Just sharing.

[beensetfree]

I Survived Hell

After my kidnappers forced me to kill, I begged God to let me die.


The night rebel soldiers came to my boarding school, I was sleeping so heavily I didn't hear a thing. Some of my friends told me later they were awakened by noises outside: voices, guns cocking, twigs snapping. But not the sounds of boots. That's because most of the 300 attackers carrying loaded AK-47s were barefoot. They were just my age, 15, or younger.

It took rocks crashing through our dormitory windows to jerk me out of my sleep. My eyes opened to girls dashing around the room, screaming. The room was lit by the flames of torches burning through the broken windows. I jumped under my bed and began crying out, "Jesus, help me! Jesus, help me!"

BAM! BAM! Someone was ramming the locked door. And then a voice: "Open or we begin shooting!"

We were so terrified no one tried to stop the frantic girl who unbolted the door. A rebel stormed in and slapped her face with the flat of a machete. The child soldiers dragged us from beneath our beds. They tied all 139 of us together so we couldn't escape. Then, they marched us from the dorm into the darkness of night, machine guns stuck in our backs.

We knew who they were. We'd long feared their arrival. Now we had to choose: Join the Lord's Resistance Army or die.

I grew up in a hut made of dried earth in northern Uganda. My chores included fetching water and firewood to cook food for our family. On Sundays, we walked three miles to attend St. Augustine Anglican Church. I sang in the choir and helped the needy. Life in our village was good.

Still, I was excited to leave for St. Mary's. Not all girls attend school because it's expensive. Many families cannot afford tuition, or only send the boys. Fortunately, I was able to attend St. Mary's. I felt safe there.

Great fear overshadows life in Uganda. Joseph Kony, the founder of the Lord's Resistance Army (LRA), has devastated my part of Uganda—the region bordering Sudan—in his plans to take over Uganda's government. The LRA name is a lie. Kony says they're acting under God's power, but he mixes Islam, Christianity and spirit worship. And he does real evil. Kony's LRA soldiers, almost all of whom are children as young as 9, raid villages, steal supplies, kill and abduct more kids. It's said that since 1986, the LRA has kidnapped about 25,000 children.

Seven months after I entered St. Mary's, I became one of that 25,000. Standing outside our dorm, the rebels marked crosses on our foreheads, shoulders and chests in shea-nut butter. Miraculously, they freed 109 of us, but I was among the 30 they forced to march—all tied together—through the night. We were crying, terrified and tired. Sharp stones and thorns dug into my shoeless feet. During a short rest, I tied banana leaves to my feet as makeshift shoes.

In the first few days after my kidnapping, I prayed, "Lord, help me escape!" But one girl actually tried. She got caught. LRA commanders forced us to beat her with firewood until she died. If we hit her too lightly, we were beaten. This happened many times as the LRA fighters moved us toward their base in Sudan, stealing more kids along the way

After a four-day walk north, we arrived at the LRA base in Sudan. As a part of our "training," LRA commanders made each of us kill a child. They gave me as a fifth wife to a rebel leader old enough to be my grandfather. They made us raid villages for food and water, yet never fed us. We scavenged for rats, roots, leaves and wild fruits. We ate dirt.

Just months earlier, my life had centered on studies with my friends in a wonderful school. I'd gone to church. I could see my family whenever I wanted. I wondered: Why would God allow this? I found it difficult to pray. When I did pray, I no longer prayed to escape. I wanted to die. I prayed, "If my time must come, Lord, please take me. … But let me see my parents, just once, before I die."

When I didn't die, I tried three times to shoot myself. Each time, God sent someone to take my gun from me just in time. I know God kept me alive. In fact, despite this hell, I could somehow feel God. He was there with me.

Eventually, Uganda's army attacked our training camp in Sudan. The battle was long and horrible. Many of those around me died. Too weak to fight, I sat behind a fallen tree as bullets flew. I wasn't shooting. I didn't care anymore if a commander shot me for not fighting. I was too tired, too hungry. Kids and commanders alike fled, leaving me behind. The only ones left were corpses and me. This was my chance to run. But could I walk two weeks back to Uganda?

I started walking, using the sun to lead me south to my country. I saw no one for three days. Then, I met other younger runaways I recognized from camp. I convinced eight to go with me. They called me "Mommy." We passed through villages destroyed by the LRA and crossed a dangerous river. Days later, kind villagers took us in and helped us. Soon, I was reunited with my family. God had saved my life. He'd provided the strength I needed. I was going to live.

Life wasn't perfect, though. Like all child soldiers, I was deeply scarred emotionally. I needed to talk to somebody about what I'd experienced. I found no help, however. Back at St. Mary's, I began to work through my emotional pain. God showed me I had to forgive in order to get my life back. And I tried.

I was at St. Mary's for only a short time before the rebels again neared Aboke. I moved to another school farther from danger. There, I tried in vain to keep my past secret. Everyone in Uganda knows the LRA forces kids to join their uprising. But still, people wrongly think you must like killing and stealing. My classmates taunted me by calling me "Kony's wife."

By God's grace, I finished high school. I spent my summers volunteering at a rehab center for former child soldiers. I loved helping kids learn to forgive those who so horribly abused them. It helped me as much as it did them.

I may never know why God allowed what happened. But without God's protection, I would be dead now. Of the 30 St. Mary's girls, five are dead, two remain captive, and many came back with babies, AIDS or both. I believe God spared me for a reason. There's work he has for me.


I know God can use my pain. I get mad at God for allowing those horrible things to happen. But still, I trust him. I'm daily asking God to use my dark past to help my suffering people. I understand what these child soldiers have been through. That makes it easier for me to help them.

 

[beensetfree]

Stage Fright

I froze. My world turned black. My mind went blank.

I sat in the back of the chilly auditorium, my fists clenched tight as my heels repeatedly tapped the black concrete floor. I was next up to audition for a part in the school play. I anxiously awaited my turn, all the while kicking myself for letting my friend Moira talk me into this. Moira was trying out for a part, too, and she thought it would be cool if we did this together. Two weeks ago it had seemed like a great idea. Now, I wasn't so sure.

I tried giving myself a quick pep talk.

You can do this! I told myself. You know your lines. You've practiced a hundred times in front of the mirror. You're ready!

Suddenly the drama teacher's rough, raspy voice pierced my jumbled thoughts.

"Christy! Christy Heitger!" Mrs. Forester called.

Just the sound of my own name made my racing heart beat faster. I stood up on my wobbly legs and made my way down the long theatre aisle. When I stepped onto center stage, I froze. Suddenly my world turned black, my mind went blank.

This can't be happening! I screamed inside my head. I wanted to melt into the hard, wooden floor to escape embarrassment. Tears filled my eyes as I frantically tried to think of an excuse for why I couldn't perform—laryngitis, bronchitis, the flu. But it was too late. Quitting now would make me look like a fool. Not that I didn't already.

As I stared out into the dark auditorium, blinded by the bright stage lights, I began to silently pray for strength to simply survive this experience. Then I took a deep breath and proceeded to stumble through my monologue. Afterward, I kept my emotions together long enough to make it to the parking lot. And then I crumbled, sobbing over my first—and likely last—acting attempt.

The next afternoon the casting sheet was posted on the theater door. Even though I knew I'd blown the audition, I checked the sheet anyhow. Sure enough, my name was absent. But just as I turned to walk away, I heard a familiar raspy voice. It was Mrs. Forester.

"Christy, have you ever thought about taking a drama class?"

"Uhhh, n-n-no," I stuttered. "I'm sure you could tell I'm not really a natural on stage."

"So what?!" Mrs. Forester said. "That's what the class is for—to help you improve."

Then she leaned in as if she was about to share some important secret. "Christy," she whispered. "You're not perfect. … And I like that!"

Is this lady crazy? I wondered. What is she getting at?

"You were a nervous wreck yesterday," Mrs. Forester said. "But you faced your fear and plowed forward. You're the kind of student I love to see in my class. I guarantee you'll change in ways you never imagined. … So think about it."

At first I brushed off Mrs. Forester's suggestion. Flubbing lines, forgetting stage directions—why would I want to subject myself to that kind of humiliation again? Plus, Moira said that Mrs. Forester did lots of improvisational exercises in her class where you had to make up lines and scenarios on the spot. I couldn't handle that kind of pressure!
Still, there was a part of me that was intrigued by Mrs. Forester. She barely knew me and yet she seemed to see potential in me.

Over the next few weeks I prayed about what to do. Could God use that class in my life and if so, how? Even though my gut cried, "Don't sign up! You'll be sorry!" there was a nagging voice inside my head that kept saying, "Go for it!" Besides that, I couldn't shake Mrs. Forester's puzzling words from my head: "You're not perfect," she had said. "And I like that."

The nagging voice won out and I signed up for the class. The first few weeks were spent reading scenes, picking partners, and running lines. Then about three weeks into the semester it was time for my first performance. My partner John took his place next to me on stage and we began. About midway through I flubbed a line, which flustered John. He blurted out some random line five pages into the script.

We turned to each other and exchanged a look of, OK, now what do we do? Then, without missing a beat, we grinned and plugged ahead.

Sure, messing up was a little embarrassing. But instead of focusing on what I did wrong, I just had fun with it. I must admit, nobody was more surprised than I was to discover what a huge rush it was to perform in front of my peers.

By the end of the semester, I did more than develop some speech and acting skills. I was a changed person. Only a few months earlier, just stepping on stage had been really scary. But as my self-confidence grew, I got excited about trying new challenges like practicing a different accent, creating my own monologue from scratch, or tackling a scene that required physical comedy.

There's no way I would have been so eager to dive into such things if I hadn't chosen to sign up for Mrs. Forester's class. I definitely think God led me to that class to break me out of my shell and show me that taking a risk could change my life for the better.

 

[beensetfree]

Living My Dream

Pro snowboarder Kelly Clark wants everyone to know who she's living for.

Success Meant Nothing

There's something different about professional snowboarder Kelly Clark. It's not just her flips and tricks. Or her speed. Or even her success in the X Games or Winter Olympics (she won gold in 2002 and finished fourth in 2006).

Instead, it's her dynamic and positive personality. "I love Jesus," she says. "And I guess everyone can tell."

It wasn't always this way. "When I was younger I was never happy," she said. She thought it would be better when she found success. But even after winning the gold medal, she still wasn't happy. In fact, she felt worse. "I was lonely and depressed. I wanted to die."

Desperately Searching
At one tournament, Kelly overheard other snowboarders talking about God. "They said God loved everyone," she says. "But I wondered if he could really love me."

Later that night, desperate and lonely, Kelly opened the Bible in her hotel room. It was the King James Version and she understood very little, so she went to the room of one of the girls she'd heard talking on the slopes. "I asked her if she could explain God and Christianity to me," Kelly says. "God really began to move in my heart."

Over the next few months Kelly began attending church while sidelined by a knee injury. Soon after, she accepted Christ. "It was the best day of my life," she says. "No trophy, no medal and no amount of money can equal what Christ did in me that day."

I Cannot Hide
As she healed, she was scared about returning to competing. "I didn't know how I'd tell everyone about Jesus and my new life," she says. "It was a tough time for me."

Kelly prayed about her fears and put it in God's hands. "Then, one night in worship, we sang this song with the words 'I cannot hide my love for Jesus.' That's when I realized God would work everything out, because I couldn't possibly hide my love for him."

Before returning to the slopes, she had a sticker made for her board that says: "I cannot hide my love for Jesus." That sticker's message is now the foundation of her whole life. "Everything I do is about Jesus," she says. "And that sticker has opened a lot of doors for me to witness."

Today, Kelly is one of the most famous snowboarders in the world and is living out her dream. Kelly is also on the prayer team at her church, teaches a young adult discipleship class and mentors other snowboarders.

And by talking about Jesus on Olympic telecasts and boarding to the music of David Crowder, she lets everyone know who she's living for. She says: "God is blessing me so much by not only allowing me to do what I love to do, but by allowing me to tell others about him at the same time."

 

[beensetfree]

Flat on My Face

I finally got Trevor's attention—but not the way I'd planned.

My best friend spotted him first. "How 'bout number 34? He's a cutie."

I shrugged. "He's OK."

We were in eighth grade, and Kristen* and I were sitting on the bleachers watching my older brother's basketball game. Well, I was watching the game. Kristen was watching Number 34.

Our team tied the game a few seconds before halftime, and Kristen and I jumped to our feet with the rest of the crowd. Kristen yelled into my ear to make herself heard over the cheering. "Check out those legs!"

I rolled my eyes. "Those legs" were sitting on the bench—on the opposite end of the gym from the action on the court.

Kristen went to a different school than me, and told me to find out everything I could about number 34. What did he wear? Who did he hang out with? Did he have a girlfriend? When was the next basketball game? What were the birthdays of all his extended relatives? OK, so it wasn't that extreme. But almost.

I turned out to be a pretty good detective and learned all kinds of stuff about Number 34, including his real name: Trevor. Every day after school I called Kristen with the latest info I'd managed to dig up. After a while, though, Kristen found a guy at her own school to scout, and she lost interest in tracking Trevor.

But I didn't. I started watching for him even more closely. I attended basketball games religiously, even arriving early to watch the team warm up. I daydreamed about Trevor and decorated the inside covers of my notebooks with hearts and our initials. My first name and his last name sounded perfect together.

But I couldn't work up the guts to actually talk to Trevor—not even when we ended up in the same Spanish class the next semester. I doubted he even knew I existed until one beautiful day when we had our first magical conversation.

"You're Mike's sister, right?" he asked me on the way out of Spanish class.

I gazed into his chocolately eyes and answered smoothly, "Uh … yeah."

I floated through the hallways the rest of the day.

My friends teased me about my crush and tried to get me to talk to Trevor. A few of my friends thought we weren't a good match and told me I should forget him. I knew they were right. Trevor was into the bubbly, flirty type, which was definitely not me. It drove me nuts when girls giggled and flipped their hair and faked interest about last night's hockey game for the sake of a boy. My friends knew I wasn't the type to chase after guys, which is the type of girl Trevor wanted.

But my heart wouldn't listen to my brain. Instead of forgetting about Trevor, I started brainstorming ways to get him to notice me.

In the fall of ninth grade, I got my chance. Some of my volleyball teammates and I were hanging around outside the school waiting for our practice to start. Then it happened. The football team jogged across the parking lot at the end of their practice. A water fight broke out, and one of the guys sprinted toward my friend Kayla and me and dumped a jug of icy water on Kayla's head.

Just then, I caught a glimpse of Trevor walking from the football field. My big moment! I grabbed my water bottle and sprinted after the guy who had soaked Kayla. He zigzagged across the parking lot, turning around and laughing as I tried to get close enough to do damage. I flung squirts from my water bottle and laughed loudly, hoping Trevor would hear and take notice.

It turns out I didn't need to worry about him or anyone else noticing me. My toe caught the edge of the sidewalk, and I went sprawling. Gravel rushed up at my face, and with one hand holding a water bottle I didn't have a chance to brace myself. My chin took the force of the fall.

Ooof!

When I lifted my head, the first face I saw was Trevor's. I'd practically fallen on top of his feet, and he was staring down at me like a slimy alien had dropped out of the sky.

I put my head down and started praying. Please, God, send an earthquake to swallow me.

My friends helped me limp inside the school, and Kayla went with me to the bathroom to help pick the dirt and gravel out of my knees, elbows and chin. Then to make my nightmare even worse, our super-strict volleyball coach punished Kayla and me for being late to practice.

"You girls should be out there stretching before practice, not flirting with the boys!" Coach lectured the whole team, but glared straight at me and my scraped chin.

At home that night, I sat on the toilet seat gingerly dabbing first-aid cream on my cuts. I deserve gravel in my skin, I thought. I'd wanted Trevor to notice me—and he did.

Surprisingly, after that day I started getting to know Trevor better. Maybe my total humiliation shattered my shyness. But my feelings for him faded, and by the end of the school year I could barely remember what I'd ever seen in him. That's not really the point, though. While I can't exactly say I'm glad I fell flat on my face in front of Trevor, I am glad about the lesson it taught me. Now I know no guy is worth changing who I am and how I act. My experience with Trevor taught me not to bother chasing after boys. It's much too painful.

 

[beensetfree]

Joy in a Chicken Sandwich

One Great Sandwich

In high school, David Crowder attended church on Sunday mornings and youth group on Wednesday nights. He scheduled quiet time with God every day. These were the specific times David shared his life with Christ.

"I had put God in little time blocks where I'd experience him," David says. "One day, God showed up in the middle of the day where I didn't expect him to poke his head up. In that moment, my view of God expanded."

Believe it or not, this big moment happened in a mall food court. "When you think spirituality or experiences of God, you're thinking church and praise hymns," David says. "But it was over a fast-food sandwich. I took one bite and was like, 'This is the best chicken sandwich ever.' I was feeling down, and this sandwich was like the re-discovery of joy. So here I am sitting in a mall food court with tears coming to my eyes."

Right then, David realized that everything good in life comes from the giver of good, God. And he can pop up anytime, not just Sundays and quiet times. He's everywhere. "God's at work in places that we wouldn't suspect him to be at work," David said. "That's when I realized that every second is an opportunity for us to experience God. There's not a second he's not there and available to us."

 

[beensetfree]

Why Did I Survive?

One second I was partying. The next, I was fighting for my life.

The strong smell of cleaning agents and the repetitive sound of beeping monitors filled the air. My eyelids fluttered open as my pupils struggled to adjust to the bright light. I'd just had the most bone-chilling nightmare, and my foggy mind fought to make sense of where I was.

Then I heard a woman's voice softly say "hi." I turned my head and saw that she was wearing a nurse's uniform.

"Am I in the hospital?" I asked with a sore, scratchy throat.

"Yes," she answered. "You've been here for three weeks."

As I stared at my bandaged body, scenes of the accident flashed across my mind. Alcohol. Gasoline. Flames. Smoke. Screaming. It was no nightmare. I had been on fire.

Getting Crazy

The night started out innocently enough. A few friends and I were hanging out playing video games. Then my buddy Pete* showed up with some vodka. Within an hour we were all pretty wasted and our small "party" had gotten out of hand.

Josh cranked the music and then grabbed his lighter so we could all try "breathing fire." We took turns spitting vodka and tried lighting it on fire as it left our mouths. With each attempt we kept moving the lighter closer to our faces. But no one could do it.

For some reason, and I'm not really sure why, Josh thought it would be cool to get in a circle, pour gasoline in the middle and make a "circle of fire." So he ran outside and picked up a can of gasoline. We watched as Josh doused the gravel driveway with fuel.

"You need more over here!" I shouted. I grabbed the container of gas away from Josh, carelessly drenching my shirt and pants.

"Man, you reek!" Pete laughed.

Josh knelt down on the gravel and clicked his lighter several times.

Foop, foop—sssssshhh.

Our ring of fire was born. We high-fived one another and celebrated by opening a second bottle of liquor.

Feeling pretty wasted from the vodka, I plopped down on a chair.

"I've got a killer idea," Josh said.

He then poured gasoline all over the plastic chair sitting beside me. A moment later I heard the flick of Josh's lighter, then swooosh! The chair was ablaze.

I could feel the heat of the flames. I started to get up so I could move away from the burning chair, but just then I looked down and saw flames ignite my gas-soaked shirt and pants.

Panicked, I jumped up and started screaming and running. No matter which I way I turned, red-hot flames chased me.

"Drop and roll!" Josh yelled.

I rolled for what seemed like an eternity. Then I heard Josh shout, "You're good! It's out, man!"

It didn't feel that way to me. I felt like I'd been swimming in a sea of bubbling lava. That was my last memory until waking up in the hospital.

So Much Pain

The nurse told me that I had been rushed to the hospital three weeks earlier with 35 percent of my body covered in third-degree burns. During my 21-day medicated coma I had fought off life-threatening pneumonia and had endured three surgeries to help repair my burnt, blistered skin.

Over the next several weeks, physical therapy tore me apart. My leg muscles were so weak I couldn't walk. In one session, tiny beads of sweat formed at my temples as I strained to pick up a paperclip. I winced in agony each time my finger grazed the clip. I couldn't believe this simple task could be so excruciating. I was in so much pain and full of so much anger, I wanted to rip the room apart. But I couldn't even pick up a paperclip

Why me? I screamed inside my head. And why now? The day of the accident I had landed a part-time job—one that I'd get to drive to once I passed my driving exam, which I had been planning to take the week after the accident. Now all of my plans were ruined.

I knew I had messed up big time. It was totally stupid both to drink and to mess around with fire. But why was I the only one paying for our stupid actions?

Was God Punishing Me?

Along with regular visits from my parents and friends, my friend Michelle dropped by the hospital several times. We usually talked about movies or music. But one afternoon the conversation turned in a different direction.

"You're gonna be OK," Michelle said softly.

"How do you know?" I asked.

"I've been praying for you," she said.

I leaned my head back on my pillow and looked at Michelle. I guess I had an idea she believed in God, but we'd never talked about it. So it kind of surprised me when she said she was praying for me. Maybe I should have been thankful, but I blurted out, "Have you been praying for a miracle? That's what I want! I want to turn back time and make it so that night never happened."

"I know it's hard," Michelle said. "But try to concentrate on the future."

"Easy for you to say!" I snapped. "You're not living in constant pain. Your skin still looks and feels normal. For the rest of my life the first thing people will see when they look at me will be these stupid scars!"

Awkward silence filled the room.

"Next time you talk to God," I told Michelle, "ask him why he's punishing me."

"I don't believe God's punishing you," Michelle said slowly.

"It doesn't feel that way to me," I shot back.

"What about your eyesight?" Michelle asked. "Didn't the doctors expect you to go blind? But, you're looking at me, aren't you?" Michelle said. "Maybe you can be grateful that all you might need is a stronger prescription."

"Whatever."

"Honestly, I don't blame you for feeling hurt and mad. But maybe there are things to be thankful for."

"Who in my condition would be thankful for anything?" I asked.

"Austin, you almost died," Michelle nearly whispered. "But God has given you another shot at life—a chance to make better choices from now on."

I sighed and looked away. I didn't know what to think. As Michelle stood up to leave, she placed a Bible on the table next to my bed. "If you want, I can read a little to you the next time I see you," she said.

Would Life Ever Be Good?

When she left, I stared at the Bible. I don't know why she brought that, I thought. It's not like reading a Bible will fix me. Besides, I can't even pick it up. I can't pick anything up!

Without thinking, I pounded my fist on the bed and a fiery jolt shot through every fiber of my hand. I fought back tears as I looked out my window at people walking, talking, hugging, laughing. I wondered how long it would be before I could do those things again. When would I get to give or receive a hug without pain shooting through my body? Would life ever be good again?

As I stared down at my red leathery hands that just weeks before had been so smooth and strong, a tear slid down my cheek. Then suddenly, almost against everything I was feeling and thinking, I remembered what Michelle had said about God giving me a second chance.

Why did I survive? I suddenly wondered. Maybe there really was a God out there who not only gave me a second chance but who actually loved me.

A New Direction

Through physical therapy over the next several months, I made great improvements. I learned to walk, write and even drive. On the one-year anniversary of the accident, I hopped into my car and headed toward Josh's house. It wasn't like I wanted to see him. He'd visited me a couple of times in the hospital, but we'd hardly talked since the accident. I just had to look at the place where my life had changed so much.

Driving with my windows down, inhaling the crisp, fresh air, I thought about everything that had happened. A year earlier I was mad at myself, mad at Josh, mad at my body for not healing fast enough. And I was scared I'd never feel happy or normal again. But then Michelle helped me see that Christ could change my life, and slowly things did change.

When my hands started to heal I did something that surprised even me—I picked up that Bible Michelle had given me and started reading it. Soon after that I dropped by Michelle's church, just to check it out. Everyone there was so friendly. And the more I learned about God's love and goodness, the more at peace I felt. With time, my heart softened and I was able to forgive both Josh and myself for the stupid mistakes we'd made. And as my fears faded, I began to see that a caring God had not only saved me, but he had also stuck with me throughout this difficult journey.

As I pulled my car in front of Josh's house and sat there in silence, horrific images flashed across my mind. My stomach knotted and my body shuddered as I tried to shake off the memories. Then I took a deep breath and bowed my head in prayer, thanking God for my second chance at life and for my new life with him. Suddenly my anxiety melted away and I was filled with peace—the kind of peace that only God's love can bring.

It's been a year and a half since Austin's accident. It's unclear whether he'll need more surgeries in the future, but he's happy putting his life in God's hands. After he graduates in May 2007, Austin plans to go to college and triple major in criminology, psychology and photography.

 

[beensetfree]

A Place to Finally Belong

Leaning against the wall, I looked around at all the students crowded into the purple and black youth room. Relient K blared through the sound system, mixing with the loud laughter and chatter of others in the room. But I wasn't a part of it. Instead, I stood by myself, unnoticed. This happened every single time I went to youth group.

Being shy, I had trouble starting conversations. But even when I did try talking to others, it seemed like no one really wanted to get to know me. It didn't help that I was the "new kid." I had been in the area less than a year, while most of the other kids had gone to the church all their lives. Their friendships had been made long ago, and no one seemed willing to include anybody new. But I kept coming, week after week. I'd even joined a small group. But nothing worked. There seemed to be no way I could really be accepted into this group.

I'd pretty much given up on going to youth group by the time my family moved again—our second move in a year. As we drove across the country, I prayed that God would help me get over my fears about joining a new youth group. I really wanted to try to find someplace to fit in, but I was so afraid of being hurt another time.

After we moved in, my family visited a church not far from our home. Everyone seemed friendly enough. But what about the youth group? I wondered. There was only one way to find out.

There were butterflies in my stomach as I walked into the church's Sunday night youth meeting. OK, God, I silently prayed. I don't want this to be another disappointment. Leaning against a back wall, I looked around at the crowd. But this time it didn't take long before a girl walked over to where I stood.

"Hey! I haven't seen you here before. Is this your first time?" she asked.

"Yeah, it is. I'm Amy." She told me her name and then introduced me to several of her friends. It wasn't long before I was surrounded by a group of girls, laughing and chatting like everyone else in the room.

As I slid into a seat next to my new friends, I knew I wasn't in for an evening of feeling left out or disappointed. I was suddenly excited to spend time worshiping God with Christians my own age. Most of all, I was amazed that I almost instantly felt like I was a part of this youth group.

Although I'd worried about being rejected, I knew God had heard my prayers and had led me to this caring church. Soon I was going to my new youth group every week, and I even joined a small group. Although I still struggled with shyness, I made it a point to talk to kids I didn't know. I wanted everyone to feel accepted and welcomed.

I'm glad I didn't give up on going to youth group. And I'm thankful I pushed past my fears and trusted God to lead me to a place where I could really belong.

 

[beensetfree]

Cheater

I cheated. I couldn't get those two words out of my head as I silently followed my friend Heather* out of math class. When I'd handed in my homework at the beginning of class, I'd almost convinced myself that "borrowing" Heather's homework and copying her answers was a necessity. I needed to keep my A average—and getting a zero on the homework would spoil that perfect grade.

It's just this one time, I told myself as I quickly scribbled Heather's answers. I've never done anything like this before. And it isn't exactly cheating. I mean, I'm not copying from a test or anything. …

When I got to my locker, guilt had begun to sink in. My stomach churned at the thought of what God would say or do if he were standing next to me. He'd probably give me that disapproving look that I'd seen in Mom's eyes from time to time. Or worse, maybe he'd tell me how sad and disappointed he was in me. I closed my locker door, hung my head low, and fought back a tear.

"What's wrong?" Heather asked. "You're never this quiet."

I simply muttered, "Nothing," and walked on alone to my next class.

By the time Heather and I met for lunch, I felt like I had "cheater" written across my forehead.

I should have just accepted a "zero" on the assignment, I thought. My heart was so heavy it felt like it could drop into my stomach at any moment. I knew what I had to do. I muttered a quick and silent, "I'm so sorry, God," swallowed hard, and then blurted out: "Heather, I'm sorry I pressured you into letting me copy your homework this morning. Sometimes I get crazy about my grades because I don't want to disappoint my parents. And I stress so much about getting into a good college."

Heather was quiet for a moment. I couldn't tell if she thought I was overreacting. But the look on her face said it was something else.

"It's kind of my fault, you know," she said rather quietly as she stared down at her tray. "I let you have my answers, even though I felt funny about it."

"I shouldn't have put you in that position," I said.

"Emily, I totally understand why you panicked this morning. I almost did the same thing last week in Spanish class. I didn't realize Mr. Ruiz had assigned all five sections, and I'd only completed the first three."

"So, what did you do?" I asked.

"I handed in what I had," she said. "I was mad at myself for messing up, but I told Mr. Ruiz what I'd done, and he let me turn in the rest the next day."

"Oh, I should've just been honest with Mrs. Drake," I said, angry with myself. "She might have cut me a break, too."

"It's not too late," Heather said.

"But if I tell Mrs. Drake I copied from you, you'll get in trouble, too. I don't want you being punished because of something I did."

"It's something we did. I messed up, too," Heather sighed. "This has been bothering me all morning. I'd like to come clean, too."

We picked up our book bags and headed toward Mrs. Drake's classroom. It was hard working up the nerve to confess. I was scared, embarrassed and ashamed, and I know Heather felt the same. But we knew it was the right thing to do.

Mrs. Drake gave us both zeros on our homework and assigned us an extra set of problems for that night. She also warned us: "Don't do it again, or I will have to report you to the principal." I appreciated the warning, but, honestly, I'd rather flunk the class than go through that again.

 

[beensetfree]

I quit

As I peeled the sweaty, grass–stained clothes from my aching body, I thought about the last three exhausting weeks at football camp. By the grace of God I'd endured agonizing two–a–day practices loaded down in huge pads and melting in the hot August sun. When I ran, I felt like I'd pass out. When I stopped running, I was sure I'd throw up.

I wanted to feel the glory of a winning touchdown, but instead I went home every night bruised, battered, sore and stiff. I was sick of being hit, shoved, pushed down, beaten up. I'd had it. I decided to quit. Nervous about making my big announcement, I slowly made my way over to Coach Walker's* office door and knocked.

"Yeah!" Coach yelled, his voice raspy from years of shouting.

I stepped inside.

"Whatcha need, Casbon?" he asked as he scanned the newspaper that was sprawled out across his desk.

I took a deep breath and cleared my throat. I didn't know how to ease into it, so I just blurted it out.

"I quit," I said.

Seemingly unfazed, Coach kept his eyes glued to the sports section.

"Why?" he asked in his familiar gruff tone.

"I'm not having any fun," I said lamely.

Coach closed the paper, adjusted his tattered baseball cap, and looked me straight in the eye.

"Cazzie, do you think anyone is having fun right now?" he asked.

I just shrugged.

"Son," he said, leaning in toward me. "These practices prepare you for the games. That's when the fun begins."

Yeah, right, I thought. Like I'll ever make it into a game. I never ran any play right. No matter how clearly the coach explained everything on paper, once I got on the field and the ball was snapped, the chaos of guys scattering every which way completely confused me.

Coach Walker placed his hand on my shoulder and said, "I'll make ya a deal. Stick it out this year and if you don't wanna come out again next fall, I won't hassle ya about it."

It sure didn't seem like a "deal" to me, but since no one ever won an argument with Coach Walker, I agreed.

When I got home from school, I hurled my book bag across the room and kicked my dirty Nikes high into the air.

"What's with you?!" my brother Scott asked as he jumped out of the way of a flying shoe.

"Why can't God let me shine in one stinkin' sport?!" I complained. "Is that too much to ask?"

I told Scott about the "deal" Coach had struck with me, and Scott smiled.

"I'm glad you're not giving up this time," he said, tossing me a Nerf football.

"When have I given up?" I snapped, purposefully nailing him in the thigh with the Nerf.

"Uhhh, baseball, basketball, piano." Scott said. "Want me to go on?"

"I just haven't found my thing yet."

"And at this rate, you never will," Scott said. "You can't do great at something the first time you try it."

"First time?! I've been at this for three weeks!"

"Some of the guys on your team have been practicing for years. Of course they're better than you."

"Thanks a lot!" I said, rolling my eyes.

"Listen, anything worth having takes effort," Scott said. "Like your good grades. That doesn't happen by accident."

"That's different," I said. "It's not painful to study."

"Wanna bet? I think it's way harder to study day after day than it is to take an elbow to the ribs. Hey, I don't blame you for hating the drills and stuff, but is there anything about football that you like?" Scott asked.

I thought for moment.

"Well, I have kinda gotten into weightlifting," I said. "I've been lifting with this guy Matt from the team, and even after just a couple of weeks we're getting stronger."

"So try focusing on the progress you're seeing," Scott suggested. "You won't reach your goals instantly, but every little bit gets you closer."

That night after dinner I went to my room to think. I wanted to figure out why excelling at a sport mattered so much to me. I think part of it was because my dad was a high school athletic director and I really wanted to make him proud. And then there was my ego. I knew that the jocks got tons of attention.

But even as I craved praise and popularity, it bugged me that I was so consumed by such superficial things. I thought about what Scott had said and realized that even though I wasn't a great football player, staying on the team had benefited me in several ways. I'd gotten into better shape, I'd discovered that I liked lifting weights, and I'd become really good friends with Matt.

I sat down on the bed and began praying.

Lord, sometimes I can't always see what's right in front of me because my thoughts, words and actions are driven by my own selfish needs and desires. Forgive me, God. I'm so grateful for the gifts you've given me. Please help me see your plan for me.

There were still plenty of times that season when my body ached to quit, but on those difficult days, I prayed for strength—not just the physical kind, but also inner, spiritual strength to carry on. Finally, toward the end of the season I made it into a couple of games. One, in particular, was really great. We were playing at the high school where my dad worked, and with five minutes left on the clock, Coach Walker put me in at running back. I just had one play, but it was awesome. I caught a 13–yard pass for a first down.

My heart raced with excitement when I heard my name called over the loudspeaker. I looked up into the bleachers and spotted Dad with a huge smile on his face. I'll never forget that amazing moment. If I'd quit when I felt like it, it never would have happened.

Sometimes when I'm overcommitted or totally stressed out with life, I still have to pull out of certain activities. But I no longer have the same knee–jerk response of wanting to quit simply because I'm uncomfortable. And though I never came to know the glory of a winning touchdown, I now know how great it feels to stick with something and see it all the way through to the end.

 

[beensetfree]

Attacked

Fifty miles. That's a long hike through the remote, grueling wilderness of Alaska's Kenai Peninsula. Finally, I was only 30 minutes from finishing. I was excited, determined and exhausted. To earn our 50-mile hike merit badges, my Boy Scout troop had been hiking and camping for a week.

On this last day, we'd gotten up early and hit the trail. More than two dozen of us were scattered in small clusters along the rugged path. Four of us were several miles out in front of everyone else. We were ready to be finished and go home to Texas.

As I led Aaron, Mikey and Mikey's dad in a single file line along the narrow path, I found myself daydreaming about Chicken McNuggets. It'd been a great hike, but we were tired. We'd been sleeping on the ground for a week and carrying all our stuff on our backs. Mikey's dad, Mike, had it the worst. In addition to his gear, he was given a .44 magnum to carry.

Most of the adults had guns for protection from wildlife, but this was the biggest—weighing almost 8 pounds! He often complained about having to haul it around in his pack. But right now, no one was complaining, or even talking. We were silent. We were just so beat.

The problem with silence is that Kenai is bear country. And one of the first rules of bear safety is to make a lot of noise so that the bears are always aware of where you are. You don't want to surprise a grizzly. But that's exactly what happened.

The trail ahead of me curved to the right. It was thickly wooded and hard to see what was around the bend. As I took the curve about 10 paces ahead of the guys, the trail suddenly opened into a grassy area. And that's when I saw it: a 600-pound, 8-foot brown bear sitting in the grass 20 feet away. He was as startled to see me as I was to see him.

He charged and was on top of me immediately, knocking me to my stomach. All I could do was scream, "Bear!" Before I knew what was happening, the bear had sunk his teeth deep into both my arm and thigh. I knew I was going to die.

Aaron and Mikey heard my screams and ran around the bend. They yelled and screamed, but the bear wasn't going anywhere. I could feel his hot breath on my neck. But since I was on my stomach, my backpack was between him and me. He attacked the pack—especially my sleeping bag mounted on top.

I now realize the bear probably thought the bag was my head since it was the highest part of my body. He jerked my sleeping bag off the pack and thrashed it around like a doggie toy.

Aaron ran back around the curve to alert Mike. Quickly, Mike whipped off his pack, pulled out the pistol and shot it into the air. Scared, the bear leapt off me and ran away. Although it had seemed like forever, the attack lasted less than 10 seconds.

The next few hours are a blur. I only remember bits and pieces of things—like my friends yelling, "Where did it go?" and "Is he OK?"

I knew I was hurt, but I didn't know how badly. Unable to move, I lay where the bear left me. I feared the worst as I did a mental check of my body. My head seemed OK. My chest was fine. But my right arm and leg were badly wounded. Aaron knows a lot of first aid, so he talked to a 911 operator on his cell phone and looked after me.

He and Mike carefully removed my jacket to check the damage to my arm. It looked like a bloody hunk of meat. My pants were soaked with blood, but the 911 operator told us not to remove my pants to check my leg. I wasn't sure how bad it was, but I worried I was losing too much blood.
Aaron used T-shirts to make tourniquets for my leg and arm.

This stopped the bleeding pretty fast. When he told me the bleeding was stopped, I thought, I'm OK. I've lived through it. I was crying—both from the pain and from the joy of still being alive. I remember just thanking God over and over.

Because we were in such a remote area, it took a long time for help to arrive. Rescuers had to come for me on 4-wheelers and drive me two miles to an ambulance. Three hours after the attack, I arrived at a hospital. I was taken into surgery to see if there was any bone, tendon or ligament damage. But amazingly, there was none. In surgery, the doctors cleaned out my wounds and sewed everything back together. I went home a couple of days later.

Everything has healed now, other than a few spots on my arm where there's no feeling because of nerve damage. I have six scars on my right arm and leg. Probably the hardest thing to deal with is that every time I see the massive scars I think, Wow, a bear did that. But I survived. And I know why: Because God protected me. I can see now how God was involved.

A lot of things might seem like coincidences, but they weren't. Mike was the only adult carrying a gun large enough to scare a bear, and he was with us. The bear attacked the sleeping bag instead of my head. Aaron almost didn't come on the trip, but his mom practically made him. All of these things had a reason.

The craziest part of the story is that we didn't have a cell phone signal any time before the attack or after Aaron called 911. Just right then. So, you could say we hit a hot spot. But I think it was divine intervention because it doesn't make sense any other way. I think God knew it was not my time to die and he needed me here, so he protected me.

Why would God protect me? I don't know for sure. But, I know I'm still alive because God has plans for my life—big or small. In church on Sundays, we've always sung hymns about God watching over us and protecting us. Now when we sing those songs, I think, "I know exactly what that feels like."

 

[beensetfree]

What Matters Most

Surfer Matt Beacham wasn't always so passionate about his relationship with Christ.

FEELING THE BURN:

Pro surfer Matt Beacham first hit the waves when he was just 7 years old. Now, he's a serious world–class athlete sponsored by Ocean Pacific and X–Trak. He's also been seen in ads for J. Crew, JC Penney and Gap. His intense skills have been featured in numerous surf videos including Noah's Arc, The Outsiders, and The Foundnation Project.

Despite his success, Matt is most passionate about his relationship with Christ. He became a Christian when he was a little boy, but in college Matt walked away from the Lord to live life on his own terms. "Basically, I started to chill out spiritually," Matt says. "But when I did party and derail my walk with the Lord, I felt the burn." That "burn" was a lack of joy and a sense of conviction that Matt says came from living far from God. "It was a horrible time—I was just doing all I could to ignore the Lord," he says. "Thank God he was patient and slowly brought me out of that way of thinking."

RESCUED FROM DEATH: Matt has clearly seen what an incredible gift each day is. When he was 16, he lost control of his car, ramped off another car and landed on a bridge railing, where he dangled 45 feet above the ocean until rescuers arrived.

Just two years ago, Matt faced death a second time. His truck was hit head–on by an out–of–control car. "I remember the car sliding across my lane and hitting my truck," Matt says. "I lost control, and the last thing I remember is actually heading for the windshield."

As Matt later regained consciousness he thought, Hey God, from the looks of my truck I just got in a really bad wreck. I can't believe you got me through another one of these. I just praise you, Lord! Matt began laughing because of his sheer joy about God's protection. Witnesses thought he'd gone into shock. Despite the bone–crushing impact, Matt wasn't permanently injured. It was a total miracle.

GOD'S LOVE MATTERS MOST:

After Matt's most recent accident, the truth of God's grace struck his heart. "If I'd died right then, I couldn't have proved to God that I deserved to be in heaven," Matt says. "It finally hit me that when I do die, it will be by his grace and mercy that I get into heaven. Period. We'll never feel worthy of standing in front of a Holy God. And when we do stand before him, we'll understand why we'll worship him for the rest of eternity—because he loves us unconditionally."

These thoughts led Matt to view his life a little differently. He realized that what really matters is the love you have for God and for others. And he became more intentional about his faith and sharing the gospel.

"Without Jesus, I'm a sunk ship," Matt says. "No prize, no accolade, no human achievement could ever be more important than my relationship with my God. Not now, not ever. I know that relationship is ultimately the only thing that is going to stay with me when this life is over."

 

[beensetfree]

Upclose: Music Journalists

These sisters worked hard to make their dream of writing about music come true.

More than Music
Sisters Rachel, 14, and Rebekah Winters, 17, have gone to Christian concerts for almost their entire lives. On the way home from one rock show, they started talking about how much they appreciated the faith stories artists share from the stage. They thought, Wouldn't it be cool to write a devotional book with devos written by CCM band members?

"We wanted to put something together so that people who couldn't go to the concerts could see that there's more to bands than just the music," Rachel says.

True Teamwork
While Rebekah researched bands on the Internet and worked to make contact with them, Rachel handled thinking up topics for artists to write about. "We are total opposites," Rebekah says. "But we each used our strengths, and God did the rest."

Most of the interviews were done through e-mail. But they also got to hang out with some of their favorites, like Relient K, Michael Tait (formerly of dcTalk) and Audio Adrenaline. "It was great to see their hearts," Rachel says. "It was amazing. They made us feel so comfortable that we weren't even nervous."

Seeing God Work
The girls never imagined how much work would go into publishing Behind the Music: A Devotional. They assumed it would take about a year. It actually took three years of e-mails, prayer, frustration and lots of patience.

"It didn't come easily," says Rachel, who handled all of the organization. "I e-mailed band after band, made calls and wrote letters, but sometimes I would hear nothing for days or even weeks. Other times I would not hear back at all," she says. "But after we kept praying, a lot of e-mails started coming back, and it was so awesome to see what God was doing through us."

A Love of Writing and Music
Writing about music comes naturally for the girls. Both music and writing are big parts of their lives. Rachel plays the keyboards and Rebekah plays the guitar in their church's worship services. Rebekah started playing acoustic guitar four years ago. But not long ago, Rebekah was teaching a class on Christian music at the Indy International Youth Conference when she won an electric guitar signed by the newsboys. Now, she plays both acoustic and electric.

As far as writing, it's actually in the sisters' blood. Their parents have their own publishing company, Winters Publishing, which published their devotional book. "Our parents have been great," says Rebekah. "When I was discouraged or ready to give up, they'd always tell me to be patient; that everything would work out. God has definitely taught me patience."

The book is now in stores and available at christianbook.com or behindthemusicdevotional.com. Rachel says: "Our greatest hope is that people will draw closer to God and realize that we all struggle—but the important thing is to pick yourself up and keep going."

 

[beensetfree]

Party Girl

A thick haze of cigarette smoke hung in the air of the fraternity house and the air reeked of alcohol and strong cologne. As I squinted through the haze, trying to make out a familiar face, I found myself being squeezed through a maze of rowdy college students.

It was my first weekend in college and I'd come to a frat party with a group of other freshman girls. It didn't take long, though, for me to lose them in the crowded living room. Suddenly I felt very lost and alone.

As a new freshman, I wanted to get the full college experience by exploring new situations on campus. I couldn't wait to be free of midnight curfews and the regular check-ins my parents had required. For the first time in my life I had no one to follow up on whether I was doing the "right things." No one, that is, except God. But suddenly God felt like a weight around my neck.

And while I didn't want to throw away my Christian values, I also didn't want to feel like an outsider. Most of all, I wanted to be accepted, and I thought going to this party would help me fit in and find new friends.

Without a beer in my hand, I soon realized I looked out of place. Partiers kept asking, "Do you want a beer?" or "Why aren't you drinking?" My response was usually a meek, "I'll get one later" or "I'm OK for now." I couldn't get myself to actually say I didn't drink, afraid I'd be asked why. If I told them the real reason, I'd end up being labeled the antisocial God-girl who didn't want to have fun. So to keep from having to answer any more uncomfortable questions, I grabbed a can of beer, wedged my finger under the tab and nervously pushed upward.

Click.

The can cracked open and I suddenly caught a wiff of its bitter odor. I looked quickly around at the oblivious partiers and then slowly brought the can toward my lips. Before I took my first swig, I heard a voice cut through the noisy crowd and loud music.

"I've never seen anyone inspect their drink so much."

I turned to see a guy standing behind me.

I gave a nervous laugh, suddenly aware of my noticeable awkwardness. "I guess I'm a beginner."

"So you're a freshman."

"Is it that obvious?"

"Only because you look like you're about to drink poison."

"Have to start sometime," I said fidgeting with my can, and then saw that he wasn't holding one. "Where's yours?"

"Oh, it's not my thing," he said with a casual shrug.

"You don't drink?"

"Nah."

I wondered if he was serious. "But you're at a frat party, you're supposed to."

"Not at all. I live here, actually. And hi, I'm Kevin."

"Nice to meet you, Kevin. I'm Elizabeth. … This is your fraternity? And you don't drink?" I saw a cross necklace around his neck.

"Right. I still go out and have a good time, just without the alcohol. Nobody thinks it's a big deal." He smiled and nodded toward my beer. "Are you sure you want that?"


I didn't say anything, and simply put down the can. I immediately felt relieved, but something still bothered me.

"Doesn't it get frustrating always being the only sober person at a party like this?" I asked.

"Not anymore," Kevin responded. "But I used to struggle with that frustration. It wasn't always easy for me to turn down a drink."

"Did you used to drink?"

"I drank once at the beginning of my freshman year, just to see what it was like. But now I've seen what the other side is like, and it's not worth it. Just look at all these people." He motioned to the dozens of people surrounding us who were stumbling around and shouting vulgar things. "I didn't want to be that."

"But aren't you still friends with them?"

"Sure, they're my fraternity brothers, and a lot of them actually respect me for not drinking. But I have other friends outside the fraternity who don't drink. I just had to look for them."

I paused and thought about what Kevin had just said. "Well, I've been looking, and I sure haven't seen many around. It seems like everyone is into the party scene."

"Not everyone is into drinking. Have you ever heard of Campus Crusade for Christ?"

"No, what is it?"

"It's a Christian outreach group on campus," he said.

"It meets every Thursday night. That's where I met people who shared my faith, but still wanted to have fun on campus."

"I'll have to check it out," I said, spotting my friends who were signaling me at the door. "Well, I think I'm going to call it a night."

"Nice meeting you," he said with a wave. "Maybe I'll see you on Thursday."

The next Thursday night I went to the meeting for Campus Crusade for Christ and I saw that I wasn't the only Christian on campus. In fact, there were hundreds of other students there. Soon I had a close group of Christian friends who shared my beliefs and supported me through tough decisions.

And as I got more comfortable with my faith on campus, I started leading a Bible study for freshman girls. But I don't only hang out with people who believe just like I do. In fact, I joined a sorority where I've made friends with girls from all kinds of religious and nonreligious backgrounds.

I still face difficult choices. Sometimes it's about drinking alcohol, other times it may be about sex or cheating in class. Each time I have a difficult decision to make, I turn to God for guidance. As for parties, I now know I don't even have to pick up a beer can to fit in with the crowd. I want to be the kind of person that I would seek out at a party. Amidst the haze, I want to shine.

 

[beensetfree]

A newly arrived soul in Heaven was met by St. Peter. The saint toured the soul around Heaven. Both of them walked side by side inside a large workroom filled with angels. St. Peter stopped in front of the first section and said, "This is the Receiving Section.

Here, all the petitions to God said in prayer are received." The soul looked at the section, and it was terribly busy with so many angels sorting out petitions written on voluminous paper sheets from all the people of the world.

They walked again until they reached the 2nd section, and St. Peter told the soul, "This is the Packaging and Delivery Section. Here, the graces and blessings the people asked for are packed and delivered to the persons who asked for them down on earth." The soul saw how busy it was.

There were so many angels working in that room, since so many blessing were being packed and delivered to Earth. Finally at the farthest corner of the room, the soul stopped at the last section. To the surprise of the soul, only one angel stayed there idly, doing nothing.

"This is the Acknowledging Section," St. Peter told the soul. "How is it that, there is no work here?" "That's the sad thing," St. Peter answered. "After the people received the blessings they asked for, very few send their acknowledgments."

"How does one acknowledge God's blessing?" "Simple," St. Peter answered. "Just say, "'Thank you, Lord'." - See more at: http://www.spiritual-short-stories....660-Acknowledgement.html#sthash.q25k8wLm.dpuf

 

[beensetfree]

A young woman, deeply in love with her beloved, had not seen him for some time, and was missing him greatly. She also had a teacher whom she loved, and looked forward to the day when they would meet again and she would receive her next teaching. The day came, and she went eagerly to greet the teacher, hoping also perhaps for a blessing.

The teacher welcomed the woman, and handed her a huge basket of freshly picked, perfectly ripened strawberries. Then the teacher said, "Do you see that mountain?" The woman said yes, she saw the huge rocky peak nearby. The teacher said, "Carry this basket of strawberries up that mountain." And turned away. The woman couldn't protest, or even question. The teacher was gone.

Reluctantly, she hefted the basket into her arms and turned her steps to the high mountain. Slowly she wound her way up the difficult path, wondering what this assignment was about, why she had to do this, what was the teaching, maybe she had come to the wrong teacher, and so on and on.

Grousing and grumbling, stumbling now and again, feeling the sun burn hot on her back, the basket of strawberries growing heavy and cumbersome, she nevertheless found something inside that kept her struggling upward. Finally, as the sun was moving deep into the west, she came to the top of the mountain, and found herself standing in a beautiful, peaceful, flower-filled meadow.

She had made it! Furthermore, the basket of strawberries was intact. All the exquisite fruit had made the journey without harm. The woman looked across the meadow, and saw her beloved moving toward her, gazing at her with eyes of profound love and a smile of sweet welcome.

When the storyteller came to the end of the tale, he added to the teaching by telling us some of the woman's thoughts: "If I had only known that the strawberries were for the Beloved, that the journey was toward my Beloved, I would not have been so fussy or puzzled or grown so weary, or complained so much, or failed to notice the beauty of the mountain I was climbing."

 

[beensetfree]

Enjoy the Gift You've Been Given

“Wow!” the exclamation came almost collectively from everyone in the room as Jessica pulled the beautiful sweater out of the wrapping paper. It was gorgeous!

One by one, each of the children finished opening the presents their father had bought them. Each present was different. They ranged from clothing to a bike to jewelry to electronics. Although the children didn't realize it at the time, each gift was exactly what the recipient needed.

In the following days, however, a strange thing happened. Each one, rather than enjoying his or her own gift and using it to serve others, wished for what one of the other children had. Jessica longed for the mobility Sarah had with her bike; Sarah wished she had the sweater.

It took awhile for the children to stop comparing and to simply start enjoying the gifts they’d been given. When they did, however, they discovered the joy of embracing what they'd been given with thankfulness, discovering that their father had given each of them a special present...and the responsibility to use that present well.

"And let the peace of God rule in your hearts, to the which also ye are called in one body; and be ye thankful." Colossians 3:15 (KJV)

 

[beensetfree]

I Can Do It Myself!

It was the first day of our youth group ski trip and we were all crowded in the ski lodge as Jen, the youth leader, paid for our lift tickets. While I sweated under 16 layers of clothes, I saw a booth offering ski lessons. I considered taking an hour–long lesson, but then I heard my voice in my head: Nah, you don't need any help. After all, you've skied once before. You'll be fine.

As I stood on the edge of the first slope, my confidence shrank. After all, I hadn't skied for two years. And even then, I'd only taught myself to ski well enough to make it down once or twice without falling. But surely, I'd be able to figure it out.

So, I pushed off and built up speed. I lasted about 15 feet before collapsing into the snow. No problem, that was just one mistake, I thought. You got this. I was just kidding myself. I was like an out–of–control moose on roller skates. My arms and legs flopped around like I was trying to fly. My skis crossed each other. I couldn't stop or turn. I couldn't even slow down to less than 120 miles an hour.

I fell about eight times on that beginner's slope before I finally came to a stop at the bottom by hitting a small tree.

The second time down, I only fell four times so I figured I was getting better. I rode up the ski lift for a third try with my friend Mike. From up above the slope, I watched my friends gently gliding down the hill in wide, slow turns. All of a sudden I realized we were at the lift ramp! I struggled to get my feet under me so I could hop off. But before I could get my footing, the lift chair shoved me over some traffic cones and into a snow bank.

I yelled at the traffic cones, brushed snow off myself and then hobbled over to where a few of my friends waited.

"You guys ready to go down?" I asked Mike and Jen.

Mike laughed. "We're ready, but you seem to even have problems with traffic cones."

"Oh, that wasn't my fault," I said. "Those cones were in the wrong place. Let's go!"

Twenty seconds later, I was digging myself out of 3 feet of snow. Jen was there to help me. I asked her and Mike for advice on how to control myself and gently swoosh from one side of the hill to the other instead of rocketing at 300 miles per hour. Jen gave me some tips. That's it, I thought. I am all set!

I pushed off like Jen showed me and tried to slowly turn into a gradual glide across the slope. Instead, my skis turned straight down the hill and I reached maximum speed. BOOM. I plowed into a fence.

"Todd, you might really hurt yourself," Jen said gently. "I think you should take a lesson."

I don't need help! I screamed in my head. With that, I stood up and rocketed down the hill. Near the bottom of the hill, my left ski flew out from under me. My upper body flew forward. My entire weight landed on my face, and I skidded down the hill about 10 feet.

My face hurt. My glasses were 3 feet away. My head throbbed. There was blood all over the snow. People stopped to see if I was OK. "I'm fine" I told the crowd without looking up at them. "I don't need help.

As my head pounded and my face started to swell, I finally admitted to myself that I couldn't keep doing this. I was dangerous to myself and others. That's when I finally admitted to myself that I should have taken lessons earlier that morning. If I am going to do this, I need help, I thought. I can't do it myself.

After stopping at the First Aid building for Advil and an ice pack, I swallowed my pride and marched up to the ski lessons booth. "I need lessons," I said with my lips swollen to the size of bananas, bloody cuts all over my face and my right eye swelling shut.

As I waited for my lesson, I felt foolish for ever thinking I could've done this myself. But, still, I worried about what the instructor would think of me. At my lesson, though, the instructor complimented me for having the courage to try again after my accident. He watched how I skied and offered advice. Before I knew it, I could turn! I could stop! Instead of fear and panic, I felt confidence and enjoyment. I could actually ski—not just careen downhill!

After my lesson, I went down the "face plant" hill and completely mastered it. I took my time going down—swooshing this way and that. At the bottom, Mike said, "I couldn't believe that was you. You're completely transformed!"

As he and I took the ski lift up to go again, I thought about my day. I thought about how much I'd fallen. I also thought about how stubborn I'd been through it all. Only when I'd really hurt myself had I finally admitted I needed help. I realized that this doesn't just happen with skiing. I've done it in my spiritual life, too. When I've faced tough problems, or when I've wrestled with sin, way too many times I've thought, I can do it. I can handle this. And, then, it has only gotten worse. Real transformation, I thought to myself, only comes when I give up doing it all myself and let God help me change.

When I easily slid off the lift chair and past those troublesome traffic cones, I thanked God for a lesson learned. I also asked him to help me take the lesson to heart before I found myself, one more time, lying flat on my face.

Now What?

Think about times you were convinced you could do something by yourself, but really couldn't. What happened? In what ways did your problem or situation get worse?

Why do we often find it hard to ask for help from friends and family? From God?

Memorize and take to heart Philippians 4:13: "For I can do everything with the help of Christ who gives me the strength I need" (NLT).

 

[beensetfree]

Desperate for Friends

BULLIED: When Sarah Kelly was in seventh grade, she transferred to a new school where a tight group of popular girls ruthlessly picked on the new girl.

"Almost every day I'd find pictures on my locker making fun of my big red hair," Sarah says. "They said my hair looked like a rat's nest and drew pictures of it with rats coming out. They called me so many names. I was not ugly but I began to think I was. I couldn't look in the mirror without hating not only what was on the outside but also what was on the inside."

DESPERATE FOR ACCEPTANCE: Despite the way these girls treated her, Sarah wanted nothing more than for them to like her. One afternoon after school, she called one of them.

"I don't know why I called her," Sarah says. "I guess I was trying one last chance to make friends. I was so desperate. I don't remember exactly what this girl said, but I hung up in shambles."

Needing to talk to someone, Sarah called the boy she was dating. After she talked about how much she hated herself, he replied, "If you are so unhappy, why don't you try to kill yourself?"

FINDING SOMETHING MORE: When she hung up, that's exactly what Sarah did. Her parents found her unconscious on the floor. They rushed her to the hospital and Sarah's life was saved. The next day, a hospital counselor asked Sarah to think about how she viewed herself. The more Sarah thought, the more she realized she needed God's help. She knelt beside her bed and prayed, "God, I really, really need you. I need you more than ever before."

After that, Sarah began talking very honestly with God. She wrote songs to get her emotions out and express her pain. She discovered that the Psalms often express a lot of pain and sorrow. And her youth pastor helped her find Bible verses that express what God thought about her.

"I went through a process of learning to like myself and then I started to make some real friends who really cared for me," she says. She broke up with that jerk boyfriend, didn't date for a couple of years, and just focused on getting to know God, liking herself, and developing real friendships.

"I wish I would have talked to someone," Sarah says about her suicidal thoughts. "I wish someone would have told me it's not a solution and that it is the most selfish thing you could do. I thought I'd help others by leaving. But I hurt my mom so bad. I learned to make it through painful times not just for myself but also for those who love me. My life was so hopeless. Now, I have hope.

 

[beensetfree]

Until you grow, your church won't grow.

 

[beensetfree]

Giving Up a Dream

For as long as she can remember, Katie Giguere wanted to be a singer. But she didn't tell anyone her dream—not even her parents—because she figured it would never come true.

"I've always been overweight," Katie says. "But 99 percent of the people you see in music are perfect by the world's standards. I thought, I might as well give up that dream."

Katie's weight didn't only affect her dream to sing. Her low self–esteem and insecurity made her avoid drawing attention to herself or even talking to people.

Singing for a Stranger: One night, a family friend came over to visit Katie's parents and brought over two friends who'd worked in the music industry. Katie was intrigued to learn they'd worked with singer Stevie Wonder. She wanted to hear their stories but was too shy to start a conversation, so she slipped away to her room.

An hour or so later, Katie tried to sneak down to the kitchen to get dinner. As she walked in, her dad spotted her and mentioned, "You know, Katie sings in church." One of the guests, Bonita, was very interested in this. Before Katie knew what was happening, she and Bonita were chatting about faith and singing. And then, Bonita asked: "Do you dream about singing professionally?"

For the first time, Katie told someone her dream—but quickly added that it would never happen. Bonita ignored Katie's doubts and asked her to sing.

"You Can't Be Shy": After Katie sang, Bonita explained she was starting a program to work with high school students who were dealing with various tough life issues. She'd been praying to find a young artist to start the program with, and she believed Katie was that artist.

Just months later, Katie was in L.A. recording some sample songs for a CD. After completing one song, Bonita invited Katie to a birthday party for Stevie Wonder's son and played Katie's song for everyone—including Stevie. When the song ended, Stevie said, "You have a beautiful song, and a beautiful voice. You can't be shy with a voice like that."

More than Appearance: As Katie began to realize how many people supported her singing, her thinking slowly changed. "Seeing that everyone believed in me made me realize that they must see me the way God sees me," she says. "I couldn't see my potential because I was caught up only on what was on the outside. I was denying my gift because of things I didn't like about myself."

Last year, as Katie recorded and released her inspirational pop album, Bringin' Me Hope, she says God helped her realize she has nothing to fear. She felt him saying, "If you're walking in my will, you should be confident."

Now that she feels like she's serving God with her album and with her new book, Being the Fat Girl, she isn't so shy anymore. "I still sometimes have this tendency to want to hide from any attention," she says. "But I know God doesn't want me to be so insecure about how I look that I shy away from doing his will. It's in obedience to God that I say, 'I will be confident in the way you made me.'"