Just sharing.

[beensetfree]

A Gift of Love

It didn't seem like such a big deal at first. All we wanted —"we" being me, Liz, Val, Kris, Katie, Jeanne, Anna, and the rest of our small group Bible study—was to find a way to love others.

Here's the thing. Our youth group's study theme that year was "Love God and Love Others." Our leader said those two things were the measuring stick of how well we were living out our faith.

We all felt we were pretty good at loving God. We went to church, did our devotions, prayed, even thought pure thoughts—much of the time. Loving God? We had that down pat.

Not so fast, said our leader. If a person isn't loving others on the outside, he said, a person isn't really loving God on the inside.

Well, if that meant loving each other, we were doing great. We never missed our meetings, and we did everything together. But our leader said that loving God means more than just loving our friends. We had to take our love outside of our little circle.

"If you really want to love God," our leader said, "you have to love others, too. Not just each other, but those who aren't very lovable."

Then he opened his New Testament and started reading from Luke.

"Love the Lord your God with all your passion and prayer and muscle and intelligence—and … love your neighbor as well as you do yourself" (The Message, Luke 10:27).

Our leader then read the story of the Good Samaritan, which explains just who a "neighbor" is. It's anyone—nearby or not, lovable or not—who needs our love.

There was no way to ignore what he'd read. Clearly the next step was to take love outside our circle—and into the world.

We decided to try to love a group of people we wouldn't normally hang with, people who maybe don't get too much love, right in our neighborhood. We decided we'd demonstrate our Christian love at the local nursing home. And since Christmas was on the way, we came up with a plan.

We got a list of names from the nursing home of those residents who, for whatever reason, probably wouldn't receive any gifts that year: Berniece, Frank, Ellen, Robert, James, Alice, Herbert, Viola, Wesley, Luella. We also made a list of gift ideas: Western novels, after-shave lotion, socks, lap blankets, slippers, wall decorations, perfume, stuffed animals, picture frames, small radios.

Then we asked for help from a service organization that gave money to students doing community volunteer work. (Really cool thing: They not only gave us $20 for each gift and $25 for wrapping paper and supplies, but they also threw in enough for a pizza dinner while we wrapped the gifts.)

A few days later, we headed to the local discount store, divided up the names, and each took off with our lists and carts.

As I zipped up and down aisles, I thought that loving others was a ton of fun. Jeanne passed by and I heard her say, "Berniece is just going to love these slippers!" They were those big animal slippers—fat cats to be exact—and I wondered if maybe Berniece might want something a little more, you know, small and old fashioned, with flowers embroidered above the toes. It was tough to tell, seeing as I'd never even met her.
Then Val said, "Do you think Robert would like this after-shave?" She held it up for me to smell. "Or this one?"

That night, we shopped, wrapped, ate pizza, and imagined how great it was going to be when we delivered our gifts. We wondered, Why hadn't we started loving others sooner?

Fast forward a few weeks. When we arrived at the nursing home on Thursday night, nerves were on edge. Up until a few hours earlier, we'd imagined ourselves delivering gifts, being hugged and thanked and admired. Honestly, in our genuine desire to love others, we were also selfishly hoping for a few pats on our backs, and maybe an, "Ooh, aren't they nice young people!?"

Just before we left, our leader said, "Go in with an open mind and an even more open heart. Loving others isn't always what we think it will be."

He was so right.

The first gift we delivered was to a man who couldn't speak clearly. He didn't say thank you. He didn't say, "Ooh, what nice young people."

When we displayed Viola's wall hanging, she yelled at us to take it down because it hurt her eyes.

Herbert's radio, which we were sure he would love, got nothing more than a blank stare.

Luella's roommate cried and complained when we entered and kept asking us if we knew where her family was. Luella herself had died just a few days earlier, so we gave her gift to the crying, complaining woman.

The last gift we delivered was to Ellen. Her room was dim. She was in bed. But when we explained why we were there and sat down to visit, she seemed genuinely pleased. She told us about her family, her friends, how much she missed her daughter. She asked us our names, how old we were, and what we hoped to get for Christmas. And when we were ready to leave, she said, "Thank you. You are such nice young people."

Now, two years later, our leader is still talking about loving God and loving others. But I'm learning that I can love others every moment of every day.

I don't need to make a special appointment or plan a special event. Reaching out to others should be just as much a part of my life as eating and sleeping. Our nursing home visit was a good place to start, but it's only a beginning. I want to make loving others a habit, a part of my life.

It won't be easy. Loving others can be awkward. It can be intimidating. And it's not always fun. But that won't stop me from doing it, because I know that's what God wants me to do.

Loving others isn't just about focusing on another person. It's about not focusing on myself.

Loving others isn't about the good things I get in return. It's about the good things I give.

Finally, loving others is about more than just loving others. It's about loving God. And that's what I want my life to be all about.

 

[beensetfree]

It's Not Fair!

Visiting my dad in the mental hospital had always filled me with dread. But on that drizzly December day, as I mounted the massive stairway to the front entrance, I was excited. I had important news for him: In less than a week, I'd be leaving for Switzerland to study at a discipleship training school. He'd be so proud of me when he found out how I had earned the money myself and made all my own travel plans.

As Mom and I entered the smoke-filled lounge, we saw Dad sitting stiffly in a worn armchair beside a scruffy-looking Christmas tree. A TV blared in the corner. Patients shuffled about the room or sat on the floor.

"Hi, Dad!" I said cheerfully.

He turned his head in my direction. No smile, no glint of "I'm-glad-you've-come." Only pain showed in his gray eyes.

"Dad, I'm leaving home for seven months," I began.

No comment. Hasn't he heard me? I wondered.

"Dad, you know the Youth With A Mission school in Lausanne? Well, I'm going to study there."

He fastened his eyes on me. Not a spark of interest. Instead, Dad picked up a worn magazine and began to turn the pages.

Disappointment flooded through me, then rage. Dad might as well have slapped me hard across my face.

Driving home in the car, I yelled at Mom. "Why does he have to be so mean? Why can't he show a bit of interest in me at least once?"

Mom tried to tell me Dad's severe depression had frozen his emotions, but I couldn't accept her excuses for his behavior.

"Every time I tell him anything about me, he acts as though he couldn't care less. He doesn't care that I played Marilla in Anne of Green Gables. He doesn't care that I lettered in soccer. He doesn't care that I graduated with honors and got a scholarship. He doesn't care that I'm leaving and won't see him for seven months. All he cares about is himself."

A few days later, when I boarded the KLM jet, I felt a bit scared. But mostly I felt relief. Visiting Dad in that dreadful hospital wouldn't be part of my life for a while. Now I could forget the pain of his rejections and get on with my life.


Trapped by Bitterness
When I arrived at the discipleship training school, I couldn't believe the way people welcomed me. Their eyes filled with interest when I answered their questions about myself. I could tell they really cared about me.

I enjoyed my classes. I got along great with my roommates. Every day I learned something new. And yet there was one part of the day I just couldn't handle—the small prayer groups held after lunch.

An older staff person would encourage us to share specific needs in our lives. I knew I ought to say something about my dad, but I couldn't.

I was shocked one day when our leader prayed, "God, release Cathy from the hurt in her life. Help her to forgive the person who's hurt her."

I began to shake. I fumbled around for a tissue. Quietly our leader handed me one and gave my hand a squeeze.

Later I told her about my dad. "He used to be at every single basketball game my brother and sister played in," I choked. "He cheered so loudly that my mom tried to shush him up. But he's not been to even one of my soccer games."

"How long has your dad been depressed like this?"

"Four years."

"Cathy, you feel cheated out of an earthly father's love, don't you?" the woman said kindly. "But God wants to fill that void in your life. God is our Father—your Daddy! God's face lights up when you come to him in prayer. You can climb up into his lap and tell him everything. You are his very special girl, Cathy."

Well, I tried to picture God like that, but it was hard. A barrier loomed between me and God, so I couldn't get close to him. What is it, God? I wondered. I want to know you as my very own Father. I want to hear you say I'm your very special girl. Why can't I believe it?

One day in class, I got a hint of what might be keeping me from a closer relationship with God. My teacher was speaking about bitterness. "When people hurt us, we put up walls," he said. "We think this will protect us from more hurt, but often the worse enemy is inside those walls. That enemy is bitterness.

"Bitterness is like a sliver. If left alone, it will fester and get worse and worse. It will poison you and all your relationships. You must release the hurt to Jesus. You must let him pull out the sliver. Confess your sin of bitterness to God and to the person who's hurt you. Only then can God heal you of the hurt."

I knew he was talking about me.


Ask Dad to Forgive Me?
That afternoon, I stayed behind after our small-group prayer meeting to talk to our leader. "I know there's bitterness in my heart toward my dad," I said, "but what do I do about it?"

"Confess it to God and ask him to forgive you," she smiled. "Then ask your dad to forgive you."

"Ask my dad to forgive me? Shouldn't it be the other way around? I mean, he's the one who hurt me!" I blurted out.

"Your dad's been hurt by your bitterness, Cathy," the woman replied. "You need to ask him to forgive you for that."

My cheeks were hot as I ran to my room. Grabbing my writing pad and pen, I wrote, "Dear Dad," but then my mind froze. The words wouldn't come. It's not fair! Anger welled up inside. Dad should be the one apologizing to me!

For a few days, I told myself that if Dad would just write me first, apologizing for his behavior, then I'd have no problem asking his forgiveness for my bitterness. But time went by, and no letter came.

One day I couldn't stand it any longer. I knew if I didn't take care of my bitterness soon, I'd end up becoming a bitter person—like the ones I'd seen in the mental hospital. God would never become real to me.

I grabbed my blue-checkered stationery and began to write. Tears fell onto my page and smudged the words.




Dear Dad, I began, I want to ask you to forgive me. Then the words just tumbled out:
I've had resentment in my heart toward you, and I know I've hurt you.

Dad, I love you. I have such sweet memories of you. I remember the times you helped me with my homework. You were so gentle and patient as I made the same mistakes again and again. I also remember the times we went canoeing and you kept encouraging me to go on, or told me to rest when I needed to. You are such a loving father and so patient. But I haven't been patient with you. Please forgive me.
Dad, I love you so much.

I'd finished my letter. Then I thought of something else to say. I grabbed a piece of white scrap paper and scribbled, Dad, I haven't given up hope that you will be healed one day. Look up Psalm 147, verse 3. It's for you, Dad.


Finally Free
Something happened to me while I was writing that letter. It was like pulling the plug in a sink full of dirty water. Some thing unclean and ugly left me, and all I could think about was how much I loved my dad and how much I didn't want to hurt him anymore. At the same time, that barrier between me and God melted away.

I had no idea how my dad would react to my letter. Would he even read it? Would he respond? I wondered, but it really didn't matter. I was free. As I prayed for him daily, sometimes the tears would fall, but now they were not tears of hurt but tears of love. I wanted Dad to be free and whole and happy again.

Exactly one month after I'd written my letter, I pulled a blue airmail envelope out of the mail box in the office. A letter from my dad! The scrawled address told me Dad's hands had shaken badly.


Dear Cathy, Thank you very much for your letter. It was so encouraging! God loves me and forgives me!
I forgive you, dear, for everything. Please forgive me for being so callous, especially during your visits. I'm truly sorry.
I love you very much and have happy memories of being with you.
I am trusting God to make me well and take me home to Abbotsford in due time. For a long time, I did not pray or read the Bible. But God has forgiven me.
I miss you, Cathy, and love you very much. I hope you can read this letter. The lithium medicine makes my hands shaky.
Love,
Your Dad

I read and reread that letter. Not only had my dad said those powerful words, "I forgive you," but he'd asked me to forgive him.

When I'd decided to let go of my bitterness toward my dad, I'd done it mostly for my own healing, but now it seemed like healing was also coming to my dad.

With God's love once more flowing between me and my dad, who could tell what wonderful things would happen next?

 

[beensetfree]

Back to faith

When Val Hellman looks back on his years in high school, he doesn't remember letter jackets, dates every weekend, or invitations to the coolest parties.

"I struggled with loneliness a lot," he says. But Val (short for Valentine) doesn't have any trouble meeting people these days. As the tenor sax and clarinet player for the W's—a band whose sound is a hot combination of swing, ska and jazz—he's toured with bands like dc Talk and played for thousands. It's like Val and the rest of the guys in the W's have risen to the top overnight. (In our most recent Christian Music Awards contest, you voted 'em the best new group.) But back in high school, Val's social life barely made it off the ground.

"I was really shy, so I didn't talk to people," he admits. "I was a nerd, and nobody liked me. I got stuffed into the garbage can at lunch and stuff. It was really hard not having friends."

A churchgoing Christian since elementary school, Val was well aware that God knew of his frustrations. And he knew God could change things.

"I prayed every night for help to get through the next day," says Val. "Eventually, I made friends. People started coming up and talking with me."

God had heard Val in some of his loneliest times. But it wasn't long before Val forgot that God was worth hearing, too. After Val enrolled at Oregon State University, he jumped full-force into the party scene. In his own words, he "went crazy."

"After I started college, I didn't have any Christian friends. There was no one to hold me accountable. People would say, ‘Let's go to this party and have a beer,' and I'd say, ‘OK.' Or someone would tell me, ‘That girl really has it for you,' and I'd go fool around with her. It all seemed so fun at the time."

Fun, maybe, but hardly fulfilling. The wild parties didn't give Val much more than a load of regret and a deep emptiness inside. Val didn't like the lifestyle he was leading. But he just couldn't find the will to change his behavior.

That's when Val got to know J.P., someone who would help turn his actions around—and turn his heart back to God. J.P. lived in the same house at college. He gave Val a CD of the Christian punk group MxPx, and Val came back with questions.

"I'd ask J.P. why he acted like this and like that," Val says. "I learned that the basis of his life was his relationship with Jesus. He made that evident to me without preaching at me. And it brought me back to faith."

Through their conversations, J.P. showed Val that the drinking and the sex were only surface issues. What Val needed most was a concept of God's incredible grace. Instead of telling him what to do, J.P. got Val to think about why he did the things he did. With the accountability of a good friend and the love of a great God, Val got back on the right track.

"You can have a lot of fun without doing those things I was doing," he says. "I don't do any of those things anymore, and I still have lots of fun hanging out with my Christian friends."

Yeah, when Val and his buds in the W's bring their swingin' show to fans across the country, they have a blast. But they also encourage people to get serious about their relationship with God. Val, for one, is speaking from experience.

"The whole Five Minute Walk [the group's label] philosophy," he says, "is to take a five-minute walk every day and talk to God, give him your problems, and ask him to reveal himself to you. And if God is real, he will reveal himself. He's done it for me."

The W-Files:

The W's weren't putting themselves down when they named their album Fourth from the Last "W" is the fourth-from-the-last letter of the alphabet!
If you've seen the W's album, you might think the guys have a thing for bowling. Lead singer Andrew Schar really has played in a bowling league, but the rest of the W's don't rattle the pins all that often. In fact, bassist Todd Gruener hates bowling.

Before the W's got signed, they played to a lot of secular audiences. Doing songs like "Jesus Loves Me" often brought them sneers and jeers.
While the W's want to make music that's right for dancing, only a couple of the guys in the band actually know how to "cut a rug." Andrew swing dances, and drummer Bret Barker knows how to ballroom dance.

They opened for dc Talk, but the W's really prefer small shows. "In a small club, you can usually see most of the people," says Val, "and it's easy to meet everyone who's there. Anyone who wants to talk to you can talk to you.

 

[beensetfree]

No Fairy Tales

When Tiffany Arbuckle was 18, she was in a dating relationship that, from the outside, looked too good to be true.

It was.

"We were very attracted to each other," says Tiffany, who's the lead singer and chief lyricist for the modern-rock band Plumb. "He was a good guy, a gentleman, and he went to church with me. Everything on the outside looked like a perfect little fairy tale. People said, ‘They look good together, and he's so good to her.' But he wasn't a Christian.

"When I broke up with him, a lot of people questioned my decision. But I realized there's more to making a relationship work than being attracted to one another. The most important thing in my life—my faith—was the one thing he couldn't share with me. Even though breaking up hurt, it was easier knowing I was doing what was right. There was peace and hope in that."

Tiffany sings about this experience in "Worlds Collide: a fairy tale," one of several songs about relationships on Plumb's sophomore release, candycoatedwaterdrops (Essential).

Throughout the album, she's not afraid to reveal some of her deepest emotions. That's because to Tiffany, being an artist means being open about life experiences, whether exhilarating, confusing or painful.

"It's important for me to be very real and very honest, writing about stuff that's really happened," she says.

To do that, Tiffany and the other band members address uncomfortable subjects, like troubled relationships, hypocritical Christians ("Drugstore jesus") and end-times mania ("Late Great Planet Earth"). Plumb's lyrics don't have tidy endings, but, as Tiffany points out, "people can relate." If many of the songs on candycoatedwaterdrops seem to focus on broken relationships, Tiffany adds, it's because everybody knows what it's like to get dumped.

Without pushing a super-spiritual message, Plumb communicates the importance of a relationship with God. "The hope of Christ," Tiffany says, "is knowing that he'll never leave us or forsake us. He'll never give us burdens beyond what we can bear, because he'll be there to bear them with us."

All of our human relationships, Tiffany insists, stand or fall on our relationship with God. In the song "Damaged," written about a victim of sexual abuse, she wants to communicate that God can heal any hurt:

There's mending for my soul/An ending to this fear/ Forgiveness for a man who was stronger/I was just a little girl, but I can't go back.
"Our mission as a whole," she says, "is to show that, whether in songs about abuse, songs about loneliness or the end of the world, evidence of our faith is important. This album is about relationships, and the ultimate relationship is with Christ."

 

[beensetfree]

Is it Right?

Cowardice asks the question, ‘Is it safe?’
Expediency asks the question, ‘Is it politic?’

And Vanity comes along and asks the question, ‘Is it popular?’
But Conscience asks the question ‘Is it right?’

And there comes a time when one must take a position that
is neither safe, nor politic, nor popular, but he must do
it because Conscience tells him it is right.

 

[beensetfree]

With Friends Like These …

My 15th birthday was one of the worst days of my life, all because of a bright bouquet of flowers.

The flowers arrived at the high school office between second and third period. They looked innocent enough—white and red and pink with a sprig of baby's breath.

I couldn't imagine who had sent them. Maybe my parents—my dad had sent me good-luck roses the day I tried out for show choir. Who else would send such a sweet gift?


My friends didn't notice, or didn't care, that I was too upset to eat. They thought the whole thing was just incredibly funny.

I cradled the flowers in my arm as I headed toward my locker. Everyone watched me as I walked by, slowly, trying to read the sender's card without running into a wall (or, worse, a senior).

"Happy Birthday Elesha. Love, Peter."

My stomach sank. Peter was a super-shy guy who'd had a crush on me for months. I had returned his interest for a little while, but then his puppy-dog persistence started to really annoy me. He wasn't a bad guy or anything, but he was the last person I wanted to get flowers from. Especially with the word "love" on the card!

Knowing the flowers were from Peter made me want to get rid of them as soon as possible. I was afraid he might see me carrying them, and then he'd say something, and then I'd have to say something. And I had no idea what I was going to say.

The truth is, I felt really bad about Peter—or more specifically, about how I had been treating him. When he hadn't picked up on my subtle hints that we had no future as a couple, I couldn't bring myself to give him the official "just friends" talk. Instead, I ignored him and hoped he'd go away. That didn't work, so I tried even harder to chase him off. I acted like I was too cool to talk to him. I made fun of him. And even though he still smiled when he saw me at school, his eyes showed how much I was hurting him.

When I got down the hall, I tried to stuff the flowers—and the whole situation—into my locker. But somehow, all my friends knew about my birthday present. Before, after and during every class, someone was asking me what I planned to do.

Lunch was the worst. The eight-person tables in the cafeteria meant seven of my friends could pester me at once.

"How does it feel to have a guy profess his undying love to you?"

"Why don't you just kiss him and see what happens?"

And the worst question of all: "Why don't you just talk to him?"

That was the only one I'd answer. "I can't." It made me sick to think of sitting down with him and dashing whatever hopes he still had. Somehow, it was easier to hurt him from a distance. I didn't have the guts to do it face-to-face.

The fact that my friends' questions made me feel more and more miserable didn't seem to bother them. They didn't notice, or didn't care, that I was too upset to eat. They thought the whole thing was just incredibly, hilariously funny.

Except my friend Leah. She looked almost as uncomfortable as I did, and she hardly said a word. It seemed like she wanted to tell me something, but she couldn't spit it out.

While I couldn't avoid my friends' questions, I did manage to avoid Peter until fifth-period chem class. I waited outside the door until the bell rang, then I ducked my head and ran to my seat.

Peter was just one of several guys I knew in chem class. When I walked in, all of the guys except Peter were leaned in together, laughing. Peter had his head down on his desk. One of my friends saw me, and the laughing stopped.

Any place on the planet would have been more comfortable than that class. I acted like I didn't know anyone in the room. What am I going to do? I agonized. And why in the world is everyone laughing at me?

I bolted out of class as soon as it was over, the sounds of laughter following me down the hall. I went straight to my desk in the foreign language room and waited for my French class to start.

Hunched over my desk, letting my hair fall over my face to shut out the world, I went over the day in my mind. I hadn't told anyone about the flowers, but everyone and their brother seemed to know about them. And they were all laughing at me, except for Leah, who was way too quiet.

When the bell rang to start class, it was literally like a bell going off in my head. The day only made sense if Peter didn't send those flowers at all. Then it hit me: The whole thing must have been a big practical joke. My "friends" had watched me suffer all day, and nobody told me the truth.

I didn't even care that class had started. I got up from my desk and ran out of the room. By the time I hit the hallway I was crying, hard, from rage and humiliation. I spent the whole hour locked in a bathroom stall.

I refused to look at, speak to, or in any way acknowledge my "friends" for the rest of the day. They had betrayed me, and as far as I was concerned, that was it. If I had to be a loner for the rest of my high school years, it was better than spending time with them.

When the end of the day rolled around, I had to go to my locker one last time to get my coat. Three or four of my girl friends, the ones I usually rode home with, were waiting for me. Leah was one of them. They stood in silence as I spun my combination and banged open the door.

I grabbed the wilted flowers and took a step back. "There!" I screamed, throwing them down the hall. "There's your joke! I hate you all, and I'm never speaking to you again!"

When I got home from school, I went straight to my room and locked the door. I knew if Mom saw my red eyes and cheeks I'd have to tell her the story, and I really didn't want to relive it. When she called me for dinner, I said I wasn't feeling well but maybe I'd eat later.

Lying on my bed in the half-dark of evening gave me ample time to think. And for the first time since the whole thing with Peter started, I considered his feelings. From the way he looked in chem class, I could tell he wasn't in on the joke, though he obviously knew about it. I bet he was even more embarrassed than I was.

At about 8:00, the doorbell rang, and I heard my mom's footsteps coming down the hall

"Elesha? Leah's here, and she'd like to talk to you."

"I'm not talking to her."

"She really wants to see you. Could you please come out?"

Sensing it was useless to keep refusing, I opened my door and shuffled down the hall. Leah was standing just inside the front door, soaked from the cold rain falling outside and crying softly. I leaned against the wall in front of her, with my arms crossed and my head down.

"I wasn't in on the flowers," she said. "I wanted to tell you, but the guys who bought them made me promise not to. I was so scared this afternoon. I thought you'd really never talk to me again. I don't want to lose you as a friend."

Her words trailed off into sobs. She really was scared. But she had the guts to come over and talk to me about how she felt. Mad as I was, I had to respect that. Besides, we'd been good friends for a long time. I knew it would be stupid to let one practical joke end our relationship.

So I forgave her. And I decided to have a talk with Peter. I hoped he'd forgive me, too.

 

[beensetfree]

My Friends Showed Me God's Love

I grew up in a Buddhist family in Tainan, Taiwan. As a little girl, I remember bowing before a Buddha statue with offerings of flowers and food. My family visited the local temple regularly, and we also had an altar in our home. I can still recall the strong smell of incense around our idol.

During my teen years, I became interested in the Taoist religion. Along with worshiping Buddha, Taoists also worship many other gods. There is a god for just about any problem you have. I often prayed to the god who was supposed to help me with my studies.

When I finished high school, I studied foreign languages and Western literature at Scheng Kung University. In one literature class, I studied the Bible. The class was boring. I had very little interest in Christianity.

After graduating from Scheng Kung, I decided to go to a Western university to further my studies. So I took out loans and used my savings to attend the University of Texas in Austin.

In October of my first year at UT, I saw a flier for a Christian group called Inter national Students, Inc. The flier said the group offered an English class for foreign students. Even though Christianity didn't appeal to me, I attended the meetings. I thought it would help improve my English.

My ISI group leader was Jennifer Butchee. I've always been nervous in new situations, but Jennifer made me feel welcome. I also got to know a university student named Siv Touba. Siv helped out with the meetings.

One evening Siv and I went out for coffee together. We talked and talked. I had a great time. Afterward, she gave me a ride back to my apartment, and she asked me if I wanted to go to church with her on Sunday. I said yes. But I still wasn't interested in the Christian religion. I just enjoyed spending time with Siv. Going to church would also be one more way to practice my English and learn more about Western culture.

One of the things I enjoyed most about the worship service was the singing. I love to sing. And the people at the church made me feel very warm and comfortable. I started going every Sunday.

During Christmas break, I decided to attend a skiing trip and Christian conference put on by ISI. While on the trip, I met a college student named Michelle Klassen. Michelle was surprised when I told her I was Buddhist. She wondered why a Buddhist would come to a Christian conference. I told her I wanted to learn how to ski! She laughed, then told me she'd teach me. She stuck by me the whole day, patiently giving me instructions as I struggled to make it down the easiest slope.

During the conference, Michelle talked to me about what it meant to have a relationship with Jesus Christ. By this time, I was starting to become interested in Christianity. When she asked me if I wanted to pray to receive Christ, I said yes. But to be honest, I did it because she was so nice, not because I really understood what I was doing!

After the conference, I joined two different Bible studies. I started learning more and more about the Christian faith. But I had so many questions, like "Why is Christianity the only true religion?" and "What makes Jesus different from Buddha and other great religious leaders?

One of the hardest things to understand was why I didn't have to work my way to heaven. In Buddhism and Taoism, you must pray hard, burn incense and give many offerings. Even so, you can't know for sure if you'll get to heaven.

Another thing that seemed so different was the idea that I could know God personally. In Buddhism and Taoism, the gods seem distant and unknowable.

It was very hard to change all my beliefs and turn away from my family's religion. I needed time to think through so many ideas. But my Christian friends never acted upset by all my questions. They just smiled and tried hard to explain things the best they could. After many conversations, much prayer and Bible study, the truths about God's grace and love had found their way into my heart.

I am thankful to God for what he's done in my life. I am also thankful for my Christian friends. It was their genuine love that showed me the way to Jesus.

What You Need to Know about World Religions

 

[beensetfree]

Back in the Game
College baseball player Matt Newton, almost killed in an automobile accident two years ago, thought he'd never play again. But God had other plans.


When the phone rang late that Sunday afternoon on November 16, 1997, Matt Newton was in his college dorm room, preparing a talk he planned to give at a Christian fellowship meeting later that week.

"Hey Matt," said the voice at the other end of the line. "My car's broken down on the freeway. Can you come pick me up?"

Matt wanted to say no. The stranded friend, Kevin Doyle, was about 45 minutes away, and Matt wanted to finish his speech, eat some dinner, and get to a Fellowship of Christian Athletes meeting at 8 that night. And it was already 5 o'clock.

Then Matt, a student at Southern California College, thought of the speech he'd been working on. A speech about obedience. And he'd just read this verse: "To obey is better than sacrifice" (1 Samuel 15:22).

Well, Matt thought, here's a perfect chance to show my obedience. This is a friend in need.

"I'm on my way," Matt told Kevin.

Before he left the room, Matt wrote two things in his notes: "Obedience" and "Kevin Doyle." Matt figured he'd get back to those notes later that night.

On his way to the car, Matt spotted a friend, Tim Morgan, and asked if he'd like to come along. Tim said yes and hopped in Matt's car.

As he started the engine, Matt remembered the verse: "To obey is better than sacrifice."

Matt had no idea he was about to do both.

"I thought he was dead"
About 20 miles up the freeway from the college, a 22-foot-long trailer, which had come unhitched from a truck, was blocking the two left lanes.

Matt was cruising along in the far left lane at about 60 mph when his headlights caught the trailer. He swerved to the right, but it was too late. The trailer crashed through the windshield on Matt's side, smashing into his face and left arm.

When the car came to a stop, Tim, who suffered only a scratch on his knee, looked over at Matt—and thought he was dead. Tim would later recall that Matt's face was "gory, like a piece of hamburger meat."

Indeed, the trailer had crushed every bone in Matt's face.

"At that rate of speed," Matt says, "I should have been decapitated. My jaw was crushed in three places, I had no nose, I had lost six teeth, and bone was sticking out of my face in various places."

And that wasn't all. Matt's left arm—his throwing arm, the one that had helped earn him a baseball scholarship to SCC—was ripped to shreds.

But Matt wasn't thinking about his dashed future in baseball right then. He was drifting in and out of consciousness. By the time the rescue squad got him out of the mangled car half an hour later, he'd stopped breathing.

The paramedics immediately put him on a respirator and rushed him to the hospital. Matt's younger brother, Kyle, was one of the first ones to arrive at the hospital. When he saw Matt, he didn't even recognize him.

About 40 students from SCC soon arrived, praying as doctors worked through the night to save Matt's life. They thought about amputating his maimed arm, but they decided to give it a chance to heal. Matt's vital signs stabilized, but he slipped into a coma that lasted a week.

Five days after the wreck, with Matt still in a coma, doctors performed a 10-hour surgery to reconstruct his face, using titanium plates, screws, wires and "borrowed" pieces of his skull, trying to put everything back into place.

Two days later, Matt came out of his coma, but he was still pretty much out of touch with reality. Finally, early in the morning on Thanksgiving Day—11 days after the wreck—Matt regained his senses.

"I looked around and saw all these machines beeping and tubes coming out of me," he says. "I wondered why I was there. I didn't remember the accident at all, but somehow I knew I had been in an accident. But I had this overwhelming peace that God was in control. And then I thought, Oh, man, I've got to get back on the baseball field because the season is going to be starting soon."

Baseball?

Matt was lucky just to be alive. Getting back on the diamond seemed virtually impossible.

Just getting started
When they got the call about the accident, Matt's parents were more than 300 miles away, vacationing in Monterey, California, where they were celebrating their 25th anniversary.

"They freaked out when they got the call," Matt says. "But before they left Monterey, my dad said a prayer. He just released my life to the Lord and said, ‘God, if Matt's time here on earth is done, then we release him to you.'"

But God wasn't done with Matt. Not yet. He was just getting started.

Matt was released from the hospital on December 9, 1997, just 23 days after the wreck. Doctors said it was a miracle that Matt recovered so quickly—a miracle he even survived the accident, which left his car looking like it'd been crushed in a giant trash compactor.

When he left the hospital, Matt had lost 32 pounds and was too weak and frail to do much of anything.

He had follow-up appointments with the doctors, and he rested over the Christmas holidays. In early January, doctors performed more surgery, rebuilding his shattered left elbow.

Then, on January 14, less than two months after an accident that easily could have killed him, Matt went back to school.

"My parents were skeptical, and the doctors said I should take a semester off, but I really wanted to go back to school," he says. "I just wanted to be with my friends. And I wanted to show people how powerful God is, what a miracle he'd done in my life."

He kept incredibly busy with school, his rehabilitation, and hanging out with the baseball team. Not until that summer did Matt have a moment to slow down and consider what he'd been through.

"I really hadn't had a chance to mourn and reflect on what had happened to me," he says. "It was hard emotionally, trying to find the balance of who I was before the accident and who I was afterward.

"I had some days when I was really down, wishing I could be completely better, wishing I didn't have to go through what I was going through. I was self-conscious about the way I looked, because my face was scarred. I just wished this period of my life would be over.

"But through it all, I never got bitter. I've never asked God, ‘Why me?' Never. The only reason I can say that is that God gave me peace. And I think that's because I'd chosen to live my life in obedience to him."

Back in the swing
Matt wasn't sure exactly what God had planned for him, but he figured it certainly wouldn't include baseball. His body had just been through too much.

One day that summer, he picked up a tennis ball and threw it.

"It didn't even go 10 feet," Matt says. "I was just so weak."

A few days later, he tried again. The ball went farther.

So he kept at it. And, as Matt puts it, "miraculously, things got better. Fast. Then I started throwing a baseball, and it felt great. I thought, This is crazy, because I really thought I'd never play baseball again. But I prayed to God and said, ‘If you want me to play baseball again, I know that you'll heal me, and I know you'll give back my passion to play.'"

When Matt returned to school in August of '98, the passion was back. He went to his coach and said, "I might be playing this year."

The coach said, "You're kidding."

He wasn't.

Last September, Matt had another operation on his face, where they took a chunk of bone from his hip to rebuild a part of his jaw. That set him back a few more weeks. But in October, he started working out with the team, practicing about three times a week.

He kept improving. Then, on November 20, 1998, the coach put Matt in a game as a designated hitter—which means he didn't play in the field, but only as a batter.

And the very first time he stepped up to the plate, Matt got a hit—a line drive single to right field. Matt could hardly believe it. It had been a year and four days since the accident, and now he was standing safely on first base.

"It was overwhelming," he says. "After the game, they gave me the game ball, and I just remember looking at it. I could not believe I was playing baseball again. It just blew me away."

Last spring, Matt played his last baseball season at SCC. The first baseman batted .233 for the year, and was an All-America Scholar-Athlete. He graduated in May, then went on a summer missions trip to South Africa with Athletes in Action, a sports ministry.

So what's next?

"I'm thinking about being a teacher," he says. "And I'd like to go into the ministry some day. But I don't know when or where. I'm just waiting for the Lord to show me."

By the way, Matt never did finish preparing that speech about obedience and sacrifice. Well, at least not on paper.

But he's gotten the message across in an even more powerful way—by living it all along.

 

[beensetfree]

On the Edge

Four cars raced down a Chicago expressway. Paul Garcia, drunk from the party he'd just left, got boxed in by the other drivers. Desperate to win, he swerved onto the shoulder to pass a semi truck. He was doing about 80 mph when, suddenly, the shoulder ended. … Paul stomped on the brake and went into a skid. Tires squealing, gravel flying, the car finally stopped at the edge of a deep ditch. It was a lot like the rest of Paul's life: wild, fast, and pushed right up to the edge of disaster.

From the outside, Paul's life looked pretty good—a middle-class family, a nice neighborhood, and well-respected parents. But on the inside, Paul saw a different story. "My brothers were always getting in and out of trouble, and my sister ran away. It wasn't a family. We had two brand-new cars and a brand-new house, but we weren't really happy. We were in constant conflict, and it was very painful. I would wonder, Why are we like this? Why can't we get along?"

Paul's first experience with a happy, functioning family came at age 15 when he became friends with a Christian named Jason. Drawn in by the love and acceptance he felt, Paul started hanging out at Jason's house and going to Jason's church. Eventually, Paul asked Jesus to come into his life.

But Paul's family wasn't supportive of his new faith. They practiced Santeriia, a mixed-up combination of Roman Catholicism and African deity worship. Paul's father also had a lot of faith in his personal success, because he'd seen how having a business and making money put him a step above the other men in the community. So when Paul tried to talk about Jesus at home, the sparks flew.

One time in particular, Paul asked his father straight out, "What about Jesus?" His father got furious. Paul remembers, "He took a big wad of cash out of his pocket, and he put it right up to my face and said, ‘You see this? This is god.' And for me, growing up in the city, watching TV and seeing the way the world works, I kind of believed it.

"I sort of became cynical about church after that. Pretty soon, my relationship with Jason started going south. That's when I started drinking."

Frustrated with the church and deeply hurt by his family, Paul turned to the party scene. "I wanted to become more popular, to meet more people," he says. "And if you want to be popular at these high school parties, you've got to drink. So I equated being popular with being able to drink a lot."

Paul began drinking heavily. Around this time, his parents divorced, but they kept living in the same house. As his world fell apart, Paul, who had been a good student, missed a lot of school and eventually dropped out. But he kept it a secret. Instead of going to school every morning, he worked out at a local gym. Then he hung out with his friends, some of whom had also dropped out. The biggest thing in their lives was alcohol.

It was around this time that Paul nearly drove into the ditch—and that wasn't the only dangerous situation he got himself into because of heavy drinking. He'd often visit a friend at college for drinking weekends, and he was known as the guy who could drink and drink but never get hung over.

So when a drinking buddy found Paul passed out face-first in a puddle one Friday night, he didn't panic—he took pictures. "I don't remember any of it, but I know they picked me up and put me in my car," Paul says. "There are pictures of me just passed out, with vomit all down the side of the car."

When Paul finally woke up the next day, his stomach hurt so bad he was tempted to go to the hospital. "I couldn't move. I couldn't do anything. It was so bad I felt like dying," he says. But he didn't want to see a doctor, so he just waited until the pain went away. Even though he felt awful, he was really lucky the complications weren't more serious; with the amount of beer he'd drunk, he could have died from alcohol poisoning.

All through his slide into the depths of alcohol abuse, Paul kept his drinking problem a secret. "Everybody thought I was the angel of the family while I was doing this stuff because I was able to hide it better than anybody. Nobody knew that I'd dropped out of school. Nobody knew I was drinking like I was, because nobody suspected me. And my parents didn't realize what was going on because they had their own problems."

While Paul was risking disaster with his drinking, his father was taking even bigger risks. Struggling financially as a result of the divorce and tough times at work, Paul's father had started selling cocaine. It wasn't long before he got busted and sentenced to 25 years without parole. Suddenly Paul was the man of his fractured family, and he knew he'd have to change his life to handle the responsibility.

So, at age 20, Paul got his G.E.D. (the equivalent of a high school diploma) and started college at the University of Illinois-Chicago. "My plan for going to school was to become an attorney, make a lot of money, and put my family back together," he says. But Paul's destructive behavior didn't end yet.

Paying for school was tough, and he, like his father before him, started selling drugs to make up the extra. He was also taking a lot of drugs: acid, pot and mushrooms. "Drinking wasn't even a big deal anymore," he says. "At college, it was like, ‘You're normal if you drink; you're not normal if you don't drink.'"

By the end of his first semester at UIC, Paul had discovered a flaw in his plan to get rich and solve his family's problems. He says, "I learned one thing that semester: People who have a lot of money have problems, too. I saw it in the other students at UIC—the meaninglessness, the stress. Then I was really, really disillusioned. I just watched TV all day and smoked pot. And finally I was like, ‘OK, I need religion. That's the answer.' And so I started searching for the truth."

Paul's crisis didn't immediately point him back to the Christian faith he'd encountered at 15. "I had totally forgotten about that," he says. "Drugs will do that to you. You go into denial about so many things that you just forget about your whole life."


But after reading lots of books and researching different religions, he decided to take the question straight to God. "I got on my knees, and I said, ‘God, if you really do exist, I want you to prove it to me.' I told him I didn't mean him any disrespect talking to him like that, but I wanted him to prove it to me. You know, send me some kind of sign. And he did."

At first it was a feeling of joy—an emotion Paul had never really felt before. Then there were dozens of "coincidences" that Paul knew had to be coming from God, like a "God loves you" bumper sticker and a stranger on a train telling him about Jesus.

Paul's life didn't change overnight. At first he just stopped drinking on Sunday, then stopped altogether. Marijuana was even harder for him to give up, but he eventually decided to sell his last bag and give the money to an orphanage.

Meanwhile, his friends thought he was nuts and refused to hang out with him anymore. But he stayed strong and put his whole heart into following God.

Today, Paul's working on a degree in Bible and communications at Wheaton College. He's also working on rebuilding relationships with his family and learning how to witness to them without coming across as judgmental or self-righteous.

Paul's not proud of everything in his past, but he believes his experiences actually help him shine God's light in the dark corners of people's lives. "In the Bible, I see God using Rahab the prostitute, the thief on the cross, a corrupt tax collector," he says. "God doesn't just use people who are wrapped up in a nice package."

 

[beensetfree]

When Dreams Slip Away
Tennis pro Mary Joe Fernandez was close to reaching the top when things fell apart.

She had been chasing The Dream for most of her life.

And on one Sunday afternoon many years ago in Paris, it was well within her grasp. So close, she felt she could reach out and touch it.

But then, just as suddenly, The Dream vanished. Actually, it had turned, as dreams sometimes do, into The Nightmare.

"It was," says Mary Joe Fernandez, "the hardest thing I've ever dealt with."

"I Was Really Scared"
Mary Joe had put up with the cramps in her side for a long time, almost since the time she started playing pro tennis at age 14.

The cramps had been a nuisance, but they hadn't kept Mary Joe from becoming one of the best players on the planet. She has been ranked in the Top 10 most of her career, peaking at No. 4 in the world in 1990 and '91.

In the spring of '93, when she was 21, Mary Joe was playing the best tennis of her life, and fast closing in on The Dream … of winning a Grand Slam championship.

The Grand Slam of tennis includes four tournaments: The Australian Open, the French Open, Wimbledon, and the U.S. Open. Every tennis player dreams of winning at least one of those titles.

Mary Joe had come close twice, losing in the finals of the Australian in '90 and '92. The Dream was definitely within reach.

And then came the '93 French Open final in Paris, where Mary Joe played Steffi Graf, then the world's top player.

Mary Joe won the first set, but Steffi came back to win the match.

Mary Joe was disappointed, but that was only the beginning. The painful cramps were getting much worse.

"I didn't know what was going on," she says now. "All I knew is that I had a lot of pain in my pelvic area. And I was really scared."

A few months later, she was in the hospital, facing surgery.

Doctors diagnosed Mary Joe with endometriosis, a painful gynecological condition that affects one of every six women in the U.S.

The surgery was a success, and Mary Joe was put on medication. She was able to return to tennis within a few months.

"Fortunately," she says, "it turned out to be something that's treatable, and now I can manage the pain very well."

But she has never been the same since.

Yes, she's won two Olympic gold medals in doubles, prizes she'll always cherish. But The Dream of winning a Grand Slam continues to slip away.

"I don't know that I'll ever win a Grand Slam," says Mary Joe. "The French Open in '93 might have been my last opportunity."

She pauses, thinking about what might have been.

"I had been playing really well," Mary Joe says. "I was about to make a big breakthrough. I was ready to challenge for No. 1 in the world. And then, boom, the endometriosis.

"I didn't know if I'd ever be able to play again. I thought I was going to lose everything I'd worked for. It really shook me up. I prayed a lot, and my family prayed a lot."

"Why DO I Believe?"
Prayer and family have always been two of the most important things in Mary Joe's life.

"I grew up in a very faithful home and a great environment," says Mary Joe, who still lives at home with her family in Miami. "We went to church every Sunday. My parents taught me morals and values, and passed their faith down to me.

"But when I was about 19, a friend started asking me lots of questions about Christianity, like, 'Why do you believe what you believe?' I started thinking, Why DO I believe these things? I realized I believed them because my parents believed them.

"That's when it hit me that I needed to make the faith my own. Even though I had been around it all my life, I had to make a personal commitment. So I started reading my Bible a lot, starting with the Gospel of John. I had never read the Bible much before then, but as I read, it really started hitting me: This is my faith. It's all right here in the Bible."

That faith has helped Mary Joe weather the storms—and nightmares—of her career. Like endometriosis. And nagging injuries and illnesses—including a bout with pneumonia—that have slowed her down at one time or another.

"I really think I would have lost it by now if it weren't for my faith," she says. "But God has used those tough times to make me stronger, to help me grow spiritually."

During those times, Mary Joe often recites Psalm 27:1, her favorite Bible verse: "The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?"

Says Mary Joe, "I've learned I can't do anything on my own, but I can do anything through Christ who strengthens me."

Still Chasing Dreams
Even though she hasn't reached The Dream of winning a Grand Slam, Mary Joe hasn't given up.

"I think I still have a few more good years of tennis left," says the 26-year-old. "I've still got some dreams and goals I want to pursue. What's the worst that can happen? I might fall short, but I'll do my best."

That, says Mary Joe, is the key.

"It's not important whether or not you reach your dreams," she says. "What is important is that you trust in God, try your hardest, and do your best. That's the best way to chase your dreams."

 

[beensetfree]

Family Ties
It took a trip to India to remind me how important family really is

Dilapidated buildings, the stench of rubbish everywhere, cows wandering around the city, carts pulled by people, not horses, families living in "homes" the size of most Americans' bathrooms.

Last October, I traveled to Calcutta, India, to visit Anusha Dass, the 9-year-old girl I sponsor through Compassion International. The sights and sounds of that city stuck in my mind weeks after my visit. But there's one impression I got in Calcutta that will stay with me for a very long time.

The people have nothing, and yet have something so many people in wealthier nations don't have—family closeness. It was common to see an older child take the hand of a younger child and look out for him. Most families share a common bed. They know what it means to count on each other and stick together even in their desperate situations. They know they need each other to survive.

Seeing the families of Calcutta reminded me of something that happened when I was 16. One Sunday morning, our pastor in Franklin, Tennessee, preached a message on families. He talked about how easy it can be to take our families for granted. And he challenged us to tell our families we love them before it's too late.

After church that day, my dad felt God prompting him to call his parents in Australia to tell them how much he loved them. Little did he know that later that year, my grandpa would enter a hospital and never come out. He went in for a simple operation and the surgery went well. But he developed pneumonia shortly thereafter. Instead of returning home as we all expected, he went to his eternal home instead. The hardest part for all of us, and especially my dad, was that we never got to say goodbye to my grandpa. But my dad is thankful he took the time to tell his father he loved him.

That experience has really affected the way I treat my family. I believe all of us must work on our family relationships. We don't know how long we, or those closest to us, have on this earth. But we do know we have the opportunity now to tell them how much we love them—before it's too late. We can't let those simple but oh-so-important words be left unsaid.

Everything we know about God's word is summed up in a single sentence: Love others as you love yourself (Galatians 5:13-14, The Message).

 

[beensetfree]

Living in the Promised Land
Austin O'Brien says his character on T.V.'s Promised Land is a lot like him—just a guy trying to live out his faith.

It was a moment of confusion. Austin O'Brien, the actor, is standing face-to-face with Michael W. Smith, the singer/songwriter. Austin is excited, and a little nervous. After all, he's admired MWS for quite a while. So he asks, "Can I, um, have my picture taken with you?"

Michael gives him one of those big, "aw shucks" Smitty grins and says, "Well, do you have any photos of yourself? My kids will kill me if I don't get them an autographed picture of you!"

As he recalls the experience, Austin pauses, then adds, "I thought to myself, What is he talking about? … He's got it all wrong—I'm supposed to want his picture and autograph!"

Having appeared in such movies as The Last Action Hero and Apollo 13, Austin is currently co-starring in the CBS drama, Promised Land, a spinoff of the popular series, Touched by an Angel. It's been about three years since that first "Smitty Encounter," and the 16-year-old actor says he's getting a little more comfortable with his star status. Sometimes maybe a little too comfortable.

Case in point:

Austin had been in Utah, where Promised Land is filmed. One weekend he came home to California for a visit. Everything was going fine until …

"My mom asked me to clean my room and I basically said, 'No way!'"

So Austin and his mother had a "little talk."

"My acting coach was there at the time, too," says Austin, a bit sheepishly. "And both of them accused me of being, well, 'puffy in the head.' They were obviously right. I had gotten pretty 'puffy in the head.'"

Austin apologized to his mom. And, yes, he cleaned his room.

In a business where actors are pampered, there's a tendency to expect people to do things for you. To take care of your every need. Austin says the problem is worse for him when he's tired and stressed from trying to keep up with both his studies and acting career. "I know I need to watch myself," says Austin. "because I don't want anyone to think I'm snobby or stuck up. I have to be real careful. I don't want to hurt my Christian witness."

As a Christian, Austin strives to let his faith affect everything he does—including the decisions he makes about whether or not to take a certain role.

"I was offered a part in one film I thought I wanted to do," says Austin. "It was a good role, but as I read the script, I found sexual scenes I was real uncomfortable with. One of them involved being in bed with a girl. I knew I wouldn't do the movie unless they changed some of the scenes."

(The producers of the film decided to make the changes Austin wanted, but the actor's busy schedule eventually kept him from taking the role.)

As for his Promised Land character, Joshua Greene, Austin has no problems with that particular role.

"When I got the part, my character really didn't have a character description," Austin explains. "So I got to create the character myself."

Austin says he wanted Joshua to be modeled after himself. Yes, he'd be a little rebellious at times. But he'd be the kind of teenager who wanted to mature and grow. And he'd be the kind of guy who really wanted to stand up for his beliefs and values.

"So far," says Austin, "my character has been the only character on Promised Land who's actually said, 'I'm a Christian' right on the show. That was important to me. I'm glad I was able to do that. …

"I really believe God has put me in the entertainment business, and he's taken real good care of me along the way. I want to do all I can to give him all the credit."

Promised Land Vital Stats
Here's what's happening: In this spinoff of Touched By an Angel, the Greene family travels across America, learning together what it means to be a "good neighbor."

Why? An angel told them to!
When? Thursday nights, 7 p.m. Central
Where? CBS

 

[beensetfree]

"It's Made Me Stronger"

Junior high.

It's hard enough as it is.

Cliques. Hormones. Zits. Growth spurts. Discovering your identity, and all that stuff. It's more than enough for anyone to deal with.

Just ask Jamie Schlough. "I did not like junior high school at all," she sighs.

That's understandable. After all, Jamie dealt with a bit more than her friends did in those days.

Like taking all kinds of pills for her sickness.

Like packing on 25 extra pounds because of all the medication.

Like dealing with constant pain in her joints, pain that sometimes made her feel like an old woman with a bad case of arthritis.

And like considering the possibility of dying far too young.

You shouldn't have to think about death in the eighth grade. You should be more concerned about math tests and that stupid pimple on your forehead and whether or not that cute guy a couple lockers away thinks you're cute too.

But life gets a little harder when you've got lupus …

Lupus.
Technically, lupus erythematosus, a disease where the body is essentially allergic to itself.

Normally, our immune systems fight off bacteria and infections. But with lupus (pronounced LOOP-us), the immune system gets confused and destroys the body's healthy cells. Lupus can attack the kidneys, heart, lungs and brain. Sometimes it can kill.

Still, many lupus patients live long lives, keeping the disease under control with medications. But there is no cure.

More than a million Americans have lupus, 90 percent of them female. Symptoms include rashes, kidney disease, seizures, delusions, and aching joints …

Symptoms.
Jamie was 12 when they started.

"It was the summer after seventh grade," remembers Jamie, now an 18-year-old freshman at Bethel College in St. Paul, Minnesota. "My family was on a little weekend vacation. My hip started bothering me, and it got so bad I couldn't walk without immense pain."

When they got home, Jamie had a routine sports physical to get ready for volleyball tryouts. Doctors found protein in Jamie's urine, a typical sign of lupus. Pain in the joints is another sign, and Jamie's hip still hurt.

Doctors ran a few more tests and made the diagnosis: Lupus.

"I remember thinking, Lupus? What the heck is that?" says Jamie. "I had never heard of it before. That night, I just stayed in my room, lying on my bed, wondering what it all meant. I was scared."

She was worried about her health, yes. But even more, she was worried about how her friends at school would react.

"Junior high is such a scary time anyway," she says. "You're going through so much. And you don't really know who your real friends are—who's going to accept you just the way you are, and who isn't.

"So I decided I wasn't going to tell a single soul, except maybe my very closest friends. I didn't want anybody to know because I was so scared they would treat me differently, or shy away from me. And that was the last thing I needed. I was so self-conscious."

Especially about the weight gain. Jamie took steroids to battle the lupus, and gained about 25 pounds as a result.

"I felt fat," Jamie says. "And I felt like everybody was looking at me."

But the steroids were nothing compared to the chemotherapy …

Chemo.
When most people hear that word, they think of cancer. But chemo is also used to treat other serious illnesses—like lupus.

Jamie had chemo treatments for 21/2 years, starting in the spring of ninth grade, through November of her senior year.

Fortunately, Jamie was on a relatively low dosage of chemo, and she didn't need it often—once a month for the first six months, then every three months after that.

"The first year and a half, it went well," says Jamie. "I never felt really sick, and I didn't lose much hair. I thought, This is no big deal, and I get to take a day off from school every month!

"But the last year of chemo, it got bad. It made me feel miserable. It made me nauseous and made me lose a lot more hair. I hated going in for my treatments. So it became a regular prayer request every three months, that I wouldn't get too sick."

Prayer.
Jamie doesn't know where she'd be without it … or her strong Christian faith.

It wasn't always that way. As long as she could remember, Jamie had gone to church with her family, but something was missing …

"Growing up," she says, "I knew there was a God and I knew who Jesus was, but I really don't think I understood what faith was all about. And I didn't apply it to my life."

At least not until sixth grade, when a friend invited Jamie to a youth group meeting at another church.

"I just loved it," says Jamie, who kept going back. "During the next three years, I began to understand who God really is. I can't pinpoint a certain day when I said, 'OK, I'm going to become a Christian.' But during those few years, I really began to understand God's grace and what it means to live for him."

Just as her faith began to grow, Jamie was diagnosed with lupus.

"My faith made all the difference in the world," Jamie says. "If I hadn't known the love of God and that he had a plan for my life, I would've been like, 'Why? Why? Why?'

"I'm not saying I've never asked why. Of course I have, here and there when things got really rough. Of course there have been miserable times when I haven't understood what was going on. Of course there have been times I've felt really low, and I didn't know what to do except to ask, 'Why?'

"But as I look back, it's been incredible to see how God has pulled me through each and every one of those times. He has made me fully aware that he's in control."

Control.
Jamie always had pretty good control of her emotions, knowing God was in control.

She never really got all torn up about her illness. But her parents did.

"When I was first diagnosed," she says, "my parents got some books on lupus. And they got all freaked out. They read about all these things that could happen to me, all the things I might go through. But I felt like, What's the point in getting depressed about things that haven't happened, and might not happen?

"Through all of this, I think my parents have been affected much more than I have. A few months ago, my dad just broke down and said, 'Jamie, why you?' He was so torn up about it. And I'm like, 'Oh, Dad. I'm not struggling with it, so you don't need to be struggling with it.'

"I think it's because Mom and Dad are such caring parents that they've worried so much about me."

Jamie's mom won't argue with that.

"Yes, it's been hard on us," says Mrs. Schlough. "But we're very proud of the way Jamie has handled it. She has been through so much, but she has taught us so much too. Sometimes we have to stop and ask ourselves, 'OK, who's the adult here?' Jamie has been so mature about it. She's wonderful."

Spoken just like a mom.

But Jamie says it's really not that big of a deal.

"Most days, I don't even know I have lupus," she says. "I've always thought of myself as a normal teenage girl."

Normal
Says Jamie, "I really don't feel like I'm any different than anybody else."

Indeed, lupus hasn't slowed her down much at all.

She graduated near the top of her high school class. She was a leader both in school and at church.

She played tennis all through high school, and now she's on the tennis team at Bethel.

Sometimes, Jamie feels the aches associated with lupus, "but they always go away the next day," she says. "And I don't have a whole lot of endurance. I need to make sure I get plenty of rest."

Jamie doesn't want anyone's pity. Matter of fact, in some ways, she's glad this happened.

"I know God has a plan, and everything happens for a reason," she says. "God's allowed me to have this, and I need to work with it. It's given me an opportunity to grow closer to him, closer to my parents, closer to my friends. It's strengthened my relationships. It's made me stronger. And now maybe I can be a hope to someone else who has lupus."

She pauses.

"I think it's a blessing in disguise."

When she says the words, they don't sound at all like a cliche«.

Yes, she's come a long, long way since junior high.

Despite her serious illness, 18-year-old Jamie Schlough still feels God's strength and power … even on her worst days.

 

[beensetfree]

Going to Extremes

From California Highway 395, Mammoth Mountain looks much like the rest of the Sierras—stunning in its snow-blanketed splendor, magnificent in all of its 11,053 feet.

It's postcard perfect … and seemingly harmless.

That is, till you're at the peak. From there, more than two miles above sea level, the perilous side of Mammoth comes alive, with its jagged rocks, treacherous chutes and hidden bluffs. Some of its aptly-named ski runs set the scene, like Hangman's Hollow, Wipe Out, and Paranoid Flats.

So, on one hand, Mammoth Mountain, a popular ski resort, is the kind of place you'd love to spend a winter weekend.

On the other hand, it's the kind of place that can hurt you. Bad.

Just ask Natalie and Chris Nelson, who just might be the best snowboarding siblings in America.

Natalie, 20, has the battle scars—from knee surgery—to prove it, not to mention the memories of a broken wrist, a sprained shoulder, and various other injuries.

Chris, 18, has had a few wipeouts and bangups too. And he's seen a few avalanches; his best friend was nearly killed in one while snowboarding.

"He was almost sucked under," says Chris. "He thought he was gonna die."

So Natalie and Chris love and fear Mammoth Mountain at the same time. Mostly, they just respect it.

They have to. After all, they live at its foot in Mammoth Lakes, and they're up on the mountain almost every day—at least 200 days a year, says Natalie.

This brother and sister can do just about anything on a snowboard. They can race down the slopes at blurring speed, catch big air by jumping off bumps and ramps, and perform all kinds of aerial tricks—with names like "rodeo flips," "alley-oop indys" and "McTwisters"—in the halfpipe, their specialty and their favorite event.

Natalie and Chris never forget the risks of their sport. But they're willing to take those risks … to a degree.

"Snowboarding can be dangerous," says Natalie. "But it's so much fun. I love the rush. I love going as fast as I think I can go, feeling the wind rushing past my face, and then pushing the edge a little more. But at the same time, I play it safe.

"Sometimes you see some people going all out, just reckless, and they get hurt so badly. You're like, 'Why didn't you use a little caution there?'"

Chris is a little more of a daredevil than Natalie, but he has his limits.

"I won't go out and blindly jump off stuff without knowing where I'm gonna land," he says. "But you can't afford to be too conservative, either. To get better at this sport, you've got to be willing to take some risks. But I don't take it too far."

Many snowboarders do "take it too far"—not just on the slopes, but in their lifestyles too. While Natalie and Chris say the image of snowboarders is improving, they agree that there's a certain subculture that …

Well, let them explain.

"There's a stereotype that all snowboarders are into sex and drugs and alcohol," says Chris. "Everybody's not into that scene, but a lot of 'em are. It's pretty prevalent
"Oh, man," adds Natalie. "A lot of people like to party. It can get pretty wild."

Don't include Natalie and Chris in that picture. Sure, they've got plenty of snowboarding friends who are into the party scene. But count these siblings out when the rest of the group breaks open the six-packs … and whatever else.

"We'll hang out with them and have fun with them all day," says Natalie. "We might still hang with them at night, but we're different. We don't drink, we don't cuss, we don't smoke, we don't sleep around. We're just not into those things."

By abstaining from "those things," Natalie and Chris are saying, "Hey, we're Christians, and our faith comes first."

Says Natalie, "People respect us for taking a stand. And a lot of them will ask questions about why we feel that way. They'll say, 'I have to do these things to have fun.' And we'll be like, 'No you don't.' They'll say, 'Why are you so happy?' And then we can tell them about Jesus.

"It's amazing how much of a testimony you can give just by being yourself."

Chris agrees, but says it's not always easy.

"The hardest times are when you travel somewhere for a competition, and you're kind of on your own," he says. "Sometimes you're pretty much the only Christian in the whole group. So you'll stay in your condo or wherever while everybody else goes out to bars and stuff. They'll come back and say, 'Why didn't you go?' And I'll say, 'I'm a Christian, and I don't really need to go. I have fun doing other stuff.'

"Sometimes that's hard to do, because you want to be with the group, but not a part of it. You want to have fun like everyone else, but you don't want to do all the stuff they're doing. You wish they could have fun doing other things, and you want to set that example.

"But saying no is kind of easy compared to explaining why you're saying no. They start asking all these hard questions that I don't always have answers to."

That's when Chris and Natalie invite their questioning friends to a weekly Bible study at the Nelsons' place in Mammoth Lakes. Their dad, an associate pastor at their church, leads the study, which attracts 15-30 people—many of them snowboarders.

Many of them bring their questions to the Bible study, where they find some answers—including the answer, Jesus Christ. More than a few of Natalie and Chris's snowboarding friends have become Christians as a result of this outreach.

"It's pretty cool," says Natalie.

These days, Natalie and Chris are traveling around the country for competitions. They both hope to someday earn a living as professional boarders, and both would love to compete in the 2002 Winter Olympics in Utah.

"That's what I'd like," says Chris. "I'm not good enough to make the Olympics this year (to be held in February in Japan), but I hope I will be four years from now when it's in Utah."

Natalie thinks her brother will go far.

"He really has a future in this," says Natalie. "He's incredible."

Chris barely missed winning a spot on the U.S. National Snowboard Team last year. His best friend, the guy who almost died in the avalanche, did make the team, and Chris would love to join him on the team in the future.

Natalie, meanwhile, faces a harder climb. After finishing second in the U.S. National Championships in the girls 18-19-year-old age group a few years ago, Natalie didn't do very well last year, partly as a result of injuries. She hopes to have a better season this winter.

"I just want to have fun with it and see how far I can go," she says. "It was difficult to perform so poorly last winter. I felt so deflated. But I'm OK with it now. I'm still who I am. That's something I've been praying about. If I don't do well, and I'm sensing that God wants me to let my serious snowboard dreams go, I can let them go."

Even if she does have a future in snowboarding, Natalie will continue pursuing another passion—working with the local search-and-rescue team, something she's done for a few years. The team specializes in looking for and providing medical aid to people injured or lost in the mountains.

Every now and then, Natalie gets a call: Somebody's been reported missing.

And so the team begins the search, not knowing what they'll find. Maybe it'll be some skier who had a few too many drinks and wandered off the trail and got lost. Maybe it'll be someone who wiped out and broke a leg.

"Or maybe it'll be a dead body," says Natalie, who has found a few. "It can get pretty gross."

Natalie recently earned her search-and-rescue certificate after going through intensive training sessions. She's also a certified emergency medical technician and a certified diver. Eventually, she'd like to be a licensed paramedic.

As a diving expert, Natalie is often called upon to search for possible drowning victims in the nearby mountain lakes. Once, she found a man who had been boiled alive in a hot spring. "He didn't look human," says Natalie. "I had a hard time dealing with that image for a while.

"But I love doing search-and-rescue. It's such an adventure, and I love to be able to help people who need help. That's just the way God made me. I was born that way."

She was also born to board. So was Chris.

And they were both born to battle Mammoth, the mountain upon which they've grown up, the mountain they've shredded and carved with their boards through the years, the mountain that has given them so much joy, and the mountain that has the power to cause such pain.

"It's a good mountain," says Natalie.

Good, and yet fraught with danger. Paradise, yet perilous.

The Nelsons like it that way.

The Adventures of "Wrong-Way" and "Delirious"

Chris and Natalie are a typical brother and sister.

They sometimes argue, but mostly, they don't mind being around each other.

Sometimes, they downright like it.

"We've always hung out together," says Natalie. "We're always doing the same things, so we're together a lot."

They spend a ton of time in Natalie's car, driving to snowboarding competitions all over the West, sometimes spending 12-15 hours on the highway.
They've taken these road trips for a few years. They were homeschooled in high school, which allowed them the flexibility to travel to the big events —not to mention hit Mammoth's slopes every afternoon.

All those road trips, of course, add up to a lot of stories. They shared a few with us.

"I'm Natalie's babysitter," says Chris. "Normally, it's the older brother who has to do the babysitting, but in our case, it's the younger brother who has to watch out for the older sister."

Says Natalie, "Not always."

Chris: "Yes, lots of times. After all, you're Wrong-Way Natalie."

Natalie: "You're so mean!"

Chris: "Everywhere we go, we usually have other people in the car with us. Natalie will be driving, and she'll be like, 'I think we should go this way.' And we're like, 'No, no, no. That's not the right way.'"

Natalie (getting defensive): "Here's the deal. Chris tends to get sleepy when he drives, so I'm usually the one driving in the middle of the night, while everybody else is asleep. So I'm exhausted, but I'm doing all the dirty work, mapping out where we're going and everything. One time, I was so tired, driving along, trying not to fall asleep. Then I took a wrong turn. One wrong turn! So they call me Wrong-Way Natalie because of that. It's so unfair."

Ah, but Natalie's got one on Chris, too.

"One night," she says, "Chris was driving, and the rest of us were asleep. I woke up, and Chris and this other guy are in the front seat, cranking up the stereo. They're singing at the top of their lungs. And Chris is like, 'Whoa! I sound so good, I can't tell which voice is mine and which is the band's!'

It was so funny."

Chris: "Not really."

Natalie: "Yes it was."

Chris (getting defensive): "We were joking around.

It was so late, we were just trying to stay awake. This is after like eight Slurpees at every gas station we saw.

Hey, we were delirious."

Thanks, Wrong-Way. Thanks, Delirious. We understand. (We think.)

 

[beensetfree]

The Dragonfly


Once, in a little pond, in the muddy water under the lily pads,
there lived a little water beetle in a community of water
beetles.

They lived a simple and comfortable life in the pond
with few disturbances and interruptions.

Once in a while, sadness would come to the community when one of
their fellow beetles would climb the stem of a lily pad and
would never be seen again.

They knew when this happened; their
friend was dead, gone forever.

Then, one day, one little water beetle felt an irresistible urge
to climb up that stem. However, he was determined that he would
not leave forever.

He would come back and tell his friends what
he had found at the top.

When he reached the top and climbed out of the water onto the
surface of the lily pad, he was so tired, and the sun felt so
warm, that he decided he must take a nap.

As he slept, his body
changed and when he woke up, he had turned into a beautiful
blue-tailed dragonfly with broad wings and a slender body
designed for flying.

So, fly he did! And, as he soared he saw the beauty of a whole
new world and a far superior way of life to what he had never
known existed.

Then he remembered his beetle friends and how they were thinking
by now he was dead.

He wanted to go back to tell them, and
explain to them that he was now more alive than he had ever been
before. His life had been fulfilled rather than ended.

But, his new body would not go down into the water. He could
not get back to tell his friends the good news.

Then he
understood that their time would come, when they, too, would
know what he now knew. So, he raised his wings and flew off
into his joyous new life!

 

[beensetfree]

Why Won't She Listen to Me?

Kevin Wade was a popular guy in his high school, the good-looking, football star type. But I never knew the truth about him until he started dating my younger sister Brooke.

Kevin was Brooke's date to her junior prom, and they kept going out for the rest of the spring. At first it was just weekends, but soon they were together almost every night. And when they weren't together, we knew we could expect a phone call right around dinner time. Every time, Brooke would be in her room by the second ring, and every time, Mom would silently cover Brooke's food with foil and stick it in the fridge. The meal would be long over by the time we saw Brooke again.

When Kevin and Brooke started dating, we knew very little about him at all. He seemed like the "strong, silent type," and he didn't seem like a guy who would open up to anyone. Whenever he came to our house, he was quiet and withdrawn. We all assumed he was just shy. We thought it was odd that an outgoing, high-energy person like my sister would be interested in such an anti-social guy, but we chalked it up to the "opposites attract" theory.

Then one of my friends told me Kevin had a drug problem, drank a lot at parties and had been physically abusive with his ex-girlfriend. I expressed my concern to Brooke right away, but she said Kevin wasn't like that at all. She acted like everything was perfect and told me not to spread rumors to our parents.

At first I didn't want to get in the middle of everything, but to be honest, Kevin scared me. I didn't tell Mom and Dad everything I'd heard, but I made enough comments to raise their suspicions. Brooke was as stubborn with them as she had been with me, and now, on top of everything else, she was furious with me.

Kevin and Brooke continued dating, but the situation between him and my family became more and more tense. Brooke was even starting to act a little like him—keeping all her thoughts to herself and shutting out the rest of us. She even broke contact with her closest friends, the people she'd grown up in church with.

Then, the summer before Brooke's senior year in high school, Kevin ran away from home and got into serious trouble with the law. Brooke ended the relationship, and we were all relieved.

With Kevin out of the picture, my sister went back to being herself. Ever-friendly and ever-popular, she had a great senior year. She stayed busy in school and starred on the volleyball and softball teams. She renewed her involvement in church, and she filled her free time by hanging out with her Christian friends. She was even voted Homecoming Queen. She seemed to have everything going her way.

By the end of her senior year, Brooke had decided to attend the college where I would be a junior. I was looking forward to having my little sister around again, helping her adjust to college life and starting up the goofy escapades we'd enjoyed in high school. Then, the summer after Brooke's high school graduation, Kevin came back into her life.
Warning signs
Brooke believed that Kevin had grown up and was a new person. I knew that people could change, but I didn't see any evidence of that in Kevin. It didn't take me long to learn that sharing my opinion with Brooke only made things worse between us. I just prayed she wouldn't get hurt.

Whenever Kevin was around that summer, he jealously guarded her every move. He'd follow her all around the house, even standing outside the door when she went to the bathroom. Instead of speaking to me or my parents, he just whispered in Brooke's ear. He was totally possessive. Soon, Brooke was canceling planned outings with us and with her friends because Kevin didn't want her to go.

Even Brooke's clothing started to change. No matter how hot the Texas sun blazed down, Brooke never left the house in shorts or a summer skirt. She only wore pants and turtlenecks. When I asked her about it, she said she felt more comfortable that way. But I remembered a comment Kevin made once when Brooke wore a skirt above the knee—"You tryin' to show off or something?"—and I knew her new wardrobe was not her idea.

Brooke sometimes had tears in her eyes when she got off the phone with Kevin, but she always acted like it was no big deal. We watched as he gradually pulled her away from those of us who loved her most.



A vicious cycle
When Brooke and I headed to college, the pattern continued. Early in the semester, Brooke often made the short drive home to spend time with Mom and Dad—and Kevin. But it wasn't long before she skipped the visits with Mom and Dad and only went home to see Kevin. At college, she almost never came by to see me—not to do laundry, to have dinner, to watch TV—and I was living in the same town. I knew it was because of Kevin.

Once, when Kevin came to visit Brooke, I invited the two of them to my apartment. I wanted to show Kevin that it was possible to have a good time without drugs and beer, but he obviously didn't enjoy the evening at all. No matter what I tried, he refused to carry on a conversation with me. He just held Brooke's hand and stared at her the whole time they were there.

After Brooke's midterms, my parents came to visit her in the dorm. They were overwhelmed by the change in her. She had no energy, no brightness, none of the spark that used to light up a whole room. But they didn't know why she had lost her spirit, or what they could do to help her find it again.

Confused and feeling helpless, Mom and Dad prayed with Brooke, asking God to heal our family's pain and to bridge the chasm that seemed to separate her from the rest of us.

Finally, Brooke broke down and told my parents what she'd been going through. Kevin had been emotionally and verbally abusive, crushing Brooke's self-image. She hated her own body because Kevin constantly accused her of dressing like she was trying to show herself off (even though she had always dressed on the conservative side). At the same time, he'd said she was lucky to have him because no one else would want her for a girlfriend.

Brooke, who was pretty and well-liked, no longer believed she was either of those things. Kevin had demanded to be first in her life, and the pressure had become too much for her to bear. She decided to break up with Kevin because she just couldn't handle it anymore.

Brooke moved back in with Mom and Dad after the fall semester and got a job near home. She barely left the house except to go to church. As the only people who saw her much, my parents and I did everything we could to rebuild her self-esteem. She was a long way from being herself again, but we felt like she was making a good start.

But even though Brooke had been hurt and she needed constant affirmation and reassurance of our family's love, somewhere in the back of her mind I guess she still missed Kevin. It wasn't long before she arranged to meet him. And as soon as she saw him again, they got back together. Unfortunately, they're still together.



Out of our hands
I don't really understand why Brooke went back to Kevin after all the pain he put her through. I get angry with Brooke sometimes because she refuses to see what Kevin is doing to her, and to all of us. But I can't be mad at her, because I know she needs my love and support more than anything else.

Sometimes things like this divide families and tear everyone apart. We've come close to that ourselves, because my parents sometimes disagree about how they should handle Brooke's relationship with Kevin. And they've disagreed with me on how, or even if, I should be involved.

But I know that God's in control and I can't manage this situation by myself. It's a humbling thing to really give something like this up, because I want to get it taken care of now. But I realize that God doesn't necessarily work on my time schedule. He might not answer my prayers the way I want him to, and Brooke might not listen to me at all, but God is still in control.

Brooke and I will always be sisters, even when she doesn't seem to want me in her life. I will always reach out to her and wait for her to reach back.

 

[beensetfree]

"God Got Us Through This"
Mark Moring
Page 1 of 3
Ben Strong was leading the prayer group at his school when another student pulled out a pistol and went on a deadly shooting spree. One year later, Ben reflects on finding hope in the face of tragedy.


When Ben Strong and Michael Carneal arrived at school on that Monday morning almost a year ago, both of them knew exactly what they wanted to do.

Ben wanted to pray with his friends.

Michael wanted to shoot them.

And so at 7:37 a.m. on December 1, 1997, Ben and about 35 other students gathered—as they did every morning before the first bell rang—in the front lobby of Heath High School in West Paducah, Kentucky.

There they stood, huddled together, holding hands, singing songs and talking to God.

While they prayed, Michael, a 14-year-old freshman, stood nearby, calmly putting in ear plugs. As soon as the students said, "Amen," Michael pulled out a pistol and started shooting.

The first bullet hit Nicole Hadley, a 14-year-old freshman who was a popular basketball player. Nicole crumpled to the floor and later died.

Michael pulled the trigger about 10 more times, sending more students to the floor. Three girls died—Nicole, 15-year-old Kayce Steger, and 17-year-old Jessica James. Five other students were injured, including one girl who remains paralyzed from the chest down (see "I needed to forgive him," below).

The whole time Michael was shooting, Ben kept yelling, "Mike, what are you doing? Put the gun down!" But Michael ignored him and kept pulling the trigger.

Then the principal, Bill Bond, who heard the shots from his office, came running into the lobby. Michael took aim at the principal. But before he could pull the trigger, Ben stepped in front of Michael and demanded that he stop the shooting.

This time, Michael listened. He put the gun down, then slouched to the floor and told Ben, "I can't believe I did that." Soon, police arrived, arrested Michael, and took him away. Michael, who confessed to the crime at that time, was scheduled to go to trial right before this issue went to print.

The principal says Ben is a hero.

"I have no doubt that Ben saved my life," says Mr. Bond. "There was one bullet left in the gun, and I know it was meant for me."

A hero? Ben disagrees.

"Not me,"he says. "I was just reacting to what was happening."

Just reacting? That was no ordinary reaction. There aren't many people who would do what Ben did.

"That took courage," the principal said.

Courage may have Ben's first reaction, but in the following days, his reactions were more typical: shock, grief, confusion, pain.

But never did he get angry at God.

"I guess I never thought of it that way," says Ben. "You don't know why stuff like this happens, but it does. And you can't really do anything to change that. You can change how you react to it, but you can't change the past. And you need to remember that God is always in control."

Ben says the tragedy has made his faith stronger, and he's never doubted God's love, even for a second.

"God is the only one who got us through this," he says. "God's always there for us, no matter what

"If I wasn't a Christian, I don't know how I'd react to something like this. It would be easy to just go nuts. But when you have God in your life, something like this forces you to lean on him even more."

Especially when it came to forgiveness. Ben says he forgave Michael "immediately."

"I'm not saying I wasn't mad at him, because I was," Ben says. "But I knew that forgiveness was the right thing to do. You can't hang on to bitterness, because it'll ruin the rest of your life. I forgave Mike because that's what God wants us to do."

Ben's not the only student who has forgiven Michael. Many others have publicly stated their forgiveness. Within days of the shooting, some of them had put up a huge banner at the school that read, "We forgive you, Mike!"

None of the students from the prayer group have spoken with Michael since the shooting, but several, including Ben, have visited the Carneal family to express their love and forgiveness. "We've got to remember Michael's family," Ben says. "They're hurting too."

A tragedy like the one that occurred in West Paducah can affect people in drastic ways.

It can tear them apart. Or it can bring them closer together. Which is just what happened with the prayer group at Heath, says Ben.

"We've all leaned on each other, prayed for each other, talked about it a lot," he says. "We've needed each other's support to get through this."

Other students—including many non-believers—noticed the group's solidarity. And they wanted to be a part of it.

Before the shooting, about 35 people regularly attended the morning prayer sessions. By the end of the year, that number was up to at least 100, says Ben, who was the group's leader before graduating last spring.

"All kinds of kids started coming to the prayer group," says Ben. "Now, I don't want to say that everything is peachy, because it's not. There's still some underlying stuff that a lot of people are dealing with.

"But other kids are curious. They're seeing the hope that we have in God. They're saying, 'If there's that much hope in it, there has to be something in it for me too.' Some kids were coming to the group and getting to know God for the first time."

That's the most important thing to Ben, an evangelist at heart. Since the tragedy, Ben has been asked to speak in churches around the country. He readily accepts, and he has told his story many times.

At one church service in Ohio, about 200 students approached the altar after Ben spoke. They decided to take the step of faith and follow Jesus.

That thrills Ben to the core.

"People are getting saved," says Ben, who has known since he was 12 that he wants to be a preacher, just like his dad. "To see kids get saved, to encourage kids, that's what I like to see."

Ben has had almost a year to reflect on what happened that tragic morning last December.

He says he's learned a lot of things in the wake of it all. And he wants to share those things with others.

"Some of the kids at my school realized this thing was so close to them," says Ben. "They realized life is real, and life can sometimes end quicker than we thought it could."

So, Ben wants to get the word out about getting right with God.

"I want to tell people about Jesus," he says. "I've learned it's important to stand up for God no matter what happens. God's always there for you, no matter what.

"As Christians, we have to live our lives strong, and be faithful to God. He'll always be there with us."

Just as God was for the three girls who died. Ben says the others in the prayer group have been comforted by knowing that Nicole, Kayce and Jessica are now in heaven.

"It hurts to see them go," Ben says, "but to them, there was no better way. They were praying. As soon as they said, 'Amen,' they saw the face of God."

Click here to read Missy's story in
Today's Christian Woman magazine.


"I needed to forgive him"
Missy Jenkins remembers getting shot. She remembers falling down, and her twin sister, Mandy, coming over to her on the floor and saying, "Be strong, and don't die on us."

She remembers a teacher praying for her, right after the shooting ended. And she remembers thinking about what would happen next.

"I thought I was going to die," Missy told NBC's Dateline in the spring. "But the teacher's like, 'No, you're not going to die.' And I said, 'Well, I'm in paradise. I can't feel my legs.' And she said, 'No, you're not. You're just in shock.'"

Missy, 16, recovered from the shock, but she still can't feel her legs. She remains in a wheelchair, paralyzed from the chest down. Doctors say she'll probably never walk again, but Missy thinks she'll beat the odds.

"I'm going to be able to walk again," she said. "I mean, I'm already starting to move my foot. I really, really, really, really want to walk again."

But is she bitter about what happened—especially toward Michael Carneal, the guy who pulled the trigger?

"It's weird," Missy said, "but you know, I don't have any bad feelings toward him—no revenge thoughts or anything like that. I felt like I needed to forgive him."

That's just what she told Michael's family when they visited Missy in the hospital soon after the shooting.

"Mostly I told them I didn't hold them responsible for what happened," says Missy.

"I just told them that I wasn't upset at them, and I'm not upset at Michael."

Missy told Dateline that if she could talk to Michael, she'd ask him just one question.

"I just want to know why."

Michael has never given a reason.

 

[beensetfree]

A Friend Comes Home to Help

Steven, who lives in Nashville, Tennessee, returned to his hometown on the day of the incident to offer support to students and their families. He prayed with some of them that night, and later in the week, he performed two songs—"Not Home Yet" and "Friends"—and spoke at a funeral service for all three slain girls. One of them, 15-year-old Kayce Steger, had been a big SCC fan.

When he heard about the shootings, Steven told The CCM Update, "My first thought was that 17 years ago I would have been one of the kids within that circle praying, and had I stayed in that area, possibly my daughter would have been in that group."

In May, Steven again returned to his alma mater for a special "Concert of Hope." The concert, which raised about $27,000, was Steven's gift to the families of the three girls.

Steven's concert wasn't the only musical fundraiser for the victims. There's also "B. Strong," a song that honors Ben Strong and the victims of the attack. The song features performances by Michael O'Brien, Christafari, Greg Long, Mancy A'lan Kane, Pam Thum and several others.

The song's producer hopes to raise $1 million to pay off all the victims' medical and funeral expenses, as well as provide scholarships for every student in the prayer group.

The song is part of the "B. Strong Project," conceived and created by Everett Darren of Good News Ministries. Everett, a former youth pastor, wrote the song and is heading up the project, which includes a 30-minute video telling the story behind the song. Another "B. Strong" goal is to get students involved in prayer groups and to take a stand for their faith at school.

To get a copy of the song or to learn more about "B. Strong," call 1-800-999-2769, or check out the Web site at bstrong.com.


No Joking Matter

The tragedy in West Paducah was just one of several similar incidents at schools around the nation in the last year, with students bringing guns to school and killing their classmates.

These incidents have made students, parents and school officials everywhere a bit nervous. So, schools are being extra cautious. Potential threats are taken very seriously. Students can't joke around about this stuff.

"Threats in jest can lead to suspensions," read a May headline in the Chicago Tribune. After one Chicago-area high school student was arrested for saying he planned to kill some classmates, two others in the same school were arrested just for joking about it.

That school's principal sent a memo to all of his teachers that said, "I ask you to remind students that weapons and threats are not joking matters."

So, two words of caution:

1) Don't joke around. If you're having a bad day at school, don't even think about cracking a joke about weapons or hurting others. It'll get you in big trouble.

2) Report any suspicious comments. If you hear another student say anything that could even be perceived as a threat, even if you think they're joking, tell a teacher, your parents, or someone in the principal's office. In several of the tragic incidents around the country, the killers had made comments in the days beforehand that weren't taken seriously. So, take it seriously, and tell someone. Don't worry about being labeled a "squealer" or making people think you're uptight. You just might be saving someone's life—maybe even your own.

 

[beensetfree]

"I Could Have Been Mad at God .

I was only 4 when I became a homeless person. My parents had been divorced for a few months, and money was really tight. One day, Mom just said we were moving. The problem was, we didn't have any place to go. I was scared, and I could tell Mom was too. But she kept reminding me that God would take care of us. She had been telling me about Jesus since I was 3 years old, and I had asked him into my heart. I knew God loved me. But I couldn't help but wonder what our lives were going to be like from now on.

My first memories of my life feel like a dream. It was just me, my mom and my dad living in a beautiful house that seemed like a palace to me. I loved my parents and knew they loved me. But one morning, my dad was gone. My mom carefully explained that she and Dad were getting a divorce and that from now on, it would just be the two of us. I was too young to understand what that meant. All I knew was that my dad was gone and I really missed him.

About a year after my parents split up, Mom and I had to leave our house with only a few of our belongings. Even with Dad paying child support, we just didn't have enough money to live on. With no relatives around to help, we were on our own.

Mom had heard about a shelter for homeless families called Haven of Rest. She hoped they would take us in. Thankfully, they managed to find room for us. At the time, I was just glad to be with my mom. But now that I'm older and realize how bad things could have been for us, I'm more grateful than ever that we had a place like Haven of Rest to call home.

The shelter wasn't anything fancy, but Mom and I had our own room, there were other kids there, and the supervisor promised to help us get back on our feet.

I remember the group Bible studies, where we learned that God promises to be with us, even in the most difficult times. That was a promise both my mom and I needed to hear over and over again.

And as I look back, I can see God really did take care of Mom and me. We attended a church where we had lots of friends who prayed for us. With the help of scholarships, I was able to stay at the small Christian school where I'd already gone for a year. As hard as life was at the time, there were glimpses of God's love for us.

Within two months of arriving at the shelter, Mom was able to save up enough money for us to rent a small apartment of our own. Of course, we had nothing—no table, no dishes, no beds. But slowly, we started to put our lives together again, a piece at a time.

But in fourth grade, I began to notice Mom was acting a little strange. Even now, I can't quite explain what was different about her, I just knew that something wasn't right. That Christmas, my mom was hospitalized with a mental illness.

I was terrified that I would be sent to a foster home, that I'd have to leave my church and school friends behind. But a family from our church offered to take me in. They made sure my life stayed as normal as possible. Still, I felt the horrible pain of being apart from my mom.

Mom and I had been through so much together. She was my whole world, the only constant thing I'd ever known. And now she was gone. Because Mom's illness was serious, and because I was still so young, the hospital wouldn't allow me to visit. Mom wrote me as often as she could, but letters just weren't enough. I missed her so much, and I longed for her to come home. During the two months she was in the hospital, I think I cried myself to sleep every single night.

But once again, God took care of me. Even in the middle of the worst pain I could imagine, I remembered what Mom had always told me: "God is good, and God will never put you in a situation you can't handle." And she was right. I made it through those difficult months, and soon Mom and I were back together in our little apartment.

Naturally, things weren't easy. Mom still struggled with her illness. I had to take on a lot more responsibility around the house—much more than most people my age. When I got home from school, there were dishes to wash, clothes to fold, errands to run. I guess I had to grow up a little sooner than most kids. Still, I didn't resent my situation. I was just grateful to have Mom home, and I was willing to do whatever I had to do to keep us together. Fortunately, Mom never had to be hospitalized again.

Getting a glimpse of how difficult life can be has made me determined to succeed. Throughout junior high and now high school, I've looked for ways I can serve my school and my community. Because there have been so many people who've made a difference in my life—the staff at Haven of Rest, the family who took me in when Mom was hospitalized—I know that sometimes the simplest gesture can change someone else's life. Someday, I hope to be a politician, so I can serve the people who, like Mom and me, have struggled and need the help of other people.

With dreams of ending up in Washington, D.C, someday, I should've been thrilled when my high school principal approached me with a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity: There was an opening for a congressional page in the U.S. House of Representatives. But all I could think was, I can't leave my mom. I can't leave my friends. My life is finally stable and now you want me to move away from home for six months? Forget it!

Still, I knew I needed to give this opportunity some serious thought and prayer. I came home from school that day and told Mom about the page position.

It broke my heart to see tears trickle slowly down her face, and before long, we were both sobbing. The thought of being apart for such a long time was hard for both of us. But as Mom and I talked, it became clear this was an opportunity I couldn't pass up.

So I packed up and left for Washington in January of my junior year of high school. I knew I was in for quite an adventure. Every year, the Senate and the House of Representatives select high school students from all across the country to serve as pages. The pages run errands, work on the floor of the Congress, and spend long hours assisting the men and women who make the laws and policies that affect all of us. It's a ton of work and a huge honor.

Once I get there, I thought, I'll be so busy I won't even miss home. Boy, was I wrong. Yeah, I was busy, but I battled homesickness so intense I thought my heart would explode. I think of myself as a tough, independent person, but once I got settled into my new job, I realized it was going to be a long six months.

I was hundreds of miles away from my home, my mom, my best friends, my classmates. Back home, the second half of my junior year was just getting started. And all the clubs I was in, all the activities I'd been so deeply involved in, were going on without me.

But one night as I sat in my room, I once again remembered what Mom had always said when times were tough: "Megan, God will never put you in a situation if he doesn't want you there. Even the hardest situation can work out for the best if you're willing to change your perspective."

And I knew she was right. That night, I thought back on some of the tough times in my life. I could have been mad at God for letting Mom and me become homeless, but I knew it was God who provided a place for us to stay; we never spent a single night sleeping in the streets. I could have gotten angry with God for taking Mom away from me when I needed her so much, but it was God who brought people into my life who cared about me and made sure I never had to live in a foster home. Yeah, there were tough times, but God always provided everything I needed to get through.

So I knew God would provide for me in D.C. With his help, I could handle a few more months away from the people I loved. I could risk leaving behind all the accomplishments I'd worked so hard for. I could trust God to comfort me in my loneliness. I could trust God to use this amazing experience to make me a better person.

I could trust God, period.

 

[beensetfree]

After the Rain

Nancy A'lan Kane will never forget the day her father walked away.

Till then, life had been just about perfect. Mancy, her sister Dolly, and their parents, who lived in a nice Tennessee home, were one big happy family.

At least that's what Mancy thought.

"My parents never argued in front of us," she says. "When they said they were getting divorced, it was definitely a shock."

And just like that, Mancy, then 15, was essentially fatherless. Her dad just packed his bags and moved away.

For Mancy, the sun had ceased to shine. And the storm had just begun.

Mancy sings about those painful days—and much more—on her first album, Paper Moon (Pioneer Music Group), a collection of pop/folk songs that tell much of the story of Mancy's own life.

"My music is very personal," says Mancy, 19. "This album addresses all the different emotions and struggles we go through as Christians. I think it's a very real album. Hopefully, after people listen to it, they'll know me."

They'll certainly know a little something of the pain Mancy felt after her parents' divorce. For three years, Mancy didn't see much of her dad. She felt burned.

"Not having a father around really affected me," she says. "I missed having a man in the house, that security. I was really angry at my dad for being gone."

Some of that anger surfaced as rebellion.

"For about a year, when I was a freshman in high school, I turned my back on God," Mancy says. "I stopped going to church. I partied. I drank. I did drugs. But the whole time I did those things, I felt guilty. But my mom kept praying for me, and finally I decided to take a 180-degree turn, leaving those things behind. I still struggle with various things, but that was a real turning point."

She turned to a more productive way of wrestling with her pain—writing poetry. One result was "After the Rain," a song on the album that includes this verse:

After the rain
After the pain and all the sorrow
When today turns to tomorrow
The sun will shine, the sun will shine
After the rain

The rain finally ended for Mancy when "I began to see how God had pulled me through, when I saw how God works for the good of those who love him, even in hard times."

But there was one more difficult step Mancy had to take, and she realized it when her dad moved back into town three years after the divorce.

"I realized I had to forgive him," she says. "Holding a grudge against someone doesn't get you anywhere. And besides, how can I not forgive other people when God has forgiven me for all the things I've done?

"So I forgave my dad. And our relationship has been much better since then."

Sometimes the pain of life brings something good. Like poetry. And music.

"With my album," says Mancy, "I just want people to see me, a girl before God. I want people to see that God will meet us when we're on the mountaintop and when we're in the valley. He wants to meet us in all of our emotions.