ER. I struggled with my addiction to cutting for a while, but I'm proud to say that it's been more than four years since I last cut.

That doesn't mean it's been easy. Not long ago, a friend hurt me deeply, and I felt the old urge. But with God's help, I didn't give in.

When I think about how I cope with pain and loneliness, I think of a toolbox. A few years ago, my toolbox only had two things inside: a razor blade and a bottle of rum. Now, it's filled with healthy things.

Things like good books that feed my mind and soothe my heart. A pair of walking shoes, because a 3-mile walk can solve almost anything. A cell phone programmed with numbers of people who care about me, like my counselor, who I wouldn't hesitate to call in a time of need.

A schedule of meetings for a 12-step group. A journal and several good pens. And a Bible, because God's Word brings comfort that earthly things can never provide.

I've been through a lot of difficult stuff in the last four years, but the love of my heavenly Father and the people he's placed in my life have seen me through. Now, I can reach out to cutters because I know how they feel. I want them to know that God's love is more powerful than any knife or razor blade. His love heals all inner scars.

If a Friend Cuts

Do:
Talk to your friend. React in a caring way by gently pointing out what you've seen. You could say something like: "I could be wrong, but I've noticed a lot of scratches and scars on your body. Did you make them? I'm really worried about you and want to help."

Tell an adult. Ask a youth pastor, school counselor, teacher, coach or other trustworthy adult to help you decide how to act on your suspicion. Don't try to handle this alone.

Understand your own limits. You can be a friend, but you can't be a counselor, therapist, parent or pastor. Taking on too much of another person's pain is not healthy for you or for them.

Pray for your friend. Cutting is a serious thing, but it's usually a symptom of a deeper problem. Only God can heal broken hearts and minds. Talk to him often on behalf of your friend.

Don't:

Discuss it with others. Except for the trusted adult you've asked for help, don't talk to others about your hurting friend. You may not be a gossip, but you can't predict how another person will react to your suspicion that someone might be a cutter.

Plus, cutters often feel like outcasts. Spreading the word about someone's problem to others can make that feeling much worse.
Accuse a cutter of "just wanting attention." Some cutters desperately want attention. Others don't. But someone who is willing to cut himself or herself needs attention. Help them get it from a trustworthy adult.

Treat cutting like a suicide attempt. It sounds strange, but your friend is probably cutting herself because she wants to live, not because she wants to die. In her mind, it gives her enough relief to help her keep moving on. It's a bad way to cope, but it's still how they're trying to deal with their inner pain—not evidence of a death wish.

Nick Donner, Champion Balloonist

The balloon bulges with hot air as Nick Donner jumps into the basket. Slowly the balloon rises and soars skyward into bright blueness. Looking over the basket's edge, Nick watches his Kentucky home shrink to a tiny speck he could hold in the palm of his hand. The sky around him is dotted with colorful balloons a lot like his own.

"When I look down at all that God has made, it's so perfect," Nick says. "Even the way the wind comes out of nowhere and gives me a new direction."

But this is not just a fun flight on a lazy afternoon. It's a major race carried along by often-changing air currents. With his balloon soaring at more than 11,000 feet, Nick carefully watches the movements and maneuvers of the brightly colored balloons dotting the sky.

Nick, 20, flies in hot air balloon races all over the world. When he was 17, he became the youngest-ever U.S. National Hot Air Balloon Champion.

Nick's love for flying is easy to understand. His mom flies jets for UPS and his dad is an experienced hot air balloon pilot. Nick climbed into his first balloon basket at the age of 5. "I guess it's in my blood," says Nick.

Flying might be in his family, but there's one odd thing about this experienced hot air balloon pilot. "I'm afraid of heights," Nick says. "But I don't let that stop me. Once I pray, I look down and put all my fears behind me. I remember those words of Jesus, 'Fear not, for I am with you.'"

In spite of his fears, Nick loves both the sensation and science of flying. A student at Embry-Riddle Aeronautical University in Florida, he plans on either joining the Navy or becoming a commercial airline pilot. Whatever he decides to do though, he hopes to share his faith and the things God has taught him as a balloonist.

"Everyone's afraid of something," Nick says. "But if you put your fears behind you, and let God lead you, all your fears will just fade away. Without God in my life, I could never do this. And now that I've found flying, I never want to give it up."