Just sharing.

[spotter542]

Jesus disappeared for a couple of years , where did he went ?
Whom did he met ?
What did he do ?
Slight connection with Buddhism , do you believe ?
Do you have an answer for all that happened ?

 

[beensetfree]

Emily Chapman

Long after Emily Chapman traveled to Haiti with her junior high youth group, she couldn't forget the poverty and despair she'd seen there.

Seeing the children and the awful conditions they lived in really tugged at her heart. Although Emily knew she couldn't help each kid she'd seen, she wondered if there might be a way to help just one needy child.

"I've always thought adoption was cool, but on that trip I suddenly thought, Why not our family?" says Emily, now 18 and a freshman at Baylor University in Texas.

When she pitched the idea of international adoption to her parents, she got mixed reactions. Her dad, Christian musician Steven Curtis Chapman, was pumped about the idea as long as her mom was on board. Her mom, however, wasn't so sure. With Emily's dad on the road so often, she felt it might not be smart to add a sixth Chapman to the mix.

There was another problem: If they did adopt a child, the Chapmans were thinking about a child from China. But adoption laws there were strict, and they were worried about restrictions that could keep them from reaching this goal.

This didn't stop Emily's hopes. In fact, it made her try harder. She left three-page letters on her parents' bed about why they should adopt. She bought a book on international adoption. And she prayed—big time—that God would bring her a little sister from a faraway country.

But a year and a half later, Emily was frustrated. It seemed like her prayers hadn't been answered. So she talked to her pastor. "When he asked if I'd been praying for my will or God's, I realized I needed to look at my motives," Emily says. "I realized nothing I could do would make this happen." So she stopped her efforts—and began praying for God's will for her family.

Soon after, adoption laws changed in China, and the Chapman family sensed that God was opening the door for them.

Emily's parents filled out mountains of required paperwork, and many months later the entire Chapman family boarded a plane for Changsha, China, to get Emily's little sister, Shaohannah.

While there have been sacrifices, like having to change diapers and babysit often, Emily loves her relationship with her little sister Shaoey, who's now a lively 4-year old. "We make cookies and draw together. She wants me to put makeup on her all the time and do her hair," explains Emily. "I grew up playing Ninja Turtles and Power Rangers with my brothers, but Shaoey's into the Disney princesses. We do girlie stuff together; it's so much fun."

Since the trip to get Shaoey, the Chapmans have adopted a second little girl from China, Stevey Joy, and Emily's parents have started Shaohannah's Hope Foundation. This organization provides financial help to families who want to adopt from overseas.

"While it was difficult waiting for God to open doors, it helped me learn to rely on him more," Emily says. "And watching the way everything unfolded, I'm amazed by God's perfect timing."

 

[spotter542]

No answer from you also ?
Cannot stomach the fact that Jesus learnt something from another religion ?
Remember , it's all for the good of mankind

 

[beensetfree]

Page 1 of 1
Painful Loss:
When singer John Cooper of hard rock band Skillet was a freshman in high school, his mother died of cancer. Less than three months later, his dad remarried.

"From then on, my dad and I fought constantly," he says. "I don't have one happy memory from that time. Talking about my mom was taboo. Dad threw her stuff away. We couldn't even talk to Mom's parents. His attitude was, That's not my life anymore."

In less than six months, John's life was turned upside down. He couldn't talk about his grief or get support from his dad. John grew bitter; he and his dad resented each other.

Constant Tension:
There were lots of rules in the new family. An example: John's stepmom wouldn't let him shower before school or after 9 P.M. because the noise would wake her up. Because John worked after school until late at night, he often went days without a shower.

"These kind of things made me hate being home," says John. "Back then I would rather have worked 30 hours a week at McDonald's than go home."

The stress of his home life took its toll on John. "You get to a point where you just don't care," John says. "I'd think, I'm fine if I never see my family again. I don't like them and they don't like me, and it's fine with me."

New Start:
As John began growing closer to God during college, he realized his negative feelings toward his father weren't right. John was amazed by God's faithfulness to him; no matter what he did, God still wanted him. John wanted to model that same kind of faithfulness in pursuing a relationship with his dad.

Things didn't go well at first, but John kept trying. John's siblings both gave up on their dad and cut off contact. When their dad divorced his wife a few years ago and wanted to reconnect with his children, John was the only one still open to talking to him.

"We understand each other more now," John says. "We've made up for lost time. It's not perfect, but we don't fight and we care for each other. We even talk about my mom—and that is a really big deal.

 

[beensetfree]

Broken

The ball flipped end over end across the dark sky. I lost sight of it in the bright stadium lights for a minute and stepped forward to get a better view. The crowd cheered and yelled like crazy. I pivoted slightly, positioning myself to catch the kickoff.

It was my senior year and the first game of the season for Valley Christian High. I could feel big things were going to happen this year. Several Division I colleges were interested in me, and Colorado State had already offered me a full-tuition scholarship. Football was my life, and this season was my chance to shine. It all started with this kickoff.

The ball fell into my arms. Running as hard as I could, I kept my eyes focused in front of me. The other team charged at me, like a swarm of insects. They were everywhere. But then, I noticed a strip of open, green field and darted left. My teammates threw blocks for me as I sprinted down the sideline, weaving through oncoming opponents. The crowd yelled louder than ever.

I crossed the five-yard line, the four, the three, the two and into the end zone! I'd run 85 yards for the touchdown! The season had started off perfectly, just like I prayed it would.

Only a few weeks before our season opener with Sedona Red Rock, I sat with a group of six guys at my church in a close circle of folding chairs. We talked that night about purpose and priorities. It got me thinking about my priorities: popularity, girls, parties, drugs and, of course, football. I asked the guys to pray for my priorities to change.

But I'll be honest: I didn't ask for this prayer because I wanted God to be number one. Instead, my real intention was to have a better football season. Partying and girls were taking my focus away from harder practice and concentration. My life was a mess and it was distracting me from my goal: playing professional football.

I knew I needed a deeper focus and dedication to be a successful player—and that was what I wanted, more than anything. The entire summer, I shut out everything that wasn't football. I even slept with a football at night.

In that first game, everything was going as planned. I was having a great game at both running back and linebacker. We were in overtime and seconds away from a win. But it was Sedona's ball. If we held them, the game would be ours.

As Sedona's offense readied on the line of scrimmage, I eyed the running back carefully from my position at linebacker. I could tell he was headed my way. Sure enough, the quarterback handed him the ball and he bulldozed his way through our first line of defenders. I crouched low, shifted my weight and waited. I knew I had him.

BAM. I slammed into him and we both crashed to the ground. Chills ran through my body for several seconds. I took a deep breath and stood up shakily. The nagging pain in my neck was bad enough that I knew I'd be useless on the next play. I walked off the field and the trainer quickly checked me out.

"I'm just out for a play," I said. "I can go back in."

"No way. You're not going back in tonight.


I was disappointed, but I knew it wouldn't do me any good to argue. So I stood with my teammates to watch the few remaining plays. My neck still stung, but I tried not to pay attention to it. Sedona didn't score and we won. I congratulated the guys and walked out to the 50-yard line for our post-game tradition. We always knelt at the center of the field and sang a hymn.

But that night, I couldn't kneel. My neck was throbbing so intensely I could barely move. The coaches noticed I was in more pain than I'd admit and the trainer called an ambulance. It's just a precaution, I told myself. It's not that bad.

The paramedics arrived quickly and strapped me to a backboard. At the hospital, a doctor told me the pain was likely some torn ligament and I'd go home by morning. To be sure, he checked me out quickly and ordered an X-ray. After what seemed like hours, he came back into the room.

"You have the same spinal injury as Christopher Reeve," he said. "You're lucky to be alive. But you'll definitely never play football again."

Everything seemed a blur. All I remember is Mom holding my hand, and the doctor saying something about scheduling surgery. All I could think was, Football is gone. I wouldn't play in college. I wouldn't go pro. I'd never play again. My dreams were gone. Football is all I am, I thought. There's nothing left.

The doctor left and the room remained completely quiet. Tears filled my eyes. None of my friends or family members knew what to say. What could they say? They knew my dreams were shattered. Then, my weight-training coach stepped forward. He placed his hands on me and broke the silence by saying, "The Lord knows the plans he has for you, Clif, plans for hope and a future. Jeremiah 29:11."

I woke up from surgery wearing a big metal halo designed to keep my spinal cord straight. I stayed up all night trapped in that awkward, heavy halo, painfully shuffling back and forth from my bed to a chair. All I could do was sit and stare out the window. Only one thing helped get my mind off the pain—a Michael W. Smith song we sang in church.

Quietly, I sang to myself. I will carry you. Be your strength and pull you through. Reach for me, take my hand, we will pray and we will stand. In a world crying out for peace … let your heart be strong … for when I'm weak you will carry me. …

As I sat in my hospital room for almost two weeks, I did a lot of thinking. It was easy for me to feel sorry for myself and wish I could still have things my way—still be playing football. But every time I started sinking into self-pity, doubt or anger, I thought about what my coach said: "The Lord knows the plans he has for you, Clif."

Somehow, just rehearing that reminder over and over made me know it was true; I had to trust God in all this. After all, I was even lucky to be alive! It was by God's grace I could even still move. Sure, I'm weak now, I'd think, but God's strength will get me through this and make me stronger.

After surgery, I made amazingly quick progress. I was only in the hospital for 10 days. I was able to walk soon after. In fact, only two weeks after that opening game I even had the honor of walking out on the field with my teammates for the coin toss. Three weeks after the accident, I was back in school.

When my discipleship group met those few weeks before, I had prayed for my priorities to change, but it was so I could better serve myself—not so I could better serve God. Now, God was using my injury to show me what my priorities really needed to be. I couldn't take life for granted anymore.

By looking back at the journey I've been on since that season opener, I see God working in my life. And I owe him a lot more than making him my second or third priority. Instead, my first priority is to try being who God intended me to be.

I don't have that all figured out. But I realize now that whatever I want to do with my life can't possibly compare to what God wants. So what can I do? I try to learn more about God everyday, listen to him and live with integrity and purity.

My life isn't centered on my own desires anymore. I don't live for the cheap thrill. I live for the journey. The process of allowing God to mold my character is a lifelong adventure. People do not remember titles or trophies anyway. They remember the influence we had on them, our character and our identity in Christ.

By the end of his senior year, Clif helped his school's track team win its fourth state championship in a row by competing in shot put and relay. He now attends a local college on a track scholarship. He also shares his testimony with two other athletes at churches and special events. To learn more, see their website: fightinggiants.com.

 

[beensetfree]

The Lure of Gang Life


I joined the gang and suddenly had more money than I thought possible. I also lived in constant danger of taking a life or losing my own.

With my legs slightly spread and feet planted in the middle of the street, I aimed my revolver at the gray car speeding toward me. The seconds ticked by slowly as I waited for the right moment, confident I'd shoot the driver between the eyes and dive out of the way before he ran me down.

That moment never came. Before I pulled the trigger, I glanced over my shoulder and saw a police car coming at me from behind. Getting revenge on a rival gang member suddenly didn't matter. I couldn't risk getting arrested again. I darted off of the street, looking for someplace to hide.

I was only 19 and had already been in jail. If the police caught me, I was bound to end up behind bars again—but for a much longer time. My whole life was headed nowhere but down.

It wasn't like I woke up one morning and said, "This is the day I'll destroy my life." I'd been raised by good, churchgoing parents. I was always a pretty decent kid. But one day I made a very bad decision. I was 12 at the time.

It was a pretty ordinary summer afternoon. Engines rumbled as cars slowly passed my house. Rap beats blared from boom boxes. The shouts and giggles of children at play could be heard up and down the street.

My friend and I sat in the front yard playing a game of marbles. As I knelt on the lawn, posed to flip a large marble with my thumb, I glanced toward the street and saw a guy sprinting hard. He was being chased by a police officer. The guy darted across a neighbor's yard, dropping something that looked like a gun. He then disappeared from sight, with the officer still running after him.

Always full of curiosity, I crossed the street so I could get a good look at what the guy had dropped. There it was, steel-gray body and black handgrip. I looked at it for a few seconds, then picked it up. I'd never held a gun before. It was kind of heavy, big and powerful-feeling. I carried it back across the street to show to my friend. "What will we do with it?" he asked.

I shrugged my shoulders and told him I was going to hide it in a trashcan in the alley. After I dropped it in the trash, we went back to the front yard as if nothing had happened.

Later that afternoon, my friend went home and I continued to play outside. Around suppertime, a man came walking up my street. It was the guy who'd dropped the gun! He stopped in front of my house and looked at me. I avoided his eyes.

He stood there a moment, then asked, "Did you see what happened?"

I took a deep breath.

He knows I saw him, I thought. What would he do if I lied to him? I wondered. Then I had another thought. What will he do if I tell him the truth?

I swallowed hard, mumbled something about what I'd seen and then led him to the back alley. I showed where I'd put the gun.

"I wasn't going to keep it," I said nervously.

"You didn't do nothing wrong," he said without any anger in his voice. In fact, he sounded like he admired me for thinking so quickly—and, I realized later, for keeping him out of trouble. "It's OK. You're smart.

I need smart kids. Let's take a walk." Without my parents or any of my siblings around, I didn't think twice about walking down the street with this stranger. He seemed kind of cool and scary, all at the same time.

He explained that he was a member of the Unknown Vice Lords. He said his gang needed smart kids like me for lookouts. He told me I could make good money working for him.

As we walked back to my house, he said, "Don't give me an answer now. Just think about it. I'll come back."

A few days later, he showed up again—this time he pulled up in his big fancy Buick Regal. We talked a little. As I stood there leaning on his shiny car, I thought, I want a cool car like this someday. After he talked to me for a while, he invited me to take a ride with him. Again, my family wasn't around, so I decided a little ride wouldn't do any harm.

He drove me to Sportmart and bought me a chrome bike with black mag wheels! He explained that I could use the bike to help his gang watch for cops during drug sales. I couldn't believe my luck. I was the youngest of 11 children and my parents couldn't afford a bike like this. Being a lookout suddenly seemed real cool. I had no problem saying yes.

Knowing I couldn't take the bike home, I hid it at friend's house. Before long, I was making about $150 a day as a lookout. I bought brand-name clothes, shoes and other stuff I'd always wanted. For me, buying things was like an addiction. The more stuff I got, the more I wanted.

I hid everything from my parents—especially my new life of selling drugs, buying high-end stuff and owning two tricked-out cars. By the time I reached sophomore year of high school, I had a lot to hide. I was no longer just a lookout. I'd decided to sell drugs so that I could make more money.

I was making close to $2,000 a week selling weed when I decided to join the Unknown Vice Lords. Doing so allowed me to expand my drug-selling territory. Life seemed great.

One afternoon I forced a guy out of his car and was planning to use it to track down a guy from a rival gang. Things went bad—really fast. I got in a high-speed car chase with the police and ended up arrested and charged with robbery and assault. Although I faced the possibility of a serious sentence, I only spent about two weeks in jail and got two years probation.

Suddenly, my hidden life was out in the open. I think my parents had suspected I was doing some bad stuff, but now they knew it. Dad was angry. Mom cried a lot. They both prayed hard. So did the people in my church. During my two weeks in jail, I even asked for God's help. Desperation will do that to you. But I wasn't serious—I just wanted to get out of trouble. Soon I was back to my old ways.

Then came the day I could have murdered a man, or been killed by his speeding car.

After I darted off the street that day, I sprinted to a friend's house and found an unlocked door. No one seemed to be home, so I quickly hid my gun and shut myself in a closet. After a few minutes, I heard shouting and feet shuffling—very close by. Then the closet door swung open and I was pushed down on my face and handcuffed. I was taken to the police station and interrogated.

When the metal bars clanked behind me at the county jail, I stared down the dimly lit hall that led to my cell. Prisoners with hardened, angry faces stared at me. This became my "home" for the next seven months until my trial. The charges against me included one for carrying an illegal firearm.

As I sat in my jail cell, regret and guilt overwhelmed me. I didn't want to spend my life selling drugs, running from the law, in and out of jail. I wanted out—not just out of jail, but out of the gang, too. That seemed impossible. People just didn't quit gangs.

One night I couldn't sleep, so I started looking through a Bible. Although I'd been brought up in the church, I never paid much attention to this is old, hard-to-follow book. But this Bible was easy to understand.

It was also interesting. Before long, I came to a story about a Christian-killer named Saul. One day he met Jesus, discovered God's love, found forgiveness, and started living for God. Here was a really awful man who was able to leave his old way of life.

Maybe there is hope, I thought. Maybe I can change. I shut my eyes and prayed long and hard, asking God to help me out of the mess I'd made of my life.

As I waited for my trial, I kept reading the Bible. I even started talking to other prisoners about God. I also talked to fellow gang members who were serving time. I told them I wanted to follow God and leave the gang. Their reponse surprised me. They said that if I was being real, I could quit the gang. But if I was messing with them, I'd pay for it.

That was miracle number one. Then came the second miracle: sentencing. Although I'd faced a maximum 21-year sentence, it was reduced to four months in Boot Camp! Boot Camp is a tough program that seeks to rehabilitate young criminals through hard work and lots of discipline.

At Boot Camp I met two men who were with a juvenile justice ministry run by Youth for Christ—an organization that tells teenagers about a relationship with Jesus. They taught me so much about living for Christ. They stuck with me and helped me get my life together.

Since I finished Boot Camp, I've had a lot of opportunities to tell my story. I want people to know the choices they make do matter and can have serious consequences, like the choice I made at age 12. I also want everyone to know that God can change anybody.

No one is too lost for God to find. I ought to know. He found me.

Jeremiah completed Boot Camp a little over a year go. He often shares his testimony at events sponsored by the Juvenile Justice Ministry, an outreach of Metro Chicago Youth for Christ. He plans to go to college and study law.

 

[beensetfree]

I Knew He Wasn't a Christian

I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder as I dug through my messy locker. When I looked up, tiny beads of sweat formed on my palms. It was Brad*.

"Hi," I said, startled. I was always nervous around Brad. I'd had a crush on him since our first class together that year. And now, here he was, standing next to me. "Hi," he said coolly, flashing his perfect smile. "Are you busy Friday night?"

My heart did a somersault. Not trusting my voice, I shook my head no. "Would you like to go out with me?" he asked, smiling confidently.

"Of course!" I exclaimed, not even trying to hide my excitement. "I'd love to."

"Great. It's a date, then," he said smoothly. I couldn't believe it. Brad was Mr. Popular. He was a total jock and he had even been the homecoming king. We'd had a ton of classes together, but he had never shown any interest in dating me. Until now. We'd been talking a lot in class lately.

After school I found my best friend, Deb. "Guess what?" I squealed. "Brad asked me out on a date!" Debby eyed me guardedly. "Just be careful," she said.

"What do you mean?" I said, surprised by her lukewarm reaction.

"It's no secret Brad likes to party," Deb said. "I mean, his parties are legendary—that's why he's so popular."

"Yeah," I nodded. "I've heard about that. But I'm not worried. I have it under control."

"I don't want to see you get hurt," she said. "Just promise me you'll keep a clear head and remember that you can't change him."

My family had the same reaction when I told them about Brad at dinner later that evening.

My older sister didn't even try to hide her response. "He's trouble," Kristina said.

"You're just jealous," I shot back. "He's never been that way in class. Brad is a nice guy."

"Amy, everyone at school knows Brad drinks," Kristina said. "And I'm pretty sure he does drugs and he's on probation for stealing money."

I couldn't believe she'd mention those things in front of my parents. "Give him a chance," I shouted. "He's changing." I had heard those rumors about Brad, but I didn't want to believe them. He didn't seem like a troublemaker to me.

Mom looked concerned. "Amy, I don't know if you should be going out with a boy with a reputation like that," my mom said.

I wasn't about to lose my chance. Someone as cool as Brad had noticed me—had asked me out! I wasn't going to let a few rumors stop me. My face was hot with angry tears.

"This is the best thing that has ever happened to me," I cried, pushing myself back from the table with enough force to make my chair screech against the floor. "I don't care what you say. I'm going!" I stormed away from the table, shaking.

Everyone was stunned, especially me. I'd never spoken to my mom that way.
When I'd dried my eyes, I found Mom in the kitchen, washing the dinner dishes.

"I'm sorry," I said sheepishly, picking up a towel to dry the dishes.

My mom turned toward me. "It's okay," she said putting her hand on mine. "I'm going to trust your judgment on this. But I think you two better watch a movie here instead of going out."

"It's a deal," I said, then added, "don't believe everything Kristina says."

She didn't seem reassured. "I just hope you're making a good choice."

On Friday night, Brad arrived right at seven o'clock. As we sat on the couch after the movie, he told me he wanted to turn his life around.

"I got mixed up with some pretty heavy drinking and even some drugs," he confessed. "What can I say? I really liked to party. I hit bottom when I was put on probation. My parents about killed me."

My heart leapt. I was right about him! He wasn't the same guy everyone kept warning me about. He really did plan to change his life. "So you're not going to party anymore?" I asked hopefully.

"No," he promised. He squeezed my hand and smiled. "And you're the perfect person to help me stay on the straight and narrow."

As the weeks passed, Brad made me feel like I was the most important person in the world. He made me feel like he needed me, and I knew if I prayed hard enough for him, he'd turn into the person that I wanted him to be—someone who shared my faith, someone I could respect for his commitment to God.

Since he didn't go to church, I started dreaming up a plan to invite him to my youth group. I was sure it wouldn't be long before Brad and I would go to church together and maybe even start a Bible study.

But in all my planning and dreaming, I failed to notice something: I'd slowly drifted away from my friends in youth group. And the time I used to spend with God and reading the Bible, I was now spending with Brad. And when I wasn't with Brad, I was thinking about him and daydreaming about our time together.

At lunch a few weeks later, Debby told me Brad was planning on throwing a party that weekend.

"Oh, Deb, that's just a rumor," I defended him automatically. Brad hadn't mentioned a party to me. "He promised me he wouldn't do that stuff anymore." Still, I felt a twinge in my heart. Was Brad being completely honest with me? Was I even being honest with myself?

Deb put down her sandwich and shook her head. "You know what, Amy? It's not just a rumor. I heard him say it myself," she continued, frustration seeping into her tone. "Just face it, it's true. Brad drinks. Brad does drugs." She paused. "And Brad lies," she said pointedly.

"Deb, stop," I said, raising my voice to match hers. "You don't even know him."

"Maybe not," she said. "But I know you. You're not studying much anymore, your sister says you fight with your family all the time, and you keep blowing off our youth group meetings.''

"I skipped out on youth group a couple of times. So what?" I said. "Brad needed to talk."

Debby shook her head. "Is being with a popular jerk this important to you?" She picked up her lunch and left.

I didn't want to admit it to her, but deep down I knew Deb was right. I had changed since I'd begun dating Brad. And I didn't like who I was becoming.

Brad hadn't told me anything about having a party. But when he didn't ask me out on our regular Friday night date, I got a sinking feeling in my stomach. I spent that evening by myself. When I called Brad early Saturday morning, his mom answered the phone and said that she and Brad's dad had come home early—right in the middle of the party. Brad wasn't going to be talking on the phone or going anywhere any time soon.

After I hung up, I climbed back into bed and pulled the covers over my head. I wanted to disappear.

After several minutes of feeling sorry for myself, I came out from under the covers and prayed. "Lord," I said. "I'm really confused. I thought you were using me to change Brad. I thought our relationship was part of your plan to save him. Instead I feel like my life is unraveling. Please give me strength to do what's right."

On Monday morning, God answered my prayer in a way I hadn't expected. Brad had placed a break-up note in my locker. Our relationship was over. It hurt, but I knew it was for the best.

Later that day, I apologized to Deb and my family and asked God for forgiveness. I knew I could have avoided all that heartbreak if only I had listened to the people who cared about me most—and if I had followed God's Word. Now I understand why his Word tells us to "stay away from people who are not followers of the Lord" (2 Corinthians 6:14, CEV).

It's not that God didn't want to use me as a good influence in Brad's life, and it's not that he wants me—or anyone—to stay completely away from nonbelievers. But there were too many problems with having a romantic relationship with Brad—problems that came from having two different sets of values.

I don't know how far I would have gone to please Brad. I'm grateful that God removed him from my life before I had to think about it anymore. After that relationship ended, I decided that God would be my first priority—not dating. I also promised myself that I'd only date Christians who were committed to living their faith. I wanted a healthy relationship that pleased God.

 

[beensetfree]

Why Didn’t You Tell Me?

Jeremy could hardly believe it.

His debt, which he never thought he’d ever be able be able to pay, was paid! This debt was not just any debt–it was a serious one that would have one day cost him his very life. To say he was excited was to put it mildly.

At first, Jeremy told everyone he could. After all, the King who paid his debt offered to do the same for others too. This was the best news ever!

Yet after a few people refused to believe Jeremy, Jeremy got discouraged and stopped telling others. Instead, he kept it to himself.

One day, some time later, Jeremy’s friend Mat came bounding into Jeremy’s hut. “You’ll never believe it!” Mat exclaimed excitedly. “My debt has been paid!”

Jeremy smiled. “My debt’s been paid too. It’s been a couple of years, actually.”

Matt stared at Jeremy in shock. “Then why didn’t you tell me? How could you keep such news to yourself?”

Jeremy wasn’t sure how to respond. “It’s just–” he took a step closer to Matt, but Matt drew back, offended.

“How could you claim to be my friend when you didn’t tell me about this? You would have let me die without telling me of the King’s offer of salvation?”

Once again, Jeremy didn’t have an answer. He hung his head, realizing how foolish he’d been. “Forgive me,” he whispered. “Shall we go tell others?”

Together, they headed out to tell everyone they could the good news. Of course, some didn’t believe them. But others did. And either way, Jeremy discovered there was tremendous joy in telling others such good news. It continually filled his heart with joy again over the gift he’d been given. Oh, why hadn’t he shared before?

“For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.

And it came to pass, as the angels were gone away from them into heaven, the shepherds said one to another, Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known unto us.

And they came with haste, and found Mary, and Joseph, and the babe lying in a manger. And when they had seen it, they made known abroad the saying which was told them concerning this child.” Luke 2:11-17 (KJV)

 

[beensetfree]

21 Fun Ways to Celebrate Christmas

1. Get your friends together to string popcorn and cranberries while watching animated kids' classics like A Charlie Brown Christmas and How the Grinch Stole Christmas.

2. Get your youth group to create a living nativity scene one night a week in front of your church.

3. For a few laughs and a lot of fun, get together with friends to look at each other's family photos from past Christmases.

4. Form a kazoo band and go caroling—no singing allowed!

5. Pile the family in the car and drive around your town looking at Christmas lights.

6. Drop anonymous notes on your teachers' desks thanking them for sharing their gift of teaching with you. You may want to include a message about the greatest gift of all, Jesus!

7. Make your own creative wrapping paper using butcher paper and festive stamps.

8. Make a nativity scene from snow; if you live near a sunny beach, sand-sculpt the nativity scene.

9. Check with your local animal shelter and see if you and your friends can help give the animals their baths. Bring red and green ribbon to give them bows when you're done.

10. Go to your church one evening when no one else is there. Bring a single candle to light and sit in the silence, enjoying the peace of the season. (Be sure you've cleared this with somebody on the church staff.)

11. Grab your siblings for a fun day of shopping for your parents. After you've purchased the gifts, find a good place to sit and watch people. Try and guess who they're shopping for and what they bought.

12. Make hot cocoa for your grandma or grandpa. Ask them about Christmases past and their favorite traditions.

13. Try a holiday recipe from a different culture, like Mexican wedding cookies or Norwegian lefse.

14. Make a mixed tape of familiar Christmas carols sung by famous musical artists and have a contest to see who can guess who's singing; award the tape to one who gets the most correct.

15. Read the Christmas story (Matthew 1 and Luke 2:1-20) several times before Christmas; write down some new insights God gives you as you read.

16. Offer free babysitting for a busy mom in your church while she goes shopping.

17. Give out candy canes at school with a little note that explains where this tradition came from—to represent the staff of the Good Shepherd, Jesus Christ; the red is his blood; the white is the purity of Christ. (Get the whole story here.)

18. Turn off all the lights and read 'Twas the Night Before Christmas" by candlelight.

19. Get your youth group to clean your pastor's or youth pastor's house while they relax with their favorite Christmas album.

20. Volunteer to be a Salvation Army bell ringer. Give candy to young children who drop money in the bucket.

21. Keep a journal of all your favorite Christmas memories from this year so you can thank God for each one and remember them next Christmas!

 

[beensetfree]

Allyson Felix

At 18, Allyson Felix is the world's fastest teen girl. Ever. Now, she's got her eye on the Summer Olympics, to be held this August in Athens, Greece.

But she's got to earn it first. She has to finish in the top three in her main event—the 200-meter dash—at July's U.S. Olympic Trials in Sacramento. That'll take about 22 seconds, maybe 23. If it takes much longer than that, Allyson might just end up watching the Olympics on TV like the rest of us.

Given her current track record, though, we'll most likely be watching her in action. She's a five-time high school state champ in California. Last year, while still a senior at Los Angeles Baptist High School, Allyson finished second in the 200 at the USA Indoor Track & Field Championships. A few months later, in front of 50,000 fans in Mexico City, she ran her best time ever—22.11 seconds, the fastest in history for a high school girl. And a few weeks after that, she missed her prom while qualifying for the state meet.

How does Allyson handle the pressure of such intense competition?

"I pray a lot," she says. "I always make time to spend in the Word, just talking to God. My speed is a gift from God, and I run for his glory. Whatever I do, it all comes from him."

Allyson didn't discover her gift till she tried out for track in the ninth grade. Before long, her name was everywhere. Just 10 weeks after that first tryout, she finished seventh in the 200 at the state championships. Now, less than four years later, she's the fastest teen on the planet.

Says Allyson, now a freshman at the University of Southern California, "I'm always striving to be the best that I can."

Some people think the 200-meter world record—21.34 seconds—will never be broken. Allyson's not so convinced.

"I hope I can break it," she says. "Maybe not this year, but that will be my goal, ultimately.

 

[beensetfree]

What if I Die?

Alone in my friend's basement, I was listening to music that seemed twisted and warped. I was startled when I heard a voice. I'd thought everyone had gone upstairs. My eyes were drawn to a large mahogany desk. "Go ahead, open it," the voice said. The next thing I knew I was opening the top drawer and pulling out a gun.

Then I realized I was still sitting on the couch. I was hallucinating. After several hits of acid, I couldn't tell the difference between what my mind had imagined and what was actually going on around me.

Terrified, I bolted upstairs, where my friends were watching a movie.

"You've got to help me!" I pleaded. "I'm going crazy."

"You're probably going to die," one of them said jokingly. Everybody laughed.

Sweat broke out on my forehead. With trembling hands, I lit a cigarette and looked around at the dimly lit, smoke-filled room.

The walls … they're melting.

I wondered if I would live through the night.

I don't know how I managed to make it home late the next morning. I guess I was pretty lucky to get through a very bad drug trip.

When I finally got out of bed, I pulled out my journal. I always journaled when I wanted to get my feelings out.

"I feel trapped," I wrote. "I feel scared, like there's time for change, but mine's running out. … God, please hear me."

Over the next few months, I often stayed up late and wrote in my journal. I wrote about how angry I was with my parents. Divorced when I was 3, they never seemed to give me the love and attention I longed for. Even though I lived with my mom, she didn't seem to care if I was out all night partying. I blamed my parents for a lot of the bad things I was involved in, like stealing, drinking and drugs. I felt I was doing those things to try to fill my emptiness, but nothing ever seemed to help.

I've got to get away from here, I kept telling myself. Something needs to change. And everything did when I ran away from home. A friend and I stole a motorcycle and went to another city. This is true freedom, I told myself. I live the way I want to, and no one tells me what to do. But it didn't last. Eventually, I got caught by the police. Since it wasn't the first time I'd been in trouble with the law, the judge decided I needed some serious punishment. He sent me to a home for delinquent boys.

After spending several months in the boys' home, something totally unexpected happened. My aunt and uncle offered to let me come and live with them after I completed my sentence.

This is exactly what I need, I thought. I can totally start over—a different town, in a different state, nobody will know me.

When I arrived at their house, my aunt and uncle were clear about the rules: no drugs, no stealing, none of the bad stuff that had become so much a part of my life. They also insisted that I go to church and attend youth group.

I respected their wishes. I didn't want to cause them any trouble, because they were being nice to me—something I hadn't experienced from most of the adults in my life. And deep down I knew my aunt and uncle's rules were right. I also knew church could be good for me. After all, I'd gone to a Christian school from kindergarten through sixth grade. I knew right from wrong. I also knew the difference between heaven and hell, and I was certain I was headed for no place but hell.
But after only a few weeks of living with them, I began to think about going back to my old home again. I was lonely and missed my old friends. I also couldn't get rid of that empty feeling.

What's the point of even trying to get my life together?

The Sunday after I asked myself that question, I went to church and met this guy named Pat. I discovered that we went to the same school, so we started hanging out.

"So how did you end up here anyway?" Pat asked one afternoon when he came over after school. I hesitated only a moment, then my feelings just started pouring out. I guess I couldn't hold it in any longer.

I told him about the drugs, the stealing and the boys' home. After I ran out of words to say, Pat mentioned some of his own struggles. I don't remember everything he talked about, but I do remember one thing Pat said.

"I kept looking for things that would fill my own emptiness," he explained. "But I've learned that only Jesus can do that."

Pat suddenly had my full attention. He was a cool guy. Pretty popular. Big football-type. He sure didn't seem like the typical religious kid. More than that, he understood what it was like to feel empty.

"Let me ask you something, Matt," he said. "Have you ever experienced true joy and happiness?"

I didn't even have to think about that question.

"No."

"What about freedom?"

I thought about how my so-called freedom had landed me in jail.

"No," I said. "Not in this life. Have you?"

"Definitely," he said, with excitement showing in his voice. "I've found real life through my relationship with Jesus."

Pat's words buzzed around in my head for a long time.

A couple of months later, I found myself on a noisy bus as it labored up a slick mountain road. I'd decided to attend the youth group's winter retreat; something Pat had encouraged me to do. But as the bus slid on a patch of ice, I started having doubts about this night of skiing.

What made matters worse were the horror stories about past ski trips.

"The first time I ever went skiing," one guy said above the engine's moan, "I broke a leg and the bone went right through the skin."

"Oh, sick!" yelled a girl as she made a face.

"The last time my dad went skiing," said another guy, not to be outdone, "he ran into a tree and was knocked unconscious for days!"

The other guys laughed. I didn't.

My fears only worsened when we arrived at the ski lodge. The first thing I saw was a guy being carried on a stretcher.

I swallowed hard, got my skis and hopped on the lift. On my way up the mountain, I looked down to 30 feet below and thought, If I fall and break my neck, I know where I'm going to go.
Man, I've got to talk to you."

I'd cornered Pat as soon as we were back at the retreat center. Pat sensed something was wrong and we found a place to talk.

"I'm so afraid of dying!" I told him, my voice shaking with fear. "I feel so guilty about so many of the things I've done. … I'm pretty sure I'd go to hell."

Pat leaned forward and listened, with concern showing in his eyes. Then he said gently, "That doesn't have to happen, Matt. God sent his son to earth to die for your sins. If you believe in him, God will forgive you and give you eternal life."

After we talked awhile, Pat suggested we pray. He put his hand on my shoulder and bowed his head.

"Father God, I pray that right now you would make your presence known to Matt."

I started shaking uncontrollably as two conflicting messages jumbled up my thinking. One said: "Go back home and forget all about God." The other told me to give me life to Jesus.

I suddenly knew what I wanted. I wanted Jesus.

"God," I prayed in the best way I knew how, "take all of the evil out of me so I can receive you."

All of the sudden, I stopped shaking. It was like I could feel God's love, his forgiveness and his grace.

"What's happening?" Pat asked.

"I don't know, but I don't feel guilty anymore."

"Matt, I think you're a Christian!" Pat shouted and smothered me with a bear hug. Soon I was crying. Not sad tears. But tears of real joy. And gratitude.

I knew God loved me and had given me everlasting life. And I knew it not simply because I felt it, but because Jesus had died for my sins.

I have been a Christian for two years now, and God has changed me so much—no more stealing, drinking or drugs. While I still do some wrong things, I know what to do about it: I ask God for forgiveness and keep moving forward in my faith.

The coolest thing is that I actually want to read the Bible. I just feel drawn to it. I'm also not angry with my parents anymore. I understand now that they need Jesus, just like I did. So I pray for them. And when I visit them, I try to show them the difference Christ has made in my life.

I'm still living with my aunt and uncle, and I appreciate them so much. I'm also thankful for my youth pastor and my friends in youth group. They've all helped me so much.

Whenever I'm even close to doubting, all I have to do is think about my life before God. I know he is real because only he could have changed me this much.

 

[beensetfree]

All Alone?

"I'm gonna throw up," I told my friend Laura. It was getting close to my time to run the 800-meter race, but I wondered if I'd even make it onto the track.

"You'll be fine!" she said, rolling her eyes in irritation. "Why do you still get so nervous? This is like your sixth track meet, isn't it? Just take a deep breath, and calm down."

"It's not that easy," I said, holding out my shaking hand so she could see how unsteady I felt. "My nerves are shot, my legs are all rubbery, and my heart's beating so fast, it feels like it's gonna explode."

"OK, I'm a little confused here," Laura said. "You've been a jittery mess before every meet. Why did you join the track team, anyway?"

I knew exactly why I'd joined. I was seeking acceptance and praise from my Dad. But it was hard to get his attention. I'd spent my entire childhood sitting in the shadow of my older brother, Dan, who was a jock, a brain, and Mr. Ultimate Cool Guy. He had it all.

I, on the other hand, wrestled with pudginess, pimples, and a horrible case of the "super shys." I mostly kept to myself all through middle school. Thankfully, by the time I started high school, I had slimmed down, discovered Noxema and become a little more outgoing. But none of that could help my sloppy running form and two left feet. I was not an athlete, but I desperately wanted to be one. I wanted to prove to my family—and to myself—that I was worth something.



Trying to get over my extreme nausea, I found a shady patch of ground and plopped down on the dead brown crispy grass. I leaned my cheek against the water cooler and closed my eyes. As I listened to the screams and whistles of exuberant track fans, my mind drifted back to a few years earlier. Mom and Dad had brought me to the track to watch Dan compete—and inevitably win. At every meet, he whizzed by, barely out of breath, effortlessly passing his competition. He made it look so easy.

Dan's victories always thrilled Dad, who had also been a high school track star. I personally never liked the concept of competition. In order to have a winner, there had to be a loser, and that didn't seem right to me. Nevertheless, in order to hopefully bring home a trophy for Dad, I was willing to face my fears and compete. Or so I thought.

"Are you gonna be able to run?" Laura asked, snapping me out of my trance.

"You still seem wobbly."

"I'm fine," I said, using the sleeve of my T-shirt to wipe sweat from my forehead.

"You don't look fine," Laura said.

A tear trickled down my cheek.

Laura bent down and put her hand on my shoulder. "What's wrong, Christy?"

"I just feel so alone," I admitted softly, my voice cracking.

"Why?" Laura asked. "I'm here. And your parents are up in the stands. …"

"No," I interrupted. "I don't mean like that. I mean I don't feel like I have a thing—nothing that I'm good at or can be proud of or whatever. I'd hoped high school would be different, but it's not. I'm still not talented or popular or anything. I'm just alone."

Laura gently squeezed my hand. "I promise you, Christy—you're not alone," she said. "Remember what we talked about in youth group a few weeks ago? God is with you always. When you're out there running," she said, motioning toward the track, "the Holy Spirit is running next to you, nudging you along and giving you support."

Just then the announcer called my race.

"That's me," I said. "I'd better go line up."

Laura leaned in and gave me a hug. "You'll be fine," she said. "Just remember what I told you."

As I stepped onto the track, my upset stomach gurgled in nervous anticipation. I tried to reflect on what Laura had said, but the scorching hot weather left me feeling faint and even more nauseated.

I leaned down to tighten my shoelaces, then glanced up at the bleachers and spotted my parents, who were waving and shouting, "Good luck, honey! You can do it!" Their enthusiasm made me more nervous. I could feel my stomach knotting up.

Oh, no! I panicked. They seem extra excited today—like they're expecting me to win this time. What will they think of me if I lose again? I don't wanna let them down—I can't. I just can't!

My mind raced with tons of anxious thoughts—so many, in fact, that I didn't hear the starting gun.

Suddenly everyone darted off in front of me.

What's going on???? I wondered. Instinctively, I started after them. Come on! I told myself as I frantically tried to catch up to the pack. You can do this! Don't give up!

As tingling sweat ran down my face and neck, my legs felt like they were full of lead. Move it, stupid feet. Get going! As the girls in front of me steadily pulled away, my energy faded. My body weakened, my breathing quickened, my pace slowed, and my hope sank.

I'm gonna lose, I thought as I pathetically panted along. And not only that, I'm gonna come in dead last! Just please, Lord, whatever happens, don't let me get lapped. I would die of embarrassment!

I tried to calm my fears by thinking of comforting Scripture like Hebrews 13:6: "The Lord is my helper; I will not be afraid." But it was hard to concentrate as my energy waned.

Rounding a corner, I heard Laura cheering like a maniac.

"Way to go, Christy! Woo hoo!"

I suddenly recalled what Laura said about God running with me. Then I remembered something my minister had said a few months back about how the Holy Spirit is always beside us as we journey through life. He'd said something like, "The Holy Spirit is sometimes called a 'Paraclete,' meaning one who runs beside. He strengthens us, keeps us faithful, and comforts us every day."

It was comforting to think that I was never alone. The Holy Spirit was running beside me not just this day, but every day.

All of a sudden, I felt a change within myself. From the stands, it probably looked like my burst of energy was due to a gust of wind or even an intense fear of losing, but I knew differently. Suddenly I was filled with overwhelming peace. I no longer felt alone or afraid. Instead, I felt confident.

I kicked it into high gear, picked up my feet, swung my arms as fast as I could, and broke into an all-out sprint. I passed one girl, then another. Three girls were still in front of me, so I knew I wouldn't win. But for some reason, I didn't feel like a loser. I felt victorious!

I breathlessly crossed the finish line in fourth place, and Mom, Dad and Laura immediately rushed to my side.

"You were awesome!" Laura screamed, giving me a huge hug.

To my astonishment, my parents were equally proud.

"I clocked you, sweetie!" Dad exclaimed, holding up his stopwatch to show me the frozen number. "That was your fastest time ever."

"Really?" I asked incredulously. I couldn't believe it. "I'm so glad you all came out to support me. It means so much to me."

"Are you kidding?" Mom said. "We wouldn't dare let you run all alone."

I guess Mom didn't know. I wasn't alone. Thankfully, I never will be

 

[beensetfree]

A Different Kind of Rave

I've got a confession. Well, a few confessions, actually. I've done drugs. I've done witchcraft. And I've done time … behind bars.

But somewhere along the line, somewhere between the highs and the lows, between the agony and the Ecstasy, God really got my attention. And you wouldn't believe where.

At a rave.

Yes, at one of those all-night dance parties where you'd expect to find drugs and sex and all kinds of things you don't wanna mess with.

Except this wasn't just any rave. This was a Christian rave.

So how did a guy like me end up in a place like that, anyway?

I'll start from the beginning …

"are you out there, God?"
I was adopted as a baby, and I grew up going to church. As a kid, I wanted to be a preacher when I grew up. But in my teens, I started rebelling against my adoptive family.

I didn't want to do anything they wanted me to, and I wanted to do everything they didn't want me to do. I started drinking and smoking pot. I wasn't just hanging with the wrong crowd. I was the wrong crowd.

When I was 16, my mom contacted a leader at Young Life, a Christian youth ministry, and asked for help. A few days later, Mom said, "I've signed you up for Young Life camp next week."

I said, "Excuse me? You're sending me to church camp?"

I tried to get out of it because I thought it would be really boring. But at the camp, everyone was so kind to me. I felt like I really met God while I was there.

At the end of the week, I sat on a lakeside dock and looked at the sky. The night was totally clear, the stars were out, and I was thinking, God, if you're really out there, I need you in my life.s All of a sudden, it seemed like the moon got brighter and I just had a big sensation of peace. I think I cried for almost 45 minutes.

When I got back home, I told my parents I wanted to join a different church. They said, "As long as you're going to church, that's fine with us."

It was fine with me too. I kept growing in my faith, and I thought everything was going well. But that didn't last long.

spiritual seeker
A couple of years later, I met some Mormon missionaries. I thought I was Mr. Super Christian, and I tried to convert them. But they converted me.

But it wasn't long before I discovered some bad theology in Mormonism—especially their belief that people can become gods in the afterlife.

So I left the Mormon church and came back to Christianity … for a while. I was working with the youth group at my home church when some bad stuff started happening, and it rocked my world. I can't really get into everything here, but let me put it this way: I pretty much turned my back on God and the church.

I started going to dance clubs and raves. And I got into doing—and dealing—drugs.

The whole time, my old friends at church prayed that I would come back. One of them made me promise to come to church one Sunday. But he didn't tell me that Teen Challenge was going to be there.

Teen Challenge is a Christian ministry to troubled students. They made a presentation during the worship service, and I was convinced I needed help. That night, I was on a bus to spend a year at a Teen Challenge facility, where they would help me get off drugs and back onto God. I kicked the drugs, but remained angry at God.

After finishing the Teen Challenge program, I started hitting raves again, sometimes working as a DJ, spinning the tunes. I also started doing drugs again—as a user and a dealer. I dealt mostly Ecstasy, LSD and Special K (animal tranquilizers that bring a brief high).

Some friends and I controlled about 40 percent of the drug profits in Western Michigan. In a good week, I made as much as $10,000—but I blew most of it on my own drug habit.

About that same time, I turned to Wicca—just because I felt like I always had to be involved in something "spiritual." I knew it was wrong, but I did it anyway. My mind was really messed up.

But that was before Arise.

saved by a rave
Thinking it was going to be just another night of dancing and drug dealing, we went to a rave near Detroit called "Arise."

As soon as we walked in, I knew something was different: There wasn't any smoke in the air. And nobody looked high. The music was the same, and people were dancing, but there was a tangible difference in the atmosphere. There was a lightness, a joyful feeling.

I noticed the DJ list included some Christian bands. I thought, This must be a Christian rave, but I've never heard of a Christian rave. Then I thought, Well, I've still got to make some money. So I tried to sell some drugs.

I didn't have much luck; most people turned me down. I was starting to get uncomfortable. But I was like, I'm going to try one more person. So I walked up to this girl and asked her if she needed any drugs.

She just looked straight at me and said, "I don't need any drugs. I've got Jesus. You need Jesus too, and you're doing the wrong thing." That cut straight to my heart.

I told her, "OK, I'm very sorry." I just turned around, grabbed my friends and said, "We can't be here," and we left. But her words stuck with me everywhere I went.

Even in jail. About two months after the Arise rave, I was sent to prison for violating probation. I had been on probation for credit card fraud, and was later sentenced to six months for writing bad checks.

While behind bars, I remembered the girl's words at the rave: "You need Jesus." So I cried out, "OK, God, I'm yours. What do you want to do with me?"

When I was released from prison, I spent another six months with Teen Challenge, getting my personal life—and my faith—in order. I finally came to terms with a lot of things from my past, and got rid of a lot of emotional baggage.

When I left the Teen Challenge program the second time, I felt like a new guy. I had indeed been reborn.

I was released from probation and got involved with a good church, where I now play bass for the praise-and-worship team. The church also has a small record label, so I'm involved with recording and producing as well.
no raves … for now
I'm not DJ-ing any raves these days. I'm not even attending them—Christian or secular—because I want to avoid the temptation of going back to my old ways.

I want to make sure that if I go back to that scene, I'm ready for it. I know there will always be a temptation. I need people to hold me accountable, and I have that at my church.

But I know this much: I never would have gotten this far if it weren't for that one encounter at a Christian rave.

I was definitely headed for worse things, because I was getting deeper and deeper into the drugs. I was doing so much Ecstasy that I was never in my right mind.

I was on the road to self-destruction. But going to that Christian rave that night put me on the right path. That girl's words followed me everywhere I went, until I had no choice but to make a decision. It's been a few years now since I asked Jesus back into my heart, and I've been following him ever since.

Now that's something to rave about.

 

[beensetfree]

Tap Tap Tap

During recent gospel readings , I feel a
message from God. I think He has been "tapping my shoulder."

I feel that God has been calling me. I know this is very short,
but it's something I just needed to say.

Listen to the gospel and take some time to reflect.
Maybe God is talking to you too!
Because, whether we like it or not,
we ALL could use a tap on the shoulder.

Listen to that tap. It just might tell you something.

If something really touches you, tell someone.
It might do the same for them.


Nobody's perfect,
...but try to come as close as you can get.

 

[beensetfree]

Confessions of a Grumpy Camper

As I stared down at the dark, endless pit in front of me, I began to get a sick feeling in my stomach. The thought of jumping over it—wearing a 45-pound pack—made all my muscles scream out in agony, and my legs nearly gave out from under me.

I tried to get control of my nerves as I turned on my flashlight and watched the first person jump and land safely on the other side. "I thought this was supposed to be fun," I grumbled to myself as I readjusted the pack on my aching back.

The trip had sounded great: a school-sponsored, nine-day hiking and backpacking trip in Arizona with a group of fellow students. Each January, my Christian high school has a special term that takes place between semesters. During this term, we can take fun classes at school, go on a missions trip or participate in some other interesting experience.

I'd chosen "some other interesting experience." Now I was regretting it. I'd known beforehand that this trip wasn't going to be a walk in the park, but I had never expected this. It was raining, we were lost, and now I had to clear this deep gap in the trail—and do so in the dark with a heavy pack!

I watched a few more people jump and land on the other side in one piece, and decided I might as well get this over with. I took a little bit of a running start and jumped. I got across fine, but as I tried to get my footing, I slipped on the loose gravel. I fell forward, and my face smashed into the knee of the person who had been trying to catch me. Blood spilled from my nose as I stood up.

By that point, I was certain the trip could not get worse. I was on the verge of tears as we set up our tents that night, frustrated with myself and annoyed with everyone else. As I lay in my tent, all I could think about was how miserable I was. Why had I wanted to do this in the first place? I kept praying that God would help me find the strength to keep going.

"Want to talk?" My pity party was interrupted by Lori, the girl I shared a tent with.

"No. I'm trying to sleep." I replied bluntly. Talking to anyone right then was the last thing I wanted to do. I didn't even want to be around anyone. I groaned a little more and fell asleep, feeling like I was completely on my own in this. I dreaded the next few days.

The next morning I was stiff, sore and tired. As I looked up at the clear blue sky, though, I found it hard to be grumpy. Maybe this won't be so bad after all, I thought.

As we started hiking after breakfast, I watched the sky and got a little nervous. It had shed its gorgeous blue color and turned dull gray. Then it began to drizzle. As I scurried to get my rain gear on, the light drizzle became a downpour. I was soon soaked to the skin, which added about 10 pounds to the weight of my pack. Each minute, I was getting colder and colder.

Suddenly, the person in front of me gave a bitter chuckle and pointed to the sky. I quickly understood why I had been getting the chills. It had started snowing. As a Midwesterner, I'd grown up thinking it was always hot and dry in the desert. But it was snowing!

Before long we were hiking in a blinding blizzard. It was so thick by the time we stopped that it was impossible to see even the massive mountains around us. All we had was a compass to guide us.

My whole body was numb as I attempted to get my frozen fingers to cooperate and help tie down the tent. Physically, I was a wreck. Even taking my shoes off had become difficult because I couldn't feel my feet. But I was way worse off emotionally. I was angry with God as well as our leaders for getting us into this mess.

And my imagination ran wild. I was scared to let myself sleep, afraid that I would freeze to death in the 13-degree weather. I was in the middle of putting on every dry piece of clothing I had when my tentmate, Lori, crawled in. I looked at her and saw the same pain, frustration and fear in her eyes that I had been feeling.

"Are you all right?" I asked her. It was one of the few times I'd thought to ask anyone on the trip that question. "I'm numb, I'm tired, I'm angry, and I'm a little bit freaked out," she answered, in a voice that told me she figured I couldn't care less what she was going through. I realized then how blind and self-centered I'd been. I wasn't the only one out here who was feeling the freezing wind and the burning muscles. The rest of the group was only human too, but I was so wrapped up in my own feelings that I hadn't given anyone else a thought.

"I'm scared too," I said to Lori. "And I'm sick of this. I'm sick of the cold, the hiking. I'm sick of being angry and miserable all the time." It felt good to finally say out loud everything I had been keeping inside. She turned to me and simply said, "Me too."

We talked for quite a while before we tried to fall asleep. I had forgotten what it felt like to trust anyone and open up to them. I wasn't bearing the burden alone anymore. I never really had been, but I had made myself feel like I was completely by myself. I was still angry. I was still asking "Why?" and I was still freezing, but I didn't have to keep it all to myself anymore. I finally realized there were others to lean on.

Lori's sleeping bag had gotten soaked through, so we decided to try to squeeze both of us into mine. We got in fine. The trouble came when we tried to zip it up. As soon as we got the zipper up to our waists, we would think about how ridiculous this looked and we'd start laughing uncontrollably.

Of course, this made the zipper go all the way back down to our toes. We would have to start the whole thing over again, but I didn't care. I was laughing. No. We were laughing together.

Lori and I, and the rest of our team, would manage to get through this … together.

 

[beensetfree]

Mean Spirit!

I stood at my locker, shoving books into my backpack. There were just a few minutes between classes, and I was trying to get to chemistry on time. As I bent over, my Panthers gym bag fell out onto the floor. I stuffed it back into my locker before my clothes for cheerleading practice tumbled out. My best friend, Elaina, suddenly seemed to appear out of nowhere.

"Whoa! You startled me," I said, jumping a little bit. Then I noticed a worried look on her face. "What's wrong?" I asked. "Have you heard about the Pantherettes?" I shook my head. "No—who are they?" On our way to class, Elaina explained that she'd heard that some popular girls from the junior and senior classes had decided to form a spirit squad in time for basketball season in a few weeks. From what Elaina had heard, it sounded like they wanted to do some of the same things we cheerleaders did. Now it was my turn to look worried.

By cheerleading practice that afternoon, the Pantherettes had become the big news around our Christian school. And I was becoming more uneasy. I couldn't help but think they were up to something.

As the captain of the cheerleading squad, I thought having a pep squad sounded good at first. At a meeting later that week to talk about the idea, the Pantherettes told me—and our school's athletic director—that they planned to simply support the cheerleaders. Their plan was to show up at games in matching T-shirts and shout with us when we cheered. We thought it would be kind of fun to have a built-in booster section. But I wanted to make sure they weren't going to try to do what we cheerleaders did.

"That's it? The Pantherettes are going to be kind of like a booster section?" I asked Tiffany, the girl who'd come up with the idea.

"We're not going to overlap with the cheerleaders at all," she assured me.

I looked at Coach Norris, then at the other members of the cheerleading squad. When they didn't object, I felt like I couldn't either.

"Well, I guess it's OK then," I said, holding back my misgivings.

Later that night, I tried to focus on my algebra homework. But I couldn't get my mind off the meeting. Why did I still feel threatened by the Pantherettes? I put down my pencil and bowed my head.

"Lord," I prayed, "Help me to be a good sport about this. Help me to look for the good."

Everything was OK for about two weeks after the meeting. Then, one day, I saw a group of Pantherettes standing around Tiffany's locker. The other girls looked her way as she held up a shimmering dance leotard and sequined wrist and ankle bands. I ducked around the corner, stunned.

What happened to the T-shirts? I wondered.

That wasn't the only surprise. After basketball season began the Pantherettes started to lead their own cheers from the stands, instead of cheering along with the cheerleaders like they'd said they would. I was furious.

A couple of weeks later I found out the Pantherettes had gotten permission to perform dance routines at home games, when the cheerleaders would normally have the floor—and the crowd—for our own cheers and routines.

I could feel myself seething. The cheerleaders were being slighted, and nobody seemed to care—not the principal, not the teachers, not even the fans.

"I just don't believe this!" I said to Coach Norris as we fluffed pompoms and organized the signs and megaphones in the women's locker room before the basketball game. It was the night of the Pantherettes' debut performance.

"Doesn't anyone understand why I'm so angry?" I said, ruffling a blue and white pompon before tossing it into a gym bag. "We've worked so hard to do something good for the school, and nobody appreciates it." The more I spoke, the angrier I got.

"LaTonya, I don't really know what to tell you," Coach Norris finally said. "But I know that the best thing you can do is to pray about it, and to do your best to be gracious."

I knew she was right. If I made a big deal about the Pantherettes in public, it would look like I was trying to take away a chance for people to have school spirit. And wasn't school spirit what cheerleading was about?

My attitude as captain would set the tone for the way the other cheerleaders responded. I felt so trapped by the whole situation. But I also felt like maybe God was trying to teach me something. Maybe he was giving me a chance to be an example for the students and sports fans through my actions.

As I headed to the gym that evening, I quieted my heart long enough to pray. "Lord, this situation is so unfair," I said. "I really feel wronged here. But I know I have a choice. I can be kind and gracious, like you'd want me to, or I can do something to let people know how much I don't like this."

I sighed.

"Lord, help me to choose the right way."

My struggle didn't go away right after that prayer. In fact, I felt even worse later that night as the Pantherettes marched into the darkened gym.

As the crowd ooohed and aaahed at the dancers' sparkling blue uniforms, I bowed my head and prayed again, with my fingers knotted behind my back. Once more I told God how upset I was. But I asked him to help me to be gracious.

For the rest of that season, I struggled each time I clapped for the Pantherettes' performance. I didn't like the feeling that the cheerleaders were old and familiar and the Pantherettes were new and exciting. And I was still annoyed sometimes when I walked in the locker room and they were there, or when they would stretch out next to us before games. But I kept repeating my prayer, game after game.

By January, I'd thought of a way we could work together instead of competing with one another. "You want to do what?" Coach Norris asked me when I told her my idea.

"I thought maybe we could invite the Pantherettes to join us for our homecoming routine," I said.

Coach Norris cocked an eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

"Well, we're a small squad this year, and this way, we could do one long routine instead of having two groups perform two short ones. It's the biggest game of the season, and we can do better stunts with some extra people."

When I asked the other cheerleaders what they thought, they agreed that we should try to work together. And although it wasn't easy, we pulled it off.

When the music for the homecoming dance routine began, the people in the bleachers saw us run onto the basketball court together. Pantherettes in sequined leotards formed pyramids and did stunts with cheerleaders in white. In one sequence, we passed the pompoms in a cascading line, alternating between cheerleader and Pantherette. We continued to perform the routine together for the rest of the season.

All that year, I'd been careful not to gossip or complain about the Pantherettes. Even so, many people knew the season had been hard for me. More than once, someone came up and told me how much they appreciated the way I'd handled it. And at our sports awards ceremony that year, I received the "Most Victorious" trophy—the honor given to someone who had a good attitude.

What everybody else thought, though, didn't matter all that much. What mattered was how I'd changed through it all. God helped me to act in a way he could be pleased with, even though I was unhappy. He used a pretty bad situation to work in my heart. In the long run, that's more important than being treated fairly.

 

[beensetfree]

No One Understood

"So, did you wear clothes over there?" "Do you speak English?"

I'd only been back in America a short time when I got bombarded with those kinds of questions. My parents were missionaries to the Philippines and they'd decided to move us back to the States before I started my freshman year in high school. I hated leaving my friends and my old home. Now I had to put up with those stupid questions from the other kids I met.

I was lonely … and angry. And when I started practicing with the football team that summer, I took out my anger on the guys on my football team. While on the field, I'd find myself smashing full-force into my teammates and yanking them to the ground. Practice was one place I could take out my anger on people without getting in trouble.

I had no real friends in America. It wasn't really like I'd tried to make any, though. I acted really distant whenever someone approached me. American kids just seemed so shallow, and it seemed like nobody understood how I felt.

Then one day in August, the phone rang. It was the music minister from church. He wanted to know if I'd join the youth drama and music team. I honestly don't know why, but I said yes. Maybe down deep inside I hadn't totally given up on friendship with American kids.

I soon discovered that the kids on the drama and music team were different. They didn't ask me a lot of weird questions about my life in the Philippines. They also had a lot of fun and took their faith seriously—and at the time, neither of those things was true about me.

Technically, I'd been a Christian since I was 6. But my life didn't change a whole lot. It's not that I turned into a bad kid. I just didn't care much about spending time with God. I didn't like church and I didn't pray unless I really needed something. God just felt real far away.

Then when I met those students from the music and drama team, I started to rethink how I felt about the Christian faith. But that was only the beginning. During the winter of my sophomore year, I had an experience that helped me realize my heart was changing for the better. I was at a church retreat and got into a long discussion with one of the girls I knew. After we talked awhile, she said, "I've been thinking about suicide a lot."

I remained quiet as she poured out her heart and her pain.

She told me about her anger, hurt and bitterness. Everything she said to me sounded a lot like what I had felt the year before. We talked for hours. I tried to comfort her with encouraging words. I even found myself mentioning God's love—something I wouldn't have done in the past. Mostly I listened, though. I think that's what she needed.

After the retreat, other people started coming to me to talk about their problems, too. I often found myself sharing bits and pieces of my own struggles with them. I'd never opened up like this before, and it felt good. It also felt great to be needed.

As I started opening up to others, I found myself opening up more to God, too. I realized I did need him, after all

Even though I became a Christian at 6, I didn't start living like one until I was 16. Now I try hard to act like someone who has experienced God's love and forgiveness—because I have.

I won't lie. Life is hard sometimes. But whenever I'm going through some bad stuff, I try to think about how God might use it later down the road. I also know that God understands my problems and will help me work through them in a positive way. He's also provided me with some great friends who've helped me, too.

So now when I'm angry, I can deal with it—in better ways than taking it out on a guy on the football field

 

[beensetfree]

Weird Old People

I used to think old people were weird. Like this old man I met the other day. I was sitting in the park when he stopped in front of me and said, "We were fishing up near Canada when we ran into one of those things nearly twice that size."

He was pointing at a big plastic elk standing knee-deep in a man-made pond. I looked around to see who he was talking to. There was no one else around, but he kept talking.

"We were just floating by," the old man said. "That elk just lifted his head and looked at us."

His eyes grew wide as he said, "They'll charge you, ya know. But he just looked at us. We must have passed within three feet of him." Then the man turned and walked away.

When I was younger, I would have rolled my eyes, or run to tell my friends about how weird the guy was.

But not any more. As I watched the old man walk away, I thought about all the things he didn't tell me. I was tempted to yell, "Wait! Tell me more!" He had a lifetime of stories, and I wanted to hear some. He wasn't a weird old man; he was someone with something to say—and I wanted to hear his stories. Was he ever married? Did he ever lose someone he loved? Was he in a war? Did he have children or brothers or sisters?

I wanted to know.

I love hearing people tell their stories. And I think my grandmother started it.

Grandma made me more curious than anyone. She was very private—a mystery to me. I wanted to crack that mystery.

On my visits, we usually just talked about me. After all, I was the one doing interesting things, right? But once, while we talked about my sister's upcoming wedding, Grandma muttered something about first love. My ears perked up.

"You never forget your first love," she said.

I asked her if she meant Grampa, but she quickly moved on to the next subject. She apparently wasn't going to tell me any more about it.

Later, I asked my mom if she knew the whole story. Mom said Grandma had mentioned once that when she was young, she met a boy she really loved. But for some reason my mother didn't know, Grandma said she couldn't marry him. Much later she met and married my grandfather.

Suddenly, Grandma was very interesting. It hit me that she was once a young woman like me, full of hopes and dreams.

On my next visit, I was full of questions.

I learned that Grandma grew up in Newfoundland, and her life had been very hard. Her father scraped by, farming and fishing, just to put food on the table. They raised animals and had a small garden to feed the family. There was no electricity or running water. Grandma's everyday work was to help her parents provide for the family's basic needs. At a very young age, she learned how to spin yarn from their sheep to knit sweaters.

Grandma went to school through the eighth grade. When she turned 17, Grandma left home for the U.S. to start a new life for herself. Alone.

At 17, I was in high school and living with my parents. At 17, Grandma was boarding a boat for America, leaving her family behind, and heading to a new country.

After hearing Grandma's story, I wanted to know about every older person I met. Every one of them represented a whole mysterious life I just had to know about.

The next time we were with Papa, my husband's grandfather, I asked about his life.

Papa's father had come to America to start a cabinetry business with his uncle. When the business took off, he sent for his wife and two sons to come from Sweden—only to almost lose them on the way.

A huge storm hit as they crossed the Atlantic, and their ship began breaking apart. As the boat rocked, the floor would separate from the wall and then slam shut again. At one point, Papa's younger brother, Gordon, slid into the space between the floor and the wall. Papa couldn't pull Gordon out, and the boat started rolling to the other side. Soon, Gordon would be crushed. But at the last moment, a man saw Gordon and pulled him out as the floor slammed against the wall.

Papa's father was waiting in New York City when news came that their ship was lost at sea. He waited for days, desperate for news of his family. Finally, the ship sailed into the harbor with its anchor chain wrapped around the hull to keep it from falling apart. Papa's family had arrived safely after all.

Before that conversation, I didn't know Papa had a brother. When I asked him to tell me more, Papa said Gordon had died in a motorcycle accident at the age of 18.

I never would have known if I hadn't asked.

Because of my grandparents' amazing stories, I don't see older people the same way anymore.

Whenever I take the time to listen to my grandparents—or any elderly person—I am rewarded. Their stories are so rich, their heritage so deep.

I told my grandfather that I wish I could download everything he knows, so I wouldn't have to learn it all again.

"But God doesn't make us that way," he said. "I think he wants us to talk to each other."

So I'm talking. But even more, I'm listening.

 

[beensetfree]

Is My Sister Going to Die?

I heard the quiver in Mom's voice as she took a deep breath and pressed her hands together to stop them from shaking. My stomach twisted into a tight knot as she told our family what we'd suspected for a long time: "The tests came back positive. Allysa has the HIV virus." I couldn't move as I sat there, waiting for it to sink in.

As a missionary family living in Brazil, we had decided to adopt a baby from a local orphanage. Because of the mother's background, we knew there was a possibility that the baby might have been born with a sexually transmitted disease.

But we hadn't been sure—until now. As I listened to my parents talk about the seriousness of Allysa's illness, I could only think about one thing: HIV turns into AIDS, and people die when they get AIDS. Allysa is going to die.

It was the day before Thanksgiving, a time to give thanks for the good things in my life. But what did I have to be thankful for? I wanted to cry, to scream at the world. But I didn't. I just sat there cross-legged on the floor of our living room, too stunned to know what to do.

In the silence, my siblings and I looked at our 8-month old sister, grinning and giggling on my dad's lap. She had no idea why she was suddenly the center of attention. In the awful silence she continued to laugh and wave her arms up and down at us, enjoying every minute she had in the spotlight.

As we all sat around the living room staring at Allysa, not knowing what to say or do, Mom choked back tears and tried to control her voice as she explained how the HIV virus would eventually become AIDS.

She told us that people don't actually die of AIDS but that it lowers the immune system's ability to keep away diseases. People with AIDS usually die of pneumonia or some other contracted sickness that their body can't fight off. So Allysa could survive for years, Mom said, living a pretty normal life before the HIV became AIDS. Or she could die in a year or two.

I watched my brother bite his lip and my sister Erica and my mom wipe away tears. I wanted to cry, to feel the relief of tears running down my face, but tears wouldn't come. My dad began to pray, his voice faltering as he tried to force the words past the tears and tightness in his throat. Finally, when he could no longer speak, my mom continued for him.

"Lord, we don't understand why these things are happening, but we ask that you be with us and help us through this. And Lord, we thank you for Allysa, the life you've given us and the joy she's brought our family."

The next day I walked into our mission center's annual Thanksgiving potluck. Dazed and bewildered, I watched friends come by our table and talk to my parents, crying and praying with them, holding Allysa. It seemed like everyone we knew showed up, and my parents would talk to each person, only taking a bite of food when someone else was talking.

As I watched Allysa being cuddled and held by our friends, I thought about the day we brought her home from the orphanage. She was only two months old, malnourished and sick with malaria. She had looked like a little old man, shriveled and curled up in a baby seat that almost swallowed her whole.

Her Brazilian features—tan skin, black hair, dark eyes—were quite a contrast with the rest of her new blond-haired, blue-eyed family. She had a smile that would have melted an ice cube.

My parents had prayed intensely for a year before they decided to adopt a child from the nearby orphanage. We were sure God had given this baby girl to our family, yet now it seemed she was going to die. My thoughts were a tangle of confused questions and hurt.

What could Allysa have ever done to deserve this?

Why was she forced to pay for the mistakes of a mother who'd simply dumped her out at an orphanage without once looking back?

The worst thing about it was that there was nothing I could do to make her better.

During the weeks that followed the test results, I watched as my parents loved and cared for my little sister. They bought rubber gloves to deal with any bleeding and did their best to keep her away from all possible sickness. In all of their pain and hurt, they seemed to put their trust fully in God.

I could see it in their prayers, in their tears and in their efforts to protect her from illness. They didn't understand why this was happening any more than I did, but they trusted that God would bring our family through this.

One day I watched as Dad played on the floor with Allysa. Dad growled at her in mock anger as she tugged at his beard. She laughed. She pulled. He growled louder. She laughed louder and pulled harder.

Without a second thought, I soon found myself on the floor with Dad and my baby sister. I joined in the fun, tickling her feet and round tummy, listening to her laughter fill the house.

Suddenly, I felt relief. The burden of all the questions and emotions I'd been carrying around was lifted from me. It was like peace had returned to my heart. Feelings I hadn't experienced for a long time rushed through me. I felt a genuine joy, even through the pain. God was still there. I knew it. Like my parents had done all along, I could trust him. Even as I hurt and failed to understand why my sister was sick, I could trust him. I wasn't alone in my pain. He was there for me, providing a glimpse of his love through the giggles of a tiny baby.

Even though my parents were willing to accept Allysa's illness, they also had some doubts about how accurate her diagnosis had been. So three weeks later, they decided to move us back to the United States where we could take advantage of better, more advanced medical tests. There was a chance, a slim chance, that our doctors in Brazil had missed something. Soon Allysa was visiting doctors once again, having her blood drawn and analyzed. It took two long weeks to hear the results.

I was sitting at our kitchen table making cookies when the call from the doctor came. Mom and I were the only ones home. When she picked up the phone, I leaned over her shoulder, straining to hear every word. I couldn't pick up much of what was being said. But I watched as relief spread over my mother's face. Then she turned around and looked at me, and slowly repeated the doctor's words back to him.

"The tests came back negative."

It finally registered. My baby sister did not have the HIV virus!

After hugging and crying—and accidentally burning the chocolate chip cookies—Mom and I frantically rushed around the kitchen, shoving cookie dough in the fridge, finding hats, coats and keys before rushing out to our old blue van. We must have broken every speed limit on the road as we drove to Dad's part-time job to tell him the news.

My sister would live to have beard-pulling contests and tickling matches for years to come. My sister would live. That's all I could think about. My sister would live.

Thank you, God.

Camilla wrote this story during an internship with Campus Life. She and her family recently returned to their missionary work in Brazil.

 

[beensetfree]

Living to the Extreme

Jud Heald stood up and shook the snow off his clothes. He felt a little sore, but figured it was normal after crashing like that on a snowboard trick. He'd just fallen 16 feet, landing directly on his head. But even as the pain became more intense, all he could think about was getting in a few more runs. So he headed back toward the lift line.

After returning home, the pain had become unbearable. His doctor's diagnosis shocked him: The fall had broken his neck. He needed surgery and would have to wear a halo—a huge head brace that would be bolted on to his skull—until the fracture healed.

But Jud, who was 18 at the time, had only one concern: Could he skateboard again? He'd been skateboarding since kindergarten, and by junior high, he had just one dream: to go pro.

"All of a sudden, this doctor's telling me I might never be able to skateboard again," Jud remembers. "It just devastated me. It was my last year of high school, and I was planning to go to California to become a professional skateboarder. Skateboarding was the one thing I wanted to do, the one thing I was shooting for. I cried the whole way home."

Overwhelmed with depression, Jud longed for something that would replace the feeling skateboarding gave him. He started going to parties, using drugs and alcohol. But there was something deeper—beyond missing skateboarding—that was really bothering him.

"I realized I was not in control of my life, and I needed to get right with God," Jud says.

He'd attended church all his life, but had never given control of his life to God. So he started to pray. He stopped partying and started reading his Bible intensely. The more he read, the more he wanted to know everything about God's Word.

Over the next year, Jud's neck healed perfectly. But even though he had his old skateboarding life back, Jud knew he had to make some huge changes in his spiritual life.

"One night, I remember specifically praying, 'I just want to use my abilities for you, Lord. I want you to take this and glorify your name with it,'" Jud says. "I was crying out to God, 'Where do you want me?'"

In his prayer, Jud told God that he wanted to follow him—even if it meant giving up skateboarding. Two days later, he received an invitation to work as a ramp builder at Woodward skate camp in Pennsylvania, a favorite training facility of many of the world's top-ranked skateboarders. It was an amazing answer to prayer, especially since Jud had sent in his application the year before—just after his accident.

"God was preparing a path for me," Jud says. "I couldn't have gone to Woodward when I applied. God already knew what was going to happen in my life when I filled out the application. He knew there was going to be a point when I turned my life around."

At Woodward, Jud was given the opportunity to participate in an ESPN competition. Though it was unheard of for an amateur to skate in a pro competition, the camp owners talked ESPN into letting Jud participate.

In that competition, top pro skateboarders Tony Hawk and Andy Macdonald placed first and second, respectively. And Jud, who had never competed before, placed sixth. He accepted his prize money, which immediately designated him as a pro.

Soon after, a Christian company called Manna Skateboards offered to sponsor him.

These days, Jud, now 26, travels with the Manna team most of the year, doing demos and sharing his testimony across the country. Being involved with a full-time ministry means Jud sometimes has to turn down invitations to compete. But he wouldn't have it any other way.

"I'm so psyched to talk about Jesus—he's the best thing that's happened to me," Jud says. "Skateboarding is going to come and go, but God is not.