Just sharing.

Push.

A man was sleeping at night in his cabin when suddenly his room filled with light, and God appeared. The Lord told the man He had work for him to do and showed him a large rock in front of his cabin. The Lord explained that the man was to push against the rock with all his might. So, this the man did, day after day.

For many years, he toiled from sun up to sun down with his shoulders set squarely against the cold, massive surface of the unmoving rock, pushing with all of his might.

Each night, the man returned to his cabin sore and worn out, feeling that his whole day had been spent in vain. Since the man was showing discouragement, Satan decided to enter the picture by placing thoughts into the weary mind: "You have been pushing against that rock for a long time, and it hasn't moved." giving the man the impression that the task was impossible and that he was a failure.

These thoughts discouraged and disheartened the man. "Why kill myself over this?" he thought. "I'll just put in my time, giving just the minimum effort, and that will be good enough."

And that is what he planned to do. However, one day he decided to make it a matter of prayer and take his troubled thoughts to the Lord. "Lord," he said, "I have labored long and hard in your service, putting all my strength to do that which you have asked. Yet, after all this time, have not even budged that rock by half a millimeter. What is wrong? Why am I failing?"

The Lord responded compassionately, "My friend, when I asked you to serve Me and you accepted, I told you that your task was to push against the rock with all of your strength, which you have done. Never once did I mention to you that I expected you to move it. Your task was to push. And now, you come to Me with your strength spent, thinking that you have failed. But, is that really so? Look at yourself.

Your arms are strong and muscled, your back sinewy and brown, your hands are callused from constant pressure, and your legs have become massive and hard. Through opposition, you have grown much, and your abilities now surpass that which you used to have. Yet you haven't moved the rock.

But your calling was to be obedient and to push and to exercise your faith and trust in My wisdom. This you have done. Now I, My friend, will move the rock."

At times, when we hear a word from God, we tend to use our own intellect to decipher what He wants, when actually what God wants is just a simple obedience and faith in Him. By all means, exercise the faith that moves mountains, but know that it is still God who moves mountains.

Nothing Can Separate

From her bedroom window, Rebecca eyed the children playing in the snow enviously. How she longed to play with them!
“Now, Rebecca,” she remembered her father telling her that morning. “You can’t play in the snow today.”

“Why not, Father?” Rebecca had asked. Every day, the neighborhood children gathered at a park just behind Rebecca’s house.

“Just trust me, Rebecca. It’s not what’s best for you today,” her father had replied.

At the time, Rebecca had responded by kissing her father on his cheek and assuring him that she would stay inside and read. But now she was having second thoughts.

It is beautiful outside, she thought to herself. It was true: the sun was shining brilliantly. Why wouldn’t her father let her go play?

Why should she have to miss out on all the fun?
When a snowball exploded just outside her window, Rebecca decided she couldn’t stand it any longer. She simply had to go join the others!
Leaving her book on the table, Rebecca slipped outside. She tried to tell herself she was having a good time, but all the while her heart felt uncomfortable. She kept looking this way and that, fearful least her father see her.
After a few hours, Rebecca finally said her goodbyes and headed back towards the house. She wanted to be safely lodged in her room before her father came home.

Intent on getting to her room as quickly as possible, Rebecca didn’t see the mitten someone had left on the stairs until her foot slipped on it. Next thing she knew, she had fallen several stairs. To her horror, she noticed that she had hit her father’s favorite picture when she fell! A huge gash ran along the front of the picture.

Normally, Rebecca would have hurried immediately to her father after such a fall so he could doctor her up and make her feel better. But not this time. How could she face her father right now? She had disobeyed him and ruined his favorite picture! Biting her lips to keep from crying out, Rebecca grabbed the ruined picture and hobbled to her room.

For the remainder of the day, she lay in agony. Her body ached from the bruises she received on her fall. But her heart—ah, that ached worse of all! She felt certain that her father would no longer love her. She had messed up in the past, but surely this time she had gone too far! He would probably never want to speak to her again. How could he still love her?

She sobbed uncontrollably on her pillow. She had always been close to her father. They had played and studied together. They had laughed and cried together. But not now. No, she felt certain that all those wonderful times were over.

Who knows how long she would have lain thus had not her nanny come in to check on her. Rebecca’s nanny had a way about her of finding out exactly what was wrong and offering solid, wise counsel. Tonight was no exception.

“Rebecca, dear,” she said firmly, but gently. “You’ve been very wrong. But you must not continue in your wrongness by sitting here. You must go to your father with the broken picture in your hand and tell him everything.”

“Oh, but I can’t! I’m not worthy of His love!” Rebecca sobbed.

Her nanny sighed patiently. “You were no more worthy of it yesterday than today, child. Your father loves you because you’re his daughter, not because of anything you do or don’t do. Hasn’t he told you everyday since you were a little girl, ‘I love you’? Do you doubt his word? Do you really think his love is dependent on you?”

Doubt his word—that was an angle Rebecca had never thought of before. Maybe she should go see her father…yes, she must go see him, for if she didn’t, she’d never be able to rest.

So, still shaking and trembling with fear, Rebecca limped down the hall to the living room. She paused at the doorway. Her father was sitting in his favorite chair, just like he did every night. He looked up when she entered, and a smile radiating with love illuminated his face.

“Ah, you’ve come at last! I’ve been waiting. Come, sit here on my lap.” As he spoke, he opened his arms widely.
Rebecca couldn’t stand it. “Oh, you don’t understand, Father! You can’t love me anymore. I’ve been terribly wicked and-” Rebecca held up the picture frame for her father to see.

“I know, Rebecca—more than you think. I watched you go outside. I watched you fall and hit the picture frame. I saw it all.”

“You did?” Rebecca was flabbergasted. “But-but weren’t you at work?”

Her father shook his head. “I took the day off to spend some special time with you. That’s why I told you not to go outside to play. Ever since I saw you fall, I’ve been longing for you to come to me so I could bandage your wounds and help you. Won’t you come now?”

Rebecca could hardly believe her ears. Her father had planned to spend the afternoon with her…and she had missed it. Oh, what foolishness! Yet her father knew it all…and loved her anyway. Could it be? “But, Father, how can you love me now?”

Rebecca’s father smiled a smile she would never forget. “Rebecca, dear, I loved you before you were born. You’re my daughter. And I will always love you. Although sometimes your actions will result in consequences you could have avoided, nothing can ever separate you from my love. Now won’t you come and let me help you with those bruises?”

“Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? As it is written, For thy sake we are killed all the day long; we are accounted as sheep for the slaughter. Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him that loved us.” Romans 8:35-37

Ruth went to her mail box, and there was only one letter. She picked it up and looked at it before opening it, but then she looked at the letter again.
There was no stamp, no postmark, only her name and address. She read the letter:


Dear Ruth:

I'm going to be in your neighborhood Saturday afternoon, and I'd like to stop by for a visit.

Love Always,
Jesus


Her hands were shaking as she placed the letter on the table. "Why would the Lord want to visit me? I'm nobody special. I don't have anything to offer."

With that thought, Ruth remembered her empty kitchen cabinets. "Oh my goodness, I really don't have anything to offer. I'll have to run down to the store and buy something for dinner." She reached for her purse and counted out its contents. Five dollars and forty cents. "Well! I can get some bread and cold cuts, at least."

She threw on her coat and hurried out the door.

A loaf of French bread, a half-pound of sliced turkey, and a carton of milk...leaving Ruth with grand total twelve cents to last her until Monday.

Nonetheless, she felt good as she headed home, her meager offerings tucked under her arm.

"Hey lady, can you help us, lady?"

Ruth had been so absorbed in her dinner plans, she hadn't even noticed two figures huddled in the alleyway. A man and a woman, both of them dressed in little more than rags.

"Look lady, I ain't got a job, ya know, and my wife and I have been living out here on the street, and, well, now it's getting cold, and we're getting kinda hungry and, well, if you could help us, lady, we'd really appreciate it."

Ruth looked at them both.

They were dirty, they smelled bad, and frankly, she was certain that they could get some kind of work if they really wanted to.

"Sir, I'd like to help you, but I'm a poor woman myself. All I have is a few cold cuts and some bread, and I'm having an important guest for dinner tonight, and I was planning on serving that to Him."

"Yeah, well, okay lady, I understand. Thanks anyway."

The man put his arm around the woman's shoulders, turned, and headed back into the alley.

As she watched them leave, Ruth felt a familiar twinge in her heart.

"Sir, wait!" The couple stopped and turned as she ran down the alley after them. "Look, why don't you take this food. I'll figure out something else to serve my guest."

She handed the man her grocery bag.

"Thank you lady. Thank you very much!"

"Yes, thank you!" It was the man's wife, and Ruth could see now that she was shivering. "You know, I've got another coat at home. Here, why don't you take this one." Ruth unbuttoned her jacket and slipped it over the woman's shoulders. Then smiling, she turned and walked back to the street...without her coat and with nothing to serve her guest.

Ruth was chilled by the time she reached her front door and worried too. The Lord was coming to visit, and she didn't have anything to offer Him.

She fumbled through her purse for the door key. But as she did, she noticed another envelope in her mailbox.

"That's odd. The mailman doesn't usually come twice in one day." She took the envelope out of the box and opened it.


Dear Ruth:

It was so good to see you again. Thank you for the lovely meal. And thank you, too, for the beautiful coat.

Love Always,
Jesus


The air was still cold, but even without her coat, Ruth no longer noticed.

I came up with an idea that whenever you have a bad thought, you should imagine Jesus entering into the scene you're imaginging. I tried it, but I was shocked by what my mind seemed to produce automatically.

Jesus entered the scene in my mind, but He wasn't just hanging out. He was hanging on the cross, and He spoke. He said, "Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do."

I've never heard a preacher say this, but this seemingly automatic way that Christ entered my mind made me think that maybe He wasn't just talking about those who were executing Him as much when He said that as He was talking about every person who's ever sinned or ever will sin in thought or in action. That is what really killed Him after all...

Things God Won't Ask


God won't ask what kind of car you drove; He'll ask how many people you drove who didn't have transportation.

God won't ask the square footage of your house; He'll ask how many people you welcomed into your home.

God won't ask about the clothes you had in your closet; He'll ask how many you helped to clothe.

God won't ask what your highest salary was; He'll ask if you compromised your character to obtain it.

God won't ask what your job title was; He'll ask if you performed your job to the best of our ability.

God won't ask how many friends you had; He'll ask how many people to whom you were a friend.

God won't ask in what neighborhood you lived; He'll ask how you treated your neighbors.

God won't ask about the color of your skin; He'll ask about the content of your character.

God won't ask why it took you so long to seek Salvation; He'll lovingly take you to your mansion in heaven and not to the gates of Hell.

Chalk.

There was a professor of philosophy who was a deeply committed atheist. His primary goal for one required class was to spend the entire semester proving that God couldn't exist. His students were always afraid to argue with him because of his impeccable logic.

Sure, some had argued in class at times, but no one had ever really gone against him because of his reputation. At the end of every semester on the last day, he would say to his class of 300 students, "If there is anyone here who still believes in God, stand up!"

In twenty years, no one had ever stood up. They knew what he was going to do next. He would say, "Because anyone who believes in God is a fool. If God existed, he could stop this piece of chalk from breaking when it hit the ground. Such a simple task to prove that He is God, and yet He can't do it."

And every year, he would drop the chalk onto the tile floor of the classroom, and it would shatter into a hundred pieces. All of the students would do nothing but stop and stare. Most of the students thought that God couldn't exist. Certainly, a number of Christians had slipped through, but for 20 years, they had been too afraid to stand up.

Well, a few years ago there was a freshman who happened to enroll. He was a Christian and had heard the stories about his professor. He was required to take the class for his major, and he was afraid. But for three months that semester, he prayed every morning that he would have the courage to stand up no matter what the professor said or what the class thought. Nothing they said could ever shatter his faith...he hoped.

Finally, the day came. The professor said, "If there is anyone here who still believes in God, stand up!" The professor and the class of 300 people looked at him, shocked, as he stood up at the back of the classroom.

The professor shouted, "You FOOL!!! If God existed, he would keep this piece of chalk from breaking when it hit the ground!"

He proceeded to drop the chalk, but as he did, it slipped out of his fingers, off his shirt cuff, onto the pleat of his pants, down his leg, and off his shoe. As it hit the ground, it simply rolled away unbroken. The professor's jaw dropped as he stared at the chalk. He looked up at the young man and then ran out of the lecture hall.

The young man who had stood proceeded to walk to the front of the room and shared his faith in Jesus for the next half hour. 300 students stayed and listened as he told of God's love for them and of His power through Jesus.

Ordinary Just Isn't Enough

For some time I've had a church member provide me with a rose boutonniere to pin on the lapel of my suit every Sunday. Because I always got a flower on Sunday morning, I really did not think much of it. It was a nice gesture that became routine. One Sunday, however, what I considered ordinary became very special.

As I was leaving the Sunday service a young man approached and said, "Sir, what are you going to do with your flower?" At first I did not know what he was talking about, but then I understood. I said, "Do you mean this?" as I pointed to the rose pinned to my coat.

He said, "Yes sir. I would like it if you are just going to throw it away." The little boy said, "Sir, I'm going to give it to my granny. My mother and father got divorced last year. I was living with my mother, but I could not stay, so she sent me to live with my grandmother. She has been so good to me that I want to give that pretty flower to her for loving me."

When the little boy finished I could hardly speak. My eyes filled with tears and I knew I had been touched in the depths of my soul. I reached up and unpinned my flower. With the flower in my hand, I looked at the boy and said, "Son, that is the nicest thing I have ever heard, but you can't have this flower because it's not enough.

If you'll look in front of the pulpit, you'll see a big bouquet of flowers. Different families buy them for the church each week. Please take those flowers to your granny because she deserves the very best."

If I hadn't been touched enough already, he made one last statement and I will always cherish it. He said, "What a wonderful day! I asked for one flower but got a beautiful bouquet."

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

The soul looked at the section, and it was terribly busy with so many angels sorting out petitions written on voluminous paper sheets from all the people of the world.

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

There were so many angels working in that room, since so many blessing were being packed and delivered to Earth. Finally at the farthest corner of the room, the soul stopped at the last section.

To the surprise of the soul, only one angel stayed there idly, doing nothing. "This is the Acknowledging Section," St. Peter told the soul. "How is it that, there is no work here?" "That's the sad thing," St. Peter answered.

"After the people received the blessings they asked for, very few send their acknowledgments." "How does one acknowledge God's blessing?" "Simple," St. Peter answered. "Just say, "'Thank you, Lord'."

The Carpenter's tools.

Brother Hammer served as the chairman. The other members of the tool belt informed him that he must leave, because he was too noisy. But brother Hammer said, "If I have to leave this carpenter's shop, then brother Gimlet must go too. He's insignificant and makes a very small impression." (A gimlet is a small tool with a screw point, grooved shank, and a cross handle for boring holes).

Little brother Gimlet arose and said, "All right, but brother Screwdriver must go also. You have to turn him around and around to get anywhere with him." Brother Screwdriver turned to the other tools in the belt and said, "If you wish, I will go, but brother Plane must leave too.

All of his work is on the surface; there's no depth to what he does." To this brother Plane leveled his terse reply, "Well, then, brother Saw will have to depart too. The changes he proposes always cut too deep."

Brother Saw complained, saying, "Brother Ruler will have to withdraw if I leave, for he's always measuring other folks as though he were the only one who is right." Brother Ruler then surveyed the group and said, "Brother Sandpaper doesn't belong here either.

He's rougher than he ought to be, and is always rubbing people the wrong way." In the midst of the discussion, the Carpenter of Nazareth walked in.

He had come to perform his day's work. He put on His tool belt and went to the workbench to make a pulpit. He employed the ruler, the saw, the plane, the hammer, the gimlet, the screwdriver, the sandpaper, and all the other tools.

When the day's work was over, the pulpit was finished, and the carpenter went home. All the accusations against each of these tools were absolutely true, yet the carpenter used every one of them. No matter which tool He use, no other tool could have done the work better.

Try This

Try this. You'll be amazed at the response YOU get!

I had a friend and valuable co-worker who had just done
something nice for me.

So I went to the card store and bought a blank postcard with a
fancy border.

Inside the card, below the top border, I wrote
"TOP TEN REASONS WHY YOU ARE MARVELOUS."

Since Amy was a good friend and valuable co-worker, it was easy
to write ten points below the title. In fact, the hard part was
determining which were the TOP ten!

When I presented her with the card, her eyes welled up with
tears. Apparently, no one had done something like this for her
before.

We work in the technology industry and tend to change offices
often. The first thing that Amy does when she moves to a new
location is to remove the card from her wall and place it in her
new cubicle.

She explains, "Whenever I don't feel like a productive employee
or even a valuable human being, I just look at the card and it
reminds me that I am."

This simple card was not fireworks or an expensive gift, but it
continues to make an impact. Above all, people want to feel
important and appreciated.

A woman of modest means and her husband were invited to spend the weekend at the husband's employer's home. The boss was very wealthy, with an estate home and several cars costing more than the average house.

The woman delighted to experience first hand the life of the extremely wealthy. The boss indulged his guests both at home on his estate as well as out as exclusive dining establishments.

On one occasion as they were about to enter an exclusive restaurant, the boss was walking slightly ahead of them. He stopped suddenly, looking down on the pavement for a long, silent moment.

An awkward silence folllowed. There was nothing on the ground except a single darkened penny that someone had dropped, a few cigarette butts and assorted litter. Quietly, the rich man reached down and picked up the penny.

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

Throughout dinner, the penny bothered her. Finally, she causally mentioned that her son once had a coin collection, and asked if the penny he had found had been rare. A smile crept across the man's face as he reached into his pocket for the penny and held it out for her to see. "Look at it." He said. "Read what it says." She read the words "United States of America." "No, not that; read further."

"One cent?" "No, keep reading." "In God we Trust?" "Yes!" "And?" "And if I trust in God, the name of God is holy, even on a coin. Whenever I find a coin I see that inscription.

It is written on every single United States coin, but we never seem to notice it! God drops a message right in front of me telling me to trust Him? Who am I to pass it by? When I see a coin, I pray, I stop to see if my trust IS in God at that moment.

I pick the coin up as a response to God; that I do trust in Him. For a short time, at least, I cherish it as if it were gold. I think it is God's way of starting a conversation with me. Lucky for me, God is patient and pennies are plentiful!"

Loving the Unlovable

Surely, Jesus didn't mean to love everybody …

I hit the red button in front of me. A light bulb lit up and a buzzzz sound rang out.

My scholastic bowl coach, Ms. Lemon, had just asked the last question of our practice match. The score was tied. And I knew the answer. The question: "Who wrote Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea?"

Mrs. Lemon called on me as I started laughing so hard I couldn't get the name "Jules Verne" out.

"Time's up," she said. And then, the other team won.

As I was leaving practice, Ms. Lemon pulled me aside. "You lost that for your team," she said, her voice shaking. "And I know why. Jules Verne made you think of Vern didn't it?"

Everyone at my school knew Vern. He smelled. He wore big work boots and torn shirts every day. And he didn't seem too bright. When Jules Verne came to mind, I was laughing at the idea of Vern writing a book.

"Vern doesn't deserve to be treated that way," Ms. Lemon said. "What makes you think he's so unlovable that he doesn't deserve simple respect?"

I had no answer. Suddenly feeling hot and sweaty, I apologized to her and left. But one word stuck with me for days: unlovable. I kept thinking about all the people in my high school who did seem downright unlovable. There were strange outcasts like Vern. There were mean kids like Justin, the bully who always called me fat. And there were crabby, annoying people like those guys in my algebra study group who never agreed about anything. Clearly, I thought, all of these people are unlovable.

But as a Christian, I'm supposed to love them all.

Perhaps Jesus' toughest teaching is to "love your neighbor as yourself" (Mark 12: 31, NIV). Sure, that seems easy enough—until you really think about what it means. He didn't say "like" them. He said "love" them. And you don't get to pick who your neighbor is. It's everyone—from Vern to Justin to your little brother who shampoos your hair while you sleep. (OK, maybe only my brother did that.)

Were Jesus' expectations too high? I mean, he never had to go to high school. If so, surely he'd know that it's not so easy to love everybody.

Well, that's a cool thing about Jesus. He wasn't just God on High shouting down orders. He experienced what we experience. When he told us to live a certain way, it was coming from a guy who'd been there. He lived on Earth—and probably knew his share of Verns and Justins. And he had little brothers.

However, Jesus understood two important truths:

1) Everyone is created in God's image. So if we are worthy of love, so is everyone else because of who made them. 2) Because of sin, we're all really unlovable. But Christ changed the rules by offering love, grace and forgiveness (Romans 5:8). If God can love us, surely we can love those around us.

But how do we do it?

Recently, I heard a pastor give a sermon about John 13. It changed how I view treating the hard-to-like people around me.

Here's the big thing the pastor said that blew my mind: At the Last Supper, Jesus was in the same room with a bunch of people about to betray him, deny him and desert him. And he knew it. Talk about hard-to like people.

But what does Jesus do? "He got up from the meal, took off his outer clothing, and wrapped a towel around his waist. After that, he poured water into a basin and began to wash his disciples' feet, drying them with the towel that was wrapped around him" (John 13:4-5, NIV).

Whoa. He's surrounded by guys who don't deserve his love or respect. And he washes their feet.

Right here, Jesus shows how to love the unlovables. It's not to just tolerate them. Or just not make fun of them. Or to pretend you love them. Instead, we should serve them.

Here's why: 1) Serving gives us an easy way to see how we should love. It's not just some mushy, hard-to-grasp emotion, but an action. 2) Serving someone has a way of changing the way we see them. If you are continually looking out for a way to help someone, it's very hard to think they're worthless. It's very hard to stay mad at them.

Of course, it'd be weird to whip out a towel and lather up a bully's feet. But serving them starts with praying for them. And then look for opportunities. Maybe it's holding a door open when someone is carrying his band instrument. Or spotting someone a quarter when she's short for a soda.

I wish I could say that I helped Vern with math problems. Or helped Justin jump his car. But I didn't. However, those regrets push me to make the choice to serve the Justins and Verns in my life now.

And that's exactly what it is: a choice. Galatians 5:13 puts it like this: "It is absolutely clear that God has called you to a free life. Just make sure that you don't use this freedom as an excuse to do whatever you want … Rather, use your freedom to serve one another in love"

Fast and Furious...and Busted


As we rolled up and down hills and banked sharp curves, I kept pressing the accelerator for more speed. I wanted to see just how fast I could make Dad's Chevy go on this hilly and winding country road. It was like riding a roller coaster.

Since most of my friends didn't have their licenses yet, I was the cool guy who drove everyone around. So, of course, I had to show off whenever I could.

"Faster," my friends urged. I grinned smugly and pressed harder on the accelerator. At the crest of a hill, we went airborne and then the car quickly jolted back onto the road with a loud thud.

My friends went crazy. "Yeah!" "Woo-hoo!" "Awesome!" Right after I cleared the top of another hill, my heart jumped as I spotted a cop car hidden behind some bushes. I'd caught the blurred shadow of a man pointing a radar gun out the window … right at me.

Instinctively, I slammed on my brakes and skidded past the officer as he fishtailed his car onto the road and sped up behind me with his lights flashing. To punctuate the capture, his siren let out a loud, quick "whoop."

Busted. "You've gotta be kidding!" I groaned in frustration as my mom's warning echoed in my head.

"You'd better slow down," she had recently told me. "If you get a ticket, I'm taking your license." Even when I was driving with mom in the car, I had a tendency to push the speed limit. I'm sure she could only imagine how fast I drove when she wasn't around.

I won't get caught, I thought. I know where the cops hide.

Obviously, I was wrong.

As the burly officer approached my car, ticket pad in hand, my stomach churned. Mom and Dad are gonna kill me!

My friends, who had only encouraged me to drive like Speed Racer, were no help. They sat there snickering, trying hard not to laugh out loud.

My heart pounded hard as I rolled down my window.

"Son, do you realize you were going 59 in a 35 mph zone?" the officer asked me in his deep southern drawl.

I desperately searched my thoughts for a reasonable excuse. Then it hit me. I remembered my driver's education instructor reminding us to watch our speed after exiting the highway onto in-town roads. He had warned that an extended period of high-speed driving on the highway can make you feel like you're going slower than you really are. He even had a word for it that came to me just in the nick of time …

"Uh, I'm not sure," I responded as I strained to keep my voice from quivering. "But I think I must have been velocitized."

The cop crinkled up his eyebrows and looked at me like I was crazy. Clearly, my brilliant excuse hadn't worked. When the cop handed me a ticket, my stomach dropped. I knew some guys who'd gotten tickets from the county sheriff's department, and their parents had received a letter telling them all about what had happened. Now my parents would get a similar letter.

Great. I'm toast.

As I drove home that afternoon (slowly), all I could think about was how to save myself. Save myself from the humiliation of having to tell my friends that my parents had taken my license. Save myself from the lecture I'd get from my dad, who, ironically, was a driver's ed teacher. Save myself from the painful and inevitable grounding that would surely follow.

I sure don't want to be grounded tonight! I thought. I have plans to go camping with my friends. I knew if I told my parents, there would be no camping this weekend. So, I kept quiet.

That evening as my friends and I sat around the roaring bonfire, we brainstormed ways I could intercept the letter before my folks saw it.

"For the next week, you gotta get to the mailbox before your parents do," Cole said.

I shook my head. "That's not gonna work," I replied. "Remember, they're both teachers. Some days Dad's home by 3:15."

"If you skipped seventh period, I bet you could beat 'em home," John said.

"Too risky," I insisted. "I don't wanna risk getting busted for two things! That's the last thing I need!"

"Well, is there anyone in your neighborhood you trust who could check the mail for you before your parents got home?" John asked as he tossed another log on the fire.

Someone I trust.

I couldn't help but get stuck on that word: trust. There we were, weeding through possible scenarios of how I could hide the truth from my family, and I was thinking of who I could trust to do something dishonest for me. It didn't seem right, but I kept those thoughts to myself.

We stayed up late that night playing cards, eating junk food and talking sports, but I couldn't enjoy myself no matter how hard I tried. Guilt and shame washed over me. When we finally slipped into our sleeping bags at 3 a.m., I couldn't sleep. All I could do was think about how I'd messed up—not just by getting the speeding ticket, but also by not telling Mom and Dad about it.

The next morning while my buddies were still sleeping, I zipped up my fleece sweatshirt and went for a walk in the woods to be alone with God. The crisp morning air helped clear my muddled mind.

"Dear Lord," I prayed as I made my way down a dirt path, "I've messed up big time. Of course, you already know that."

Bright sunshine streamed through the thick tree branches, reminding me once again of God's wonder and beauty.

"I'm so sorry for how I've been acting. When I got that ticket, I freaked out. I panicked and stopped thinking clearly ….

"I'm sorry, God, for driving carelessly and for not being honest with Mom and Dad. Please give me the courage to tell them what I did. I don't want them to be ashamed of me, but mostly I don't want to disappoint you. Please forgive me, Lord."

I wandered back to the campsite. By now the guys were up and had started packing for our trip back home.
That evening at dinner, I took a deep breath and said, "Mom, Dad, I have something to tell you." I thought it would be best if I blurted it out right away quickly and painlessly, like ripping a Band-Aid from your skin.

"What is it?" Mom asked as she dished out the lasagna.

"I was busted yesterday for speeding," I said quietly. Mom looked at me with fire in her eyes as if to say, "Didn't I warn you about this?"

Dad just nodded knowingly and said, "Your Uncle Roger mentioned that he saw you. He passed you when you were pulled over."

Oh, what are the odds of that happening?

I braced myself for the third-degree, but my parents' reaction surprised me. They were definitely disappointed, and they did take away my wheels for two months, but they also did something I wasn't expecting. After going on and on about how dangerous speeding is, they hugged me, thanked God for keeping me safe, and told me that they appreciated my honesty.

I must admit, it felt good to tell the truth. And as far as my ticket, I lucked out. Because it was my first offense, I only had to pay the minimum fine. I also had to attend a six-week defensive driving course.

The sting of having to face my friends without a license was the toughest part. Without my car I was no longer the cool guy with the fast ride. But that's OK. I've learned that there is something better than that need for speed. It's the feeling that comes from acting in a way that pleases God.

Starving to be Perfect

I was tuning my guitar for youth group worship when my friend Sarah ran up excitedly. "Hey, Josh," she said.

"I got my roll of pictures from our retreat developed. I thought you'd like to have this one because it's of you playing music."

I glanced at the photo. "Wow, that's great," I said, smiling. "Thanks!"

As she went to find a seat, I slipped the photo into my guitar case. Later that night, when I was alone in my room, I took the picture out and stared at it.

I hated it.

I look so hideous, I thought. I'm so big, my guitar looks like a little toy. I want to be a musician? Who's heard of a fat rock star?

I'd been overweight for as long as I could remember. Now, I was one of the biggest guys in my junior class. I hated being the best friend and never the boyfriend. I hated being the funny guy people laughed at and not the cool guy they envied. I want to be more than the happy–go–lucky chunky guy, I thought. I am tired of being fat. I am done with this.

I decided that if I wanted to weigh less, I just needed to eat less. So early in the winter of my junior year, I started cutting back. Within weeks, I was hardly eating anything. Some days at lunch, I'd eat only a pack of crackers. Soon, I'd lost three pounds. I was so happy. Wow, this is working. I thought. Now, if I cut out the crackers, I will be that much closer to where I want to be.

It got to a point that I was proud that I'd eat less in a week than most people eat in a meal. During a weeklong summer camp, all I ate was a slice of pizza, a little fruit and some fries. But usually, my daily menu was a cup of plain noodles (there was no way I'd eat sauce!) and an occasional bagel.

I lost a lot of weight and I lost it fast.

By the first day of my senior year, I was a new man. It'd been about nine months and I was 70 pounds lighter. When I walked through the halls, all eyes were on me. I wasn't "the fat kid" anymore. I was getting attention and lots of compliments. It's working, I thought. Now, I'll just eat a little less and I'll be perfect.

The only problem was my parents. They kept asking questions and trying to make me eat. One night at dinner, my mom loaded a plate full of chicken and broccoli for me—knowing that if I served myself, it'd stay empty. We sat there for a long time as my parents ate and watched my plate carefully.

"So how was youth group, Josh?"

"Fine."

"How's your music class going?"

They played it off like we were having a nice family conversation. But I knew they wouldn't let me leave until I ate. Finally, I stabbed a big lump of chicken with my fork and stuck it in my mouth. When I finished my plate, Mom smiled and took the dishes.

"Well, I'm going up to my room to work on all my homework," I said and ran up the stairs.

As I went up, I thought, Sure, you can make me eat, but you can't make me keep it down.

I went straight to the bathroom and made myself throw up.


It wasn't easy making myself vomit, but soon, I was doing it two or three times a day. In my mind, throwing up kept people from asking questions and gave me an out if I ever ate too much. I was now in complete control of how much food I was digesting.

In early March, I weighed myself for the last time before my parents hid all the scales in our house. It had been almost a year and a half and I'd lost about 110 pounds—almost half my original body weight. I stared at myself shirtless in the bathroom mirror. My eyes were sunken in. My ribs were showing. But I thought, You have that little roll there. That's fat. I set my new goal: double digits.

One week, I showed up early for youth group to run through worship songs when my youth pastor, Mark, stopped me. "Hey Josh," he said. "I don't want you to play tonight."

"What?"

"There's something you need to deal with first," he said. "You know what it is."

I knew what he was talking about. Several times, Mark and a youth volunteer named Sharon had each confronted me about not eating. I knew they'd been talking to my parents. None of them understood that my not eating was helping me become who I wanted to be.

Mark held out his hand to take the guitar from me. "Until you deal with your own life, I can't let you be a leader for others in this youth group."

"Whatever," I said and walked away.

Sitting in the back of the room for worship that night, I thought, The band sounds horrible. Good job, Mark.

A couple of days later, Sharon and I were chatting after a church event. I just had to say something about Mark. "It really bothered me, Sharon," I said. "How am I hurting anyone? I'm just making myself better!"

"Josh," she said. "I am saying this because I care about you: Something is wrong. This has to stop."

Part of me wanted to leave, but I kept listening because it was Sharon. We'd been close for years. In junior high, her husband was my mentor.

"When I was in college, I was anorexic and bulimic," she said, looking directly into my eyes. "I know you are too. And I know this isn't the best thing for you. I know it feels like you are in control, but it is controlling you."

I silently listened as she told me anorexia could cause lower resistance to disease, bone and muscle weakness, dehydration and kidney failure, heart failure, and even death. She said she noticed how different I acted now, how I kept people at a distance, and how irritable I was.

She said that my vomiting would cause dental problems because of all the acid. I didn't buy any of it. I felt fine and I thought I looked the best I ever had. "Look, it's my life," I said. "I'm not hurting anyone else."

"You're killing your parents, Josh," she said. "Mark worries. I worry. And you're a leader in this group, but the people who look up to you see you're not eating. Everyone knows what you're doing."

"I'm hurting others?"

"Yes, Josh," she said. "But I want you to realize why it hurts others: You're hurting yourself."

As I drove home, my mind raced. Sharon's words replayed in my head: "It's controlling you." I thought about how I decided who to hang out with, what to do and where to go.

I realized that avoiding food and hiding my secret determined everything in my life. It controlled me and even kept me from seeing that I had a problem. In fact, in a year and a half of not eating, I hadn't once talked to God about it. I didn't realize I should.

As I sat in my driveway at 2 a.m., I prayed: "God, I've got a problem and I can't deal with it alone. If it were up to me, I would keep doing it. What I thought I could control is now controlling me. It's become more important in my life than anything else, including you. I got myself into this, but I can't get myself out."

Everything seemed a bit different the next day. No, I wasn't instantly cured of my anorexia and bulimia. But as I focus more and more on what God wants for my life, I am less and less controlled by my eating disorder. In the first year or so of my recovery, I slipped up a few times and found myself not eating or forcing myself to vomit.

Even today, I will sometimes feel those old urges whispering to me. What changed that night was my attitude: I began to want what God had for me more than what I wanted.

I also had a new attitude about the people who really cared about me. Before, I thought my parents were jerks when they removed the scales from our house or made me see a counselor about my eating disorder. But after that night, I realized everything they did was out of love. I started to embrace their help. My youth group prayed for me. Mark often hugged me and told me he was proud of me. Sharon met with me almost every day to go through the Bible and show me what God says about how we're created and how much he loves us. My parents and friends would keep me accountable by watching me eat and sitting with me until the urge to vomit went away.

What I most learned from my loved ones was this: Even at my very lowest point, they loved me. But they weren't the only ones. When I got to the point of saying, "I can't do this," God was right there loving me—the person he created me to be—and waiting for me to love that person, too.

Desperate to Fit In

I'm not exactly sure when I realized my life was spinning out of control. Maybe it was that night in the police car. I'd just been caught shoplifting, and they were taking me down to the police station.

Maybe it was the night my parents found an empty wine bottle in my closet. They'd suspected I'd been drinking, but when they found that bottle, they knew it was serious.

Or maybe it was the day one of my friends caught me throwing up. No, I wasn't hung over. I was just obsessed with being thin; I wanted to look good for my friends, so I'd fallen into a cycle of binge-and-purge, eat-and-vomit.

It was disgusting. And I was disgusted with myself.

How had it come to this, anyway?

I'd grown up in a Christian family. I thought I had my act together … until I hit high school. That's when things started happening, things that led to some major changes in my life—and some bad decisions on my part.

First, we started building a new house, and the only time we could work on it was on weekends. We stopped going to church regularly. Eventually, we spent less and less time praying and reading the Bible.

Second, my best friend moved away the summer before I started ninth grade. I felt really lost and alone, so when school started that fall, I was desperate for some new friends. And it was that desperation, my intense desire to "fit in" with the right group, that ultimately led me down the path of self-destruction.

I met Kathy during the first week of ninth grade. She was one of the most popular students, so when she befriended me, I was pretty excited. I'd never been part of the "in" group before.

It wasn't long before Kathy invited me to spend the night with her at another friend's house. But that night turned out to be much more than I'd expected. It was a major party, with lots of alcohol.

I'd never been to anything like that before. And before the night was over, I started feeling excited about everything—the sense of freedom, of having no limits, of trying something new and grown-up.

I didn't get drunk that night, but a pattern had begun. Before long, I was partying and getting drunk every weekend. I was staying out later and later. And since our house was still under construction, we didn't have a phone. So I would stay out as late as I wanted, then I'd lie about where I'd been. What could my folks do? They couldn't say, "Well, you should have called."

By that time, I wanted to be as thin as the other girls in my group of friends. So I started forcing myself to throw up after meals. In fact, I became so obsessed with my weight that when I was at a party, I'd drink until I'd get sick and throw up, just so those calories wouldn't be in my body.

And then there was shoplifting. Since it was a part of the "fun" my friends were into, I felt I had to join in, too. I enjoyed the thrill of getting away with it. At first, I mostly took small things that didn't cost much. But soon, I was taking clothes and other expensive things.
So there I was, a freshman in high school, a common thief with a drinking problem and an eating disorder. And all because I wanted so badly to "fit in."

As much as I loved being part of the in-crowd, I knew my life was out of control. I wanted things to change, but I couldn't do it on my own. If I said I wanted to change, my friends would immediately dump me. But secretly, I wanted to get caught. I felt that would be my only way out.

Then it happened.

First, my folks found the wine bottle. My mom and I were up all night yelling and fighting.

Then I got caught shoplifting. One of my friends who'd never shoplifted asked me to teach her how. She really wanted a bathing suit. We found one she liked and she took it. When we got outside the store, she asked if I would hold the bathing suit, because she was nervous.

Well, I got caught holding the goods, literally. It would have been easy for me to tell the store clerk that my friend took it. But for some reason, I covered for her.

The cops came, and took me away in the squad car. I had to call my parents to come and get me at the police station. The ride home was awful. My mom and dad sat together in the front seat, holding hands and crying. I sat by the window, staring outside, not believing what had just happened.

How could this be? I wondered. I felt so ashamed.

Shortly after that, one of my friends caught me throwing up. She called my parents to tell them. Even though I was angry at my friend for squealing on me, it was the best thing anyone could have done. My mom confronted me, and we really had it out that night. At that point, my mom realized my problems weren't going to go away on their own, and that I was really putting myself in danger.

My mom made an appointment for me to see a counselor, and I thought it was a good idea. Those counseling sessions helped a lot. We talked about the drinking, the stealing, the bulimia, my friends, how I was feeling, and what I wanted my life to be like.

I later learned how much my folks had worried about me and loved me through all the garbage I was doing. I found out my dad had been getting up at 4 o'clock every morning to pray for me. I cried when I heard that.

I knew I needed to make some changes in my life. I wanted to stop the drinking and throwing up and stealing because I was scared for my health and safety.

Also, I wanted to stop living a lie. I'd been lying to my parents all along. I'd been lying to my friends about what kind of person I was. And I'd been lying to myself about what was important to me. I was ashamed of the way I'd been living, and I knew it wasn't what God wanted for my life.

I had some big fears about changing, though. I knew I'd have to find some new friends who wouldn't pressure me to act a certain way. I was so afraid I'd end up with no friends at all. But God was already working on that. Within a short time, I met a group of girls who accepted me and cared about me for who I was. They also shared my Christian values, so I was free to be myself.

But sometimes change is slow. A year later, I decided to attend a party with some old friends. Even though I knew there'd be drinking, there were a few girls I really missed, so I decided to go. I decided I'd be careful and I wouldn't drink. I even felt like I could be an example to my old friends.

But things didn't turn out the way I'd planned. I wasn't at the party very long before I started drinking, and after a few hours, I was really drunk and sick. The only way I could get home was to call my dad, which was humiliating, especially after the promises I'd made.

In the car on the way home, my dad was really quiet. The only thing he said was, "You're old enough to punish yourself, Colleen."

Dad was right. I punished myself by refusing to go out—with any friends—for a long time.

Dad also suggested I start reading my Bible again.

He was right again. So I started reading it faithfully. And all over again, I could see how much God loves me, how much he cares for me, just the way I am.

That party incident was the last of its kind for me.

A couple years have gone by. I'm not interested in the party scene any more. My shoplifting days were done after that run-in with the police. And after a lot of counseling, I'm no longer fighting my eating disorder—though I still struggle with how I feel about my body.

I'm so much happier now. I'm hanging with a good group of friends, people who love me for who I am—not for somebody I'm pretending to be. And even though I care and worry about my old friends, I've decided not to spend time with them. I've learned the hard way that I can't handle it very well.

When I last saw my old friends, one of them asked me, "What happened to you? You used to be so much fun at parties, but we never see you any more. You should hang out with us again."

I just smiled and said, "No thanks. I'm much happier now."

Why I Believe in Jesus

I didn't always feel that way.

I came to the United States to attend a small state college.

I planned to go on to medical school. My first year of college was perfect. I was getting great grades, and I had a girlfriend and lots of friends. And I was quick to point out to people that I had all of this without relying on anyone but me.

I knew plenty of Christians. In fact, I read the Bible often, just so I could argue with Christians. I wanted to know what they believed so I could break down their reasons for believing. For example, my biophysics professor was a Christian. He would tell me about the miracles in his life, the ways he supposedly saw God's work in the world. But I thought he was way off. I'd argue with him, and try to convince him he was foolish to believe in Jesus. His faith was a joke to me.

It didn't take long for God to change my mind. During my junior year of college, everything in my world started to fall apart. My girlfriend broke up with me, I ran out of money and I had to drop out of school. So much for having it made. I thought about going back to my family in Sri Lanka, but I didn't want to face them when I'd failed so miserably.

One night, I sat in the college library, trying to come up with ways to get out of my situation. The only solution that seemed "reasonable" was suicide. But as I sat there thinking of the best way to kill myself, I heard a voice say, "Have you ever asked me for help?" I looked around and couldn't see anyone. I thought I was going crazy. Then I heard the voice say, "I'm Jesus, and I'm right here next to you."

I know this sounds strange. Believe me, I was pretty freaked out by it, too. But I honestly heard Jesus talking to me. As I listened, I felt something I'd never experienced before.

I felt filled up, not hollow and empty. I knew that what was happening to me was real.

I wanted to talk to someone, but I didn't know who. Suddenly I felt God urging me to go see my biophysics professor. That's right, the same guy I'd been arguing with all year.

I walked across campus to the science building and found him working in his office. As I walked in, he said, "I'm so glad you're here. God has put you on my heart and I've been hoping you'd come and talk to me." We talked a long time. I told him how empty my life had become.

I told him what I'd experienced in the library. As he talked to me about Jesus' power to change lives, I knew I was ready to follow Jesus. He prayed with me. That was the day I became a Christian.

After that, things started to change. God provided just what I needed, like a rent-free place to stay. But it wasn't just my situation, it was my heart that was really changing.

I wasn't worried about the future because I knew the Lord was in control, not me.

The people around me saw the changes too.

Before I became a Christian, I was arrogant, selfish and manipulative. I had done things to intentionally turn people away from their Christian faith. But after my conversion, I felt humbled by God's power to change me. I wanted people to see Jesus in my life, not me or my accomplishments.

I was almost grateful for my struggles, because I knew God was using them to keep me humble and focused on him. I wanted people to think, "Hey, if God can change the life of someone like Sam, I wonder what he can do in my life."

Even when things in my life are hard, I know God is with me. I feel his presence through the people at my church who pray for me and support me. I see him in the Christian friends he's given me. I try to serve him by counseling at a Bible camp in the summers. And I still hear his voice through his Word and through his answers to my prayers.

So why do I believe in Jesus? Because he's real. That night in the library, when I hit the bottom, my New Age thinking didn't help me. Buddha wasn't there for me.

It was Jesus who saved me.

My Boyfriend Raped Me

I first met Jack* at a BBQ dinner during my college's Freshman Orientation. He was cracking jokes and making everyone laugh. He seemed like such a fun guy. He was also a Christian—the perfect package.

Within a month we were dating. I was flattered that Jack wanted to pursue me and excited about the way he showered me with affection. He would send me flowers. He'd also buy me cards and write Scripture mixed with professions of his love for me. I wanted to believe he was really sincere. So I blinded myself to how he was slowly changing.

When we first started dating he loved everything about me—the way I dressed, my laugh, my relationship with God, the way I interacted with my girlfriends. But it wasn't long before he started to pick on small things. One day he decided he didn't like my roommate.

So I distanced myself from her. One night he didn't like the outfit I was wearing—so I changed. Another night he claimed I was wearing too much make-up. So I went to the bathroom and washed it off.

We'd go out to eat and Jack would smile at other girls. If I confronted him about it, he blew me off. Not only that, he would tell me what he liked about them, and how I lacked in comparison.

I remember one incident in particular. We were in a restaurant waiting to be seated. A woman was sitting at a table nearby with her legs crossed. Jack commented on how long her legs were, then he looked at mine and didn't say a word. But the point was clear.

My legs didn't measure up. How could he say my legs weren't good enough? How could I change them? At that point I realized I couldn't take it anymore. I had tried to change everything about myself to please him, and now with something I couldn't change, insecurity overwhelmed me.

After five long months, I decided to end our relationship. Jack was angry over my decision. He felt God had told him we were to be married. I wanted to go to my girlfriends for support, but I had given them up months ago to please Jack. I suddenly felt very alone.

A few weeks later Jack called and invited me out for dinner—as friends, he said. Our time in the restaurant was awful. He was loud and obnoxious to the waiters and to me. When he asked to drive me back to my dorm after dinner, I didn't object. I was more than ready for the evening to end. Unfortunately he didn't intend to drive me home. He took me to a deserted parking lot and raped me.

I remember very few things about the actual rape—the car windshield covered with fog, the struggle, and the moment I felt too overpowered to resist any longer. In that instant I realized there was nothing I could do to stop what was happening. He was simply too strong.

When it was over, Jack took me back to my dorm, told me he would give me a call, and simply left. I was in shock. All I remember about those following hours is standing in the shower with all my clothes on, sobbing uncontrollably, desperately wanting the water to wash away the evening's events.

The Search for Healing

Eight months later I found myself standing in a crowded court room. I had been told that going through the legal process would feel like being raped a second time, but actually it was worse. Even after sharing every intimate detail of the rape, Jack was still found not guilty—insufficient evidence. Case closed.

After that I fell into a deep depression. The college I attended said Jack would be allowed to register for classes. Innocent until proven guilty.

In the months that followed, Jack stalked me. He followed me to my classes, to the cafeteria, to my dorm. The helplessness I had felt during the rape was now multiplying, as I felt more and more helpless on campus.

Finally I reached a breaking point and started contemplating suicide. Around that time I attended a chapel service on campus.

A man named Stephen Arterburn was scheduled to speak. I expected him to talk about some recent missions trip or share his published study on a biblical text. Instead, this man—the founder of New Life Clinics, treatment centers for Christians struggling with depression, suicide, and abuse—spoke on the reality of pain.

Stephen's words caught my attention. He said that even though everything might look okay on the outside, he knew some of us were thinking about suicide. Then he said something I'll never forget: "There's no shame in doing everything it takes to choose life."

I realized that a trip to one of his clinics was exactly what I needed. But the clinic was expensive; my parents' insurance wouldn't cover the costs and they didn't know what to do. However, one of my mom's friends—a counselor—told my parents I'd had an "emotional heart attack."

She explained that when someone has a heart attack, you don't wonder what to do; you get her to the emergency room in time to save her life. That put the money issue into perspective for my parents; three days later I checked into a New Life Clinic.

During the first week I sat in the hall and stared at the floor. On the outside I looked emotionless, but on the inside I was screaming with rage. Rage that demanded to know why I was the one in a psychiatric ward instead of the man who'd raped me. Rage that wanted to have my life back. But instead of the rage coming out, it all just brewed inside me—until Mark approached me.

I'll never forget his face. It glowed with a certain peace. He was a fellow patient getting ready to go home in a week. Mark walked up to me, introduced himself, and said, "Me Ra, the longer you deny your pain, the longer it will rule your life. Look around you. All the other patients here are twice your age. Why? It's because we did what you're doing now for most our lives.

We ignored our pain and stuffed it down. But one day it exploded, and that's why we're here. Do you see how much you have to gain if you invest yourself into your time at this clinic?" His words burned into me.
That night I couldn't go to sleep. As I thought about what Mark had said, I let my pain and anger surface. Tears finally came, followed by sleep.

For the next few weeks, I went through 8 to 12 hours of therapy a day—sometimes in group sessions, sometimes individually. It was really hard—hard to face my fears, hard to let all my emotions out. But through the process God brought a lot of healing.

The Necessity of Forgiveness

When I came home from the clinic, memories of the rape haunted me day and night. Feelings of being trapped would grip me when I'd least expect it. It took me a while to realize that if I wanted to move on in the healing process, I would have to forgive Jack. If I didn't let go of my bitterness, it would destroy me. So I chose to forgive, but I soon learned it would be an ongoing process.

One night I needed to use a restroom at a grocery store. It was in a very obscure place at the back of the store. To get to it I had to go through a set of double doors, around boxes of stacked food, through another door, down some stairs, down another hallway, and around the corner.

As I walked down the stairs, all I could hear was a radio playing and a man yelling at one end. I couldn't see him; I could just hear him. I began to wonder if he could see me. What if something happened? Would anyone hear me over the blaring radio?

I feared being raped again.

In that moment of fear, I had to choose to forgive—again—the man who had raped me.

In the weeks that followed, my desire to let go of my pain and hurt was tested over and over. Sometimes I'd step into an elevator and realize the only other person in there was a man I didn't know. The familiar feeling of being trapped would wash over me. I'd have to force my fears to stop, take a deep breath, and choose to forgive again. I'm relieved that these moments of fear come less and less now, but there are still daily situations that can instantly leave me feeling vulnerable.

It's hard to admit I'm sometimes scared and feel out of control. Sometimes I think admitting this makes me more vulnerable. But the truth is that not being able to admit it is what really makes me vulnerable. For a while I told myself I would have to be my own protector since I felt God had failed me the night I was raped. But as I tried to protect myself and be tough on the outside, bitterness grew within me. It became like a wall to everyone who wanted to love and support me.

I didn't want to grow up to be a bitter woman after all the counseling and prayer I'd invested in my healing. Yet, as long as I hung on to bitterness my healing was always one reach too far. Forgiveness was the only way to get rid of it. Not only did I have to forgive Jack, but I also had to forgive myself for not seeing the warning signs of an abusive relationship.

Forgiveness has been a lot of hard work. I've had to tackle some tough questions. Like many children who become a Christian at an early age, I believed in God because my family did. But I didn't know God intimately. For the first time in my entire life, the rape left me feeling abandoned by God. I wondered how he could let something so awful happen to me—his little girl. I didn't understand that bad things can happen to good people.

Page 4 of 5
I may never know why this happened to me on this side of eternity. But even though I don't have all the answers, I've learned that God will never leave me—and that he can take a broken heart and mend it back together again.


Name has been changed.

Me Ra Koh is now married and recently gave birth to her first child. She is the author of Beauty Restored: Finding Life and Hope After Date Rape (Regal). You can find her book at your local bookstore or online at amazon.com.

Date Rape: The Warning Signs

Although there is no completely accurate description of a typical date/acquaintance rapist, experts have identified several warning signs to help you recognize potential danger before it happens. Girls should beware of a guy who:

• Acts immaturely; shows little empathy or feeling for others.

• Displays anger or aggression, either physically or verbally. The anger may not be directed at you but may come out during conversations. He may make negative comments about women. He might use vulgarity, show rudeness toward others,and the like. He might also think of women as adversaries.

• Behaves in a macho manner and brags about his strength.

• Has a short temper.

• Shows physical aggression, through slapping, grabbing, twisting arms, and so on.

• Acts excessively jealous and/or possessive. Be especially suspicious of this behavior if you've only recently met him or are on a first or second date.

• Ignores your wishes. Attempts to make you feel guilty or accuses you of being uptight.

• Becomes hostile and/or increasingly more aggressive when you say no.

• Tries to separate you from your friends and family by convincing you to spend more time with him and less with them.

• Insists on being alone with you on a first date.

• Demands your attention or compliance at inappropriate times, such as during class, or interrupting one of your conversations with someone else.

• Asks personal questions and wants to know more about you than you want to tell him.

• Believes that all males and females fit traditional stereotypes.

If you are with a person who exhibits any of the above behaviors, be very cautious and take your time getting to know him. Be a good listener, paying careful attention to remarks that may be warning signals.

Many acquaintance and date rapists plan to rape and then set out to find the victim. They often test a potential victim. For example, a rapist may try placing a hand on a potential victim's thigh. If she does not react, even if she obviously feels uncomfortable, the rapist may identify her as easy prey.

A date rapist may also try to get a potential victim to trust him and then invent some reason for her to come to his house or apartment. The date rapist is usually very manipulative and tries to con an unsuspecting victim

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Many date rapists are repeat offenders and are skilled at identifying weaknesses in potential victims. The rapist is looking for a woman he can control, because his primary motivation is power rather than sex.

Some date rapists exhibit a Jekyll-and-Hyde personality. They may appear to be great guys. But when under stress or when they find a vulnerable victim, their personalities change.

What to Do If You Are Raped

• Tell someone—a parent, a friend. You need support, and you don't need to be alone.

• Do not shower or clean yourself. As soon as possible, go to a hospital or clinic. They'll be able to treat you if you have injuries. They'll also help you preserve evidence in case you press charges.

When a Friend Messes Up

When one of my best friends started making some bad choices, I knew I had to talk to her. Bekah (not her real name) was a leader in a couple of Christian clubs at our school, someone who'd always taken a strong stand for her faith. So when she went out drinking on that New Year's Eve, I felt, as a friend, that I needed to say something.

When she dropped by my house to return a sweater she'd borrowed, I swallowed hard and spoke up.

"I don't want you to think I'm judging you," I said. "But we promised each other that if we ever started doing stuff like this we'd call each other on it."

"You're right," Bekah said. "But I'm tired of being known as the 'good girl.' I had a lot of fun the other night, and even if it's wrong, it's what I want to do right now."

I went on to tell her that this was about more than just her. It was about her responsibilities as a leader. It was about the mixed messages she was sending. And it was about my concern for a good friend.

Bekah said she appreciated my concern, but she had decided this was how she wanted to live her life for now.

It was one of the hardest conversations I've ever had, but I knew it was the right thing to do.

So, how are we supposed to respond when a Christian friend messes up?

Why Confront?

Confrontation is never comfortable, but sometimes it's just the right thing to do—like when I confronted Bekah.

But why bother? A few reasons:

First, Bekah's lifestyle choices contradicted the faith she proclaimed, and she knew it. The Bible calls this "willful sin" (Psalm 19:13, Isaiah 57:16-18). When we continue in willful sin, it becomes more comfortable, and our hearts and attitudes grow hard toward God.

Second, because Bekah was a Christian leader, she had a duty to be a godly example to other students. But her drinking and partying showed no difference between her life and that of a non-believer.

And it's not just Christian friends who may need confronting. Sometimes we should lovingly and graciously confront a non-believing friend who's making self-destructive choices. In any case, a close friendship is essential for any confrontation. Don't confront someone you hardly know; you haven't earned the right. But even with a strong friendship, you'll certainly want to pray about whether you should confront, and if so, what you should say.

How Do You Confront?

Here are five things to think about when considering confronting a friend:

Seek guidance.

Before you confront, ask for advice. And not from your peers, but from someone older and wiser, like your youth pastor or another Christian you trust.

Let love lead.

My main concern with Bekah was that she understood that I loved her and that I wasn't judging her. I wanted her to know I didn't want to see her hurt herself or others. Love should always be our main motivation.

Keep it private.

In Matthew 18, Jesus tells us to first confront a fellow believer one-on-one (verse 15). If the person won't listen and change, then "take one or two others with you and go back again" (verse 16, NLT).

If the person still refuses to change, then "take your case to the church" (verse 17)—which means it's time to get other Christian leaders involved, like a youth pastor or the adult leader of your Christian club. But remember: Start privately before bringing others into it.

Be humble. Before we talk to anyone about their sin, we must recognize our own sinfulness—that we are just as capable of doing the same things and worse.
Offer to help. Be willing to help your friend through their struggle. Don't confront if you're not willing to say, "I want to help you get through this. I want to pray with you and for you, and do whatever I can to help you get on track."

What Happens Next?

When you confront a friend, there are generally three possible reactions:

Thankfulness and repentance.

They could be grateful for your actions and begin to make changes. If so, your friend will be on the road to right living, and your friendship will likely be strengthened.

Acceptance, but continual struggle.

They might agree that you're right and desire change, but they continue to struggle with their sin. You'll still need to offer support—prayer, a listening ear, constant encouragement. And you might point your friend to someone better equipped to help—like a youth leader or a counselor.

Rejection or denial.

They could reject your concerns or refuse to admit there's a problem. If so, your friendship will change. Continue reaching out to your friend, but with caution, leaving enough distance so you aren't pulled into sin as well.

For a friend who refuses to change, Matthew 18 advises us to "treat that person as a pagan or a corrupt tax collector" (verse 17). That doesn't mean you should stop being a friend. But they certainly shouldn't be allowed to continue in any kind of leadership role.

What Friendship Means

I don't like the way things turned out with Bekah. When she chose to keep drinking and partying, our friendship changed. Before, we had been almost inseparable, but now she started making plans without me. Before, we had talked about everything, but now our conversations were superficial because Bekah didn't want to tell me much about her life.

When we left for different colleges, I wondered what would happen to our friendship. The first year, we kept in touch sporadically. But nothing changed in her life, and we ended up drifting even farther apart.

I still talk to Bekah occasionally, mainly to let her know I still care. I also pray for her, asking God to show her she's settling for so much less than what he has for her.

I sometimes wonder if things would be different if I hadn't said anything to Bekah that day. I wonder if we'd still be good friends. But then I think about what it means to be a friend, and I realize that I couldn't call myself one if I had remained silent.

I hope one day Bekah will see that.

Every Guy's Struggle

Bored and without much to do on a Saturday night, I was alone in the basement surfing through TV channels. Like snapshots with sound, the images flipped by rapidly, telling me that, as usual, there wasn't much of anything on TV.

Then I hit a couple of numbers randomly, and suddenly I was staring at slightly blurred images of naked bodies having sex.

The blurry reception told me our cable connection had picked up a station that wasn't part of our package. I glanced at the remote, and then looked nervously toward the basement stairway. I knew I should change the channel, but instead I stared at the couple on the screen.

Minutes passed before I clicked the remote. In that short period of time, I'd placed powerful images in my mind that would play over and over like a continuous instant replay.

It wasn't the last time I'd turn to this "secret channel." Throughout my junior year, I'd find opportunities to watch it. Sexually excited by what I'd seen, I'd go into the bathroom and masturbate. Then I'd experience intense guilt.

I tried to stop. Sometimes I'd go weeks without watching that pornographic station. Even so, there were still other things that stimulated me sexually—and I didn't have to make any special effort to find them. It could be a model in a commercial or magazine ad.

Or maybe I would stare longer than I should at a girl at school in a midriff-baring top, a short dress or low-cut shirt. I'd find myself daydreaming about what I'd seen. Sometimes those images I tucked into my brain led me to masturbate. But whether or not I masturbated, I knew I'd let myself fall into lust.

I agonized. I pleaded with God:

"God, forgive me!"

"Help me!"

"I'm so sorry … "

But then I'd find myself giving in and letting my mind go places it shouldn't. The shame and the guilt dug in deeper and deeper.

Help Me to Be Like Joseph

During this time, I really was trying to live my faith, which included reading my Bible. I remember reading through the book of Genesis and being surprised by the problems many of God's people experienced. Apparently God used less-than-perfect people, I thought. There might be hope for me.

Then I came to the incredible story of Joseph near the end of Genesis. I was pulled in by this story of a young man who was sexually harassed by a powerful and probably very beautiful woman. She wouldn't leave him alone, yet he consistently ignored her advances.

One time she approached him, grabbed him by his coat and insisted: "Have sex with me!" He didn't try to reason with her. He didn't pause to think about whether he should or shouldn't hang around. His first impulse was to get out of there—and quickly.

To make sure I hadn't missed anything important, I reread the story. Then I prayed:

"God, help me to be more like Joseph … "

Far from Alone

As sincere as my prayer was, I continued to struggle. I felt so alone in my shame and guilt. But I knew I wasn't alone. The guys in my small group Bible study would often hint at their own struggles. But they'd never get too specific.

There would be a moment of embarrassing silence, then the topic would change. It was like we all knew we struggled, yet were afraid to get too vulnerable. I began to think lust and masturbation were problems too private to talk about—even with a group of guys.

Then I did take a chance and started confiding in a couple of close friends. I was really nervous about it at first, but I discovered they were a lot like me: feeling guilty about lust, yet unable to gain control over it. Throughout the rest of that school year, we occasionally talked about our problems. Even so, I still struggled.

Then something happened during my senior year that gave me hope. After our church's midweek service, I started talking to one of the close friends I'd been confiding in.

Since he'd had problems with Internet porn and masturbation, I asked him how he was doing. He looked at me and said, "Mark, I haven't done any of that in a month." He then began talking about sexual purity, and how he felt God was helping him make changes in his life. In a few minutes, another guy dropped by the table we were sitting at.

Then another and another. Before long, there were six of us talking openly about lust. By the time we'd finished our conversation, I felt like God really could change me!

Before our conversation ended, we'd formed an accountability group. The six of us started meeting weekly. We promised to be open and real with each other—and not share anything we heard with anyone outside the group. We also talked a lot about the importance of not putting ourselves in situations that would cause us to think or do things we knew were wrong. And when it came to dating, we all agreed that going out with someone who wanted to push the limits was asking for trouble.

The discussions—and the accountability—were great. But there were still times we'd get discouraged over how often we'd fail.

"Run Toward God"

Around this time an adult leader from the church visited our group. He congratulated us for our courage and our desire to change. Then he told us something that really helped. As best as I can remember, here's some of what he said:

"You need to ask God for forgiveness and then forget about it. After all, God forgets about it! He has a short memory when it comes to confessed sin.

"There will always be sin in our lives, so don't dwell on it. Confess it, then move on and talk about prevention. But don't focus so much on what you shouldn't do. Instead, get rooted in God. Don't just run away from lust. Run toward God."

Our meetings changed after that. While we continued to talk about our struggles, we also talked more about building a solid relationship with Christ. By drawing closer to Christ, we discovered it was easier to distance ourselves from lustful thinking and actions.

We also discovered something about the power of Jesus' death on the cross. We came to realize that Jesus not only died for our sins, but he also died for our guilt and shame. Up to that point, guilt and shame were like an enormous weight I dragged around wherever I went. But Jesus' death meant I didn't have to drag around that weight. What an amazing truth!

Answering My Prayer

I'm now a freshman at a Christian college. A friend of mine from last year's accountability group also attends this school, and we decided to start a group like the one we had back home. This new group is not only helping us with our struggles, it's also helping us grow closer to God.

I must be honest and say that I haven't gained total control over lust. I don't believe that will happen until I get to heaven. But I'm doing much better than I was a few years ago. I'm becoming more like Joseph: God is answering that prayer I prayed my junior year.

Most importantly, God is changing my heart. And it really is about turning to God. When I fill my mind and my heart with thoughts of him, and with the things he loves and desires, there really isn't room for much of anything else.

*name has been changed

A Message for the Girls

Are you shocked by Mark's struggle? Don't be. Mark isn't alone in dealing with lust. He's not weird, sick or a pervert. Mark's just more candid about this issue than many of our Christian brothers are comfortable being with us girls.

For guys, much of the battle is on the visual front. Guys tend to become sexually stimulated by what they see. Like Mark, many of them fight desperately to keep pure thoughts while they are surrounded by sexual images.

When he spoke to Campus Life, Mark shared that he'd like girls to read Every Young Man's Battle: Strategies for Victory in the Real World of Sexual Temptation by Stephen Arterburn and Fred Stoeker (Waterbrook Press, 2002).

Even though this book is written for young men, Mark says, "It will really help girls to respect how difficult it is for guys to be God-honoring in this area of our lives."

Don't get me wrong: We're each responsible to God for ourselves. It's a guy's responsibility to gain control over his thoughts and actions. That's between him and God. But the way we girls dress can help our Christian brothers maintain pure thoughts—or it can make their struggle with lust more difficult.

I'd encourage you to take responsibility for what you wear. With the help of your mom, a friend, your brothers or even your dad, look through your closet and ask yourself if each item there helps or hurts your male friends in their quest for purity. It's something to think about when you're trying on clothes at the mall, too.

By paying attention to how we dress, we're doing more than helping our Christian brothers. We're preparing ourselves to attract guys who will want to be with us for the right reasons.

8 Steps to a Better Friendship with God


"Where's Angela?" I asked. The rest of our family was slumped on the living room couch. Everyone shrugged. Curious, I went in search of my sis.

I checked each room of the house. When I finally found her, she was intensely focused on something. She looked up, revealing the object of her attention—her Bible.

I started to notice that Angela "disappeared" about the same time each day. I wondered how she found time to read God's Word: Between school, choir, church and volunteer activities, Angela's one of the busiest people I know. So I asked her.

"Well, every day I have to make the choice to spend time with God," she said. "It's not easy, but it's worth it—devotions help me to get to know God on my own, to have a real, personal relationship with him."

Angela had some great tips on how she formed her good habit. Here are eight of them.

Schedule a devotional "appointment." Write a specific time and location on your calendar, or in your planner.

You might want to choose a time that corresponds with another daily activity: after you get up in the morning, right after school, or immediately after dinner. Try to avoid putting devotions off until the end of the day. "If I wait until bedtime, I usually end up skipping it because I fall asleep," Angela says.

Choose your tools.

Some basics include: 1) A Bible. Biblegateway.com offers 16 versions for you to compare, from that classic King James Version to modern versions like The Message. Or, consider using a student or study Bible—many contain reading plans and practical ways to apply Scripture to everyday situations.

2) A devotional book. Some are specifically for students. Many have a "thought for the day" and questions to help you relate the verses you've read to your own life.

3) A journal. Use it to record your favorite verses and reflections on Scripture. Or, try writing a poem or letter to God.

Start with prayer.

Ask God to keep you focused and to help you understand what you're about to read. "Sometimes, my mind just starts to drift. I tell God I've set aside this time especially for him, and that I choose to focus on him," Angela says.

Use your Bible.

Even if you use a devotional book with verses printed in it, read the passages in your Bible anyway. "Prove it to yourself that it's really there," Angela suggests. "It helps you to think of that verse as part of God's Word, and not as just an excerpt from some random book." Plus, you might spot another meaningful verse that wasn't included in the devotional book.

Read it until you get it.

First, read verse by verse—read each verse several times until you understand what it is saying, then move on to the next one.

Then, go back and read the entire passage, putting its meaning all together in your mind. Even if you're familiar with a passage, try to read it like you've never seen it before—don't skim. God might give you an understanding of something you've never noticed before.

Don't just read the Bible—do what it says (James 1:22).

Make a list of personal traits (patience, kindness) or spiritual goals (witnessing, prayer) you'd like to work on. Each week, choose one item from your list. Using a concordance, biblegateway.com or a devotional book, find verses about that topic. Then, try to find ways to apply what you've read.
Make a commitment.
On a piece of paper, write these words: "I commit to read my Bible every day for the next month." Sign your name and tape the paper somewhere in your bedroom where you can see it.

Don't give up.

Let's face it: There will be days when you skip devotions. Just try to keep it a high priority and do it whenever you can. "God is not going to abandon you if you don't do a devotion one day—he knows what our schedules are like, and he knows our hearts," Angela says. "Any time that you spend with God, he can use it to teach you and to grow your faith."