Living for Him
By Ella P.
Today something happened that changed me...
I was at church today. It seemed like a pretty normal service.
Just like any other one... That week, the subject was "grace.
They gave a definition..."Getting something you don't deserve."
It's true. We didn't deserve what Jesus did for us. But he did it anyways.
John 3:16 "For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten
son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have everlasting life.
My pastor was talking about if you have accepted his Grace.
He said a prayer for the people who have, and haven't. And that for everyone
that has to start living for God.
I thought I was one of the people who had already accepted him
into my life.
I prayed, I read the bible, I went to church every week. But what does
all of that mean if you don't have a relationship with God? What does it
mean when you love him but don't do anything at all to serve him?
It means you haven't REALLY accepted God to be a part of your life.
And so I decided that day.. That second... I would get up, and
do something! I would serve him! I would really LIVE FOR HIM. He gave me
grace. And now I'm living for him. Thank you God, for opening my eyes.
And I ask you to open the eyes of others, so that they may live for you!
Amen :)
You are More Than Your Limitation.
Saturday, January 11, 2014
Wednesday, January 8, 2014
Acting for God, By Celina Tolbert
Acting for God
By Celina Tolbert
Hey All! My name is Celina Tolbert and I am a 17 year old high school senior. I love God and want him in every aspect of my life. I love performing; including singing, acting, dancing, and modeling. I also love youth ministry and volunteer with my church and Campus Life, a branch of Youth For Christ. I long to travel the world and I plan to live in a big city. I plan on going to college next year in Nashville or Virginia Beach - I'm waiting for God to tell me where to go :)
So anyways, recently, God gave me a huge blessing. As I said, I love performing. I have been singing, dancing, and acting for a while. I have done local, school, and community theatre. A few years back I started doing extra work in movies. I would sit in a church pew for 6 hours or stand at an outdoor concert/revival at 3 a.m. listening to the same song on repeat. I was unpaid*, but happy for the experience. I focused on family friendly and faith based films. I also joined a community club of student filmmakers and auditioned for and acted in a few short films. I wanted to start auditioning for speaking roles, but a few problems arose.
I didn't have any headshots, and I also didn't have any money. Now being an actor without headshots...is impossible. I'm not saying you have to spend $1,000,000 on headshots, but you have to have nice professional looking pictures that show how you look naturally. I wanted to submit my resume for things, but had no pictures to use. Just when I thought nothing was ever going to happen, God gave me an awesome blessing. My photographer friend was having an open house - and asked me to model for her! I would get free photographs and get to add modeling experience to my resume! They turned out great and I didn't have to spend any money!
I was so excited about my new headshots and couldn't wait to start submitting for projects. I submitted for a few and never heard back - no big deal, rejection is a big part of the acting industry. I continued doing extra work, trying to build up my resume. But then I hit a dry patch. There was nothing for me to submit for. Oh sure, there were plenty of inappropriate projects - but I had promised myself that I would stick to my beliefs, no matter how hard it got. And then, right when I again lost hope, God reminded me that he held me in his hand. He showed me an amazing film that would further his kingdom!
I submitted and was asked to audition! I auditioned and thought that it wouldn't really happen. But then I got a callback! I was so nervous before the callback that I couldn't even eat. But when I got there I reminded myself of this advice from a friend - If you are that worried about something, you aren't doing it for God - you're doing it for you. I relaxed and had fun. Before I knew it I was offered a supporting role!
Working on "Secrets in the Fall" was a blast! You can check it out here: http://www.facebook.com/SecretsInTheFall?fref=ts It is set to release next fall. It's predecessor, "Secrets in the Snow"(which I was a background extra in) will be released worldwide in christian book stores and online January 8th, 2013.
You can view my website here: http://celinatolbert.webs.com/
My IMDb page: http://www.imdb.com/name/nm4101176/ feel free to give it a facebook "like"
My youtube channel: http://www.youtube.com/user/celinacts?feature=mhee
*Not all extra work is unpaid. However, if you have no experience, you will most likely start out getting unpaid work. Also, even some speaking roles are unpaid in small, independent films.
By Celina Tolbert
Hey All! My name is Celina Tolbert and I am a 17 year old high school senior. I love God and want him in every aspect of my life. I love performing; including singing, acting, dancing, and modeling. I also love youth ministry and volunteer with my church and Campus Life, a branch of Youth For Christ. I long to travel the world and I plan to live in a big city. I plan on going to college next year in Nashville or Virginia Beach - I'm waiting for God to tell me where to go :)
So anyways, recently, God gave me a huge blessing. As I said, I love performing. I have been singing, dancing, and acting for a while. I have done local, school, and community theatre. A few years back I started doing extra work in movies. I would sit in a church pew for 6 hours or stand at an outdoor concert/revival at 3 a.m. listening to the same song on repeat. I was unpaid*, but happy for the experience. I focused on family friendly and faith based films. I also joined a community club of student filmmakers and auditioned for and acted in a few short films. I wanted to start auditioning for speaking roles, but a few problems arose.
I didn't have any headshots, and I also didn't have any money. Now being an actor without headshots...is impossible. I'm not saying you have to spend $1,000,000 on headshots, but you have to have nice professional looking pictures that show how you look naturally. I wanted to submit my resume for things, but had no pictures to use. Just when I thought nothing was ever going to happen, God gave me an awesome blessing. My photographer friend was having an open house - and asked me to model for her! I would get free photographs and get to add modeling experience to my resume! They turned out great and I didn't have to spend any money!
I was so excited about my new headshots and couldn't wait to start submitting for projects. I submitted for a few and never heard back - no big deal, rejection is a big part of the acting industry. I continued doing extra work, trying to build up my resume. But then I hit a dry patch. There was nothing for me to submit for. Oh sure, there were plenty of inappropriate projects - but I had promised myself that I would stick to my beliefs, no matter how hard it got. And then, right when I again lost hope, God reminded me that he held me in his hand. He showed me an amazing film that would further his kingdom!
I submitted and was asked to audition! I auditioned and thought that it wouldn't really happen. But then I got a callback! I was so nervous before the callback that I couldn't even eat. But when I got there I reminded myself of this advice from a friend - If you are that worried about something, you aren't doing it for God - you're doing it for you. I relaxed and had fun. Before I knew it I was offered a supporting role!
Working on "Secrets in the Fall" was a blast! You can check it out here: http://www.facebook.com/SecretsInTheFall?fref=ts It is set to release next fall. It's predecessor, "Secrets in the Snow"(which I was a background extra in) will be released worldwide in christian book stores and online January 8th, 2013.
You can view my website here: http://celinatolbert.webs.com/
My IMDb page: http://www.imdb.com/name/nm4101176/ feel free to give it a facebook "like"
My youtube channel: http://www.youtube.com/user/celinacts?feature=mhee
*Not all extra work is unpaid. However, if you have no experience, you will most likely start out getting unpaid work. Also, even some speaking roles are unpaid in small, independent films.
My Battle With Depression, By Ella P.
My Battle With Depression
By Ella P.
I guess it all started with what seemed like harmless teasing. I'd always been made fun of. "You're so weird."
"You're fat."
Seemed harmless, it never bothered me. Only recently did it change. A while back, I had a bit of a style change. I wore dark clothes, dark make up, ect. I was labeled emo, scene, and goth for what I looked like, and what I liked. I listened to metal and screamo type music. This is when the bullying got worse. Over text, over the internet, and even face to face.
"Worthless."
"Emo."
"Go kill yourself."
"Everyone hates you."
"Don't you have anything better to do than watch yourself bleed all day? Get some friends, emo whore."
"Gross."
"Fat."
"Ugly."
And much more. That's not quite the worst. People would push me, laugh at me, say things, text things, and message me things. There was even a point where a group of girls would follow me around everyday and harass me. I was so alone. I had no friends, and the "friends" I did have never wanted to be seen with me. I became extremely depressed, and began to hate myself.
I can never describe in words the depression, the emptiness, the loneliness I felt. I hated myself. I saw myself just as everyone said: Ugly, fat useless, alone, hated, unloved, unwanted, gross, disgrace, better off dead. The bullying died down slightly, but I still felt the same.
I became so depressed, felt so empty, and so worthless, I began to cut myself.
I started with cutting my arms, not so it would bleed, but so it would leave a scar. This became my addiction. My outlet.
As my depression continued, the self harm only got worse... I started cutting deeper, so it would bleed, using whatever objects were available. I would even cut during class when I couldn't take it anymore.
I would cut my stomach, my hips, my wrists; I was a mess.
Later I realized the thing that bothered me the most. I saw myself as fat.
Extremely fat...
So of course, in desperation, I stopped eating. I limited my calories to about 200 calories a day. Later realizing this wasn't working, after about a week, I started eating regularly again. I still felt fat. I still felt gross.
One day, my mom made me take of my jacket and saw some cuts on my wrist. I told her what I did...
She obviously was not happy. She made me see counseling, as I currently am.
This only helped for a short amount of time. I still felt alone, and just horrible. Angry, alone, depressed, scared, confused. I wanted to kill myself. Though I've never attempted, I've come close. So incredibly close, it's scary. I stopped cutting for about a month, but then started without my mom knowing. I would cut my stomach, and sometimes on my legs where she wouldn't see. I then found out I had been diagnosed with a disease called body dysmorphic disorder, which is a mental illness that affects less than one percent of the US population. It's a disease where I'm so obsessed with my imperfections, real or made up, I cannot function correctly, or focus at all. It's associated with social anxiety and depression.
I had such low self esteem, that's all I could focus on. All I did was compare myself to other girls, who I considered perfect. My grades began to drop, which my parents never knew why. Every time I looked in the mirror, all I did was think,
"You're too fat."
"You're so gross."
"You're disgusting."
I do have serious social anxiety. Being around crowds of people make me uncomfortable, and I start hyperventalating. I can't eat in front of people. I only wear skinny jeans, and jackets, hoodies, and guy shirts, because I feel too fat to wear anything else.
I feel like my parents don't accept me, especially when my mom tells me that I need to lose weight. I wish my mom was home more, but she often chooses to do things elsewhere. My sister hates me. She hurts me. Physically and verbally. They all think I'm goth...
People are constantly staring at me, looking at me like there's something wrong with me. Looking at me like I'm some kind of monster. All of my friends left me, and some harass me.
I had to fake a smile everyday. I refused to show people I was hurt. Over time, I've developed serious trust problems. It seemed as if every time
I let someone new in my life, they would leave. Leave with all my secrets.
I'm isolated, and always push people away. People call me a bully, but I'm just afraid.
What does this all have to do with God?
It was God that saved me from suicide. It was God, that though I have disagreements with some of the Christian "rules," he saved me from myself. He gave me a reason to live.
I'd be lying if I said I was better. I still hate myself, I still wish I could be someone else, I still wish I was dead... I still hate being alone, and I've come bitter towards the world... But I'm on the road to recovery. One day, I will get better. Thanks to God, thanks to the few people who support me.. It's been over 2 weeks since I last made a cut. <3
I made this, not with incredible detail, and left out some things for the purpose of my own privacy, but to explain what has happened to me. I've completely left this path that God had for me, for my own selfish reasons. Depression is no reason to abandon God, though it did feel at times he abandoned me. If that was the case, I'd be dead.
I would never kill myself.. Because I have reasons to live. I will live, and I will try to be strong. For God. And for myself.
Throughout this time, I feel as if I am not good enough for God. Like I don't deserve him. But over time, I know I'll see that His forgiveness is offered freely, constantly, and wholly, and I can never do anything to make Him love me more, or less. I used to only see-yes-I have probably over a hundred scars on my body, but the emotional scarring is what truly affected me. This entire situation has only made me stronger.
My name is Ella, and this is my story.
Stay strong. xoxo <3
By Ella P.
I guess it all started with what seemed like harmless teasing. I'd always been made fun of. "You're so weird."
"You're fat."
Seemed harmless, it never bothered me. Only recently did it change. A while back, I had a bit of a style change. I wore dark clothes, dark make up, ect. I was labeled emo, scene, and goth for what I looked like, and what I liked. I listened to metal and screamo type music. This is when the bullying got worse. Over text, over the internet, and even face to face.
"Worthless."
"Emo."
"Go kill yourself."
"Everyone hates you."
"Don't you have anything better to do than watch yourself bleed all day? Get some friends, emo whore."
"Gross."
"Fat."
"Ugly."
And much more. That's not quite the worst. People would push me, laugh at me, say things, text things, and message me things. There was even a point where a group of girls would follow me around everyday and harass me. I was so alone. I had no friends, and the "friends" I did have never wanted to be seen with me. I became extremely depressed, and began to hate myself.
I can never describe in words the depression, the emptiness, the loneliness I felt. I hated myself. I saw myself just as everyone said: Ugly, fat useless, alone, hated, unloved, unwanted, gross, disgrace, better off dead. The bullying died down slightly, but I still felt the same.
I became so depressed, felt so empty, and so worthless, I began to cut myself.
I started with cutting my arms, not so it would bleed, but so it would leave a scar. This became my addiction. My outlet.
As my depression continued, the self harm only got worse... I started cutting deeper, so it would bleed, using whatever objects were available. I would even cut during class when I couldn't take it anymore.
I would cut my stomach, my hips, my wrists; I was a mess.
Later I realized the thing that bothered me the most. I saw myself as fat.
Extremely fat...
So of course, in desperation, I stopped eating. I limited my calories to about 200 calories a day. Later realizing this wasn't working, after about a week, I started eating regularly again. I still felt fat. I still felt gross.
One day, my mom made me take of my jacket and saw some cuts on my wrist. I told her what I did...
She obviously was not happy. She made me see counseling, as I currently am.
This only helped for a short amount of time. I still felt alone, and just horrible. Angry, alone, depressed, scared, confused. I wanted to kill myself. Though I've never attempted, I've come close. So incredibly close, it's scary. I stopped cutting for about a month, but then started without my mom knowing. I would cut my stomach, and sometimes on my legs where she wouldn't see. I then found out I had been diagnosed with a disease called body dysmorphic disorder, which is a mental illness that affects less than one percent of the US population. It's a disease where I'm so obsessed with my imperfections, real or made up, I cannot function correctly, or focus at all. It's associated with social anxiety and depression.
I had such low self esteem, that's all I could focus on. All I did was compare myself to other girls, who I considered perfect. My grades began to drop, which my parents never knew why. Every time I looked in the mirror, all I did was think,
"You're too fat."
"You're so gross."
"You're disgusting."
I do have serious social anxiety. Being around crowds of people make me uncomfortable, and I start hyperventalating. I can't eat in front of people. I only wear skinny jeans, and jackets, hoodies, and guy shirts, because I feel too fat to wear anything else.
I feel like my parents don't accept me, especially when my mom tells me that I need to lose weight. I wish my mom was home more, but she often chooses to do things elsewhere. My sister hates me. She hurts me. Physically and verbally. They all think I'm goth...
People are constantly staring at me, looking at me like there's something wrong with me. Looking at me like I'm some kind of monster. All of my friends left me, and some harass me.
I had to fake a smile everyday. I refused to show people I was hurt. Over time, I've developed serious trust problems. It seemed as if every time
I let someone new in my life, they would leave. Leave with all my secrets.
I'm isolated, and always push people away. People call me a bully, but I'm just afraid.
What does this all have to do with God?
It was God that saved me from suicide. It was God, that though I have disagreements with some of the Christian "rules," he saved me from myself. He gave me a reason to live.
I'd be lying if I said I was better. I still hate myself, I still wish I could be someone else, I still wish I was dead... I still hate being alone, and I've come bitter towards the world... But I'm on the road to recovery. One day, I will get better. Thanks to God, thanks to the few people who support me.. It's been over 2 weeks since I last made a cut. <3
I made this, not with incredible detail, and left out some things for the purpose of my own privacy, but to explain what has happened to me. I've completely left this path that God had for me, for my own selfish reasons. Depression is no reason to abandon God, though it did feel at times he abandoned me. If that was the case, I'd be dead.
I would never kill myself.. Because I have reasons to live. I will live, and I will try to be strong. For God. And for myself.
Throughout this time, I feel as if I am not good enough for God. Like I don't deserve him. But over time, I know I'll see that His forgiveness is offered freely, constantly, and wholly, and I can never do anything to make Him love me more, or less. I used to only see-yes-I have probably over a hundred scars on my body, but the emotional scarring is what truly affected me. This entire situation has only made me stronger.
My name is Ella, and this is my story.
Stay strong. xoxo <3
Bad Things That Happen That Are Used To Bring About Good, By Erin E.
Bad Things That Happen That Are Used To Bring About Good
By Erin E.
Hey girls,
My name is Erin E. I am new on Godly Girls and I am about to tell you something that is a little sour sweet.
So, about three weeks ago my mom's friend husband Will lost both of his parents at the same time - a very tragic accident. The accident was carbon monoxide poisoning. Will's mom came home from the store, and it was storming outside, so when she got all the groceries out of the car she closed the garage door. This might not sound that bad but it is because it was storming; she couldn't hear that she left the car on. When Will's parents went to bed and the carbon monoxide came through the vents and poisoned them. Then their friends went to check on them because they didn't go to church, and that was out of character for them. They found them in their looking half dead and called the ambulance. The doctors found no brain activity. That Saturday they took them off life support and let the kids say their goodbyes.
God used this sad story for better after they past the state of South Carolina passed the law that all homes must have carbon monoxide detectors because there were more cases like this they found. This law will save many lives. So as you see God uses the worst situations for better.
First Day of School, By Beatrix C.
First Day of School
By Beatrix C.
The first day of school was amazing! (And Elijah was there! I haven’t told him I still like him though... Hehe, still working up the guts. See http://www.godlygirlsforgod.com/beautybodyboys.html, my blurb about Boys.) Anyways, my class is really small. There are only 9 kids in all. Three new ones, and 6 returnees, including me. I know the school needs more students, but I like the small class, and so do the teachers. It was fun. Besides the fact that we had homework on the first day of school! Ugh! It wasn’t bad, though -just some Spanish homework - not hard.
God had made that day wonderful! The skies were clear blue; but, it was still like 100 degrees outside. I’m glad we didn’t P.E. that day. The teachers are really nice, and all of them are Christians! Well, at least I know my ELA, Math, Science, and Social Studies teachers are. Things are looking hopeful!
I hope me and Elijah get back together... I wonder if my school is gonna have a dance this year... Well, it’s all in the hands of God! Whether we get back together or not, how my school year is gonna go, and everything else. (I still hope we have a dance... Preferably for Valentines Day.)
By Beatrix C.
The first day of school was amazing! (And Elijah was there! I haven’t told him I still like him though... Hehe, still working up the guts. See http://www.godlygirlsforgod.com/beautybodyboys.html, my blurb about Boys.) Anyways, my class is really small. There are only 9 kids in all. Three new ones, and 6 returnees, including me. I know the school needs more students, but I like the small class, and so do the teachers. It was fun. Besides the fact that we had homework on the first day of school! Ugh! It wasn’t bad, though -just some Spanish homework - not hard.
God had made that day wonderful! The skies were clear blue; but, it was still like 100 degrees outside. I’m glad we didn’t P.E. that day. The teachers are really nice, and all of them are Christians! Well, at least I know my ELA, Math, Science, and Social Studies teachers are. Things are looking hopeful!
I hope me and Elijah get back together... I wonder if my school is gonna have a dance this year... Well, it’s all in the hands of God! Whether we get back together or not, how my school year is gonna go, and everything else. (I still hope we have a dance... Preferably for Valentines Day.)
Rachel's Story, By TreAnna B.
Rachel's Story
By TreAnna B.
Rachel Alexis Black was the type of girl no one thought twice about. She was average height and a bit chubby at eighteen years of age. She had crooked teeth and a slight lisp—both problems her family was too poor to correct. Lank black hair that held a slight curl and thin wire-frame glasses made her face look slightly rounder than it actually was. She was what would be considered a misfit in most social circles, and that's one reason she fit so well into mine.
Throughout my freshman and sophomore year many of my friends were like Rachel—poor, socially challenged, and just different . There was something about them that the average high school population just wouldn't accept. I believe I often viewed myself in that light, at least to a degree. That's how we were all drawn to each other—how we all came to belong to our little group. There are several stories that came out of my circle of friends, but none more painful to me than Rachel's story.
It begins the start of my sophomore year.
I walked out of the building, glad for the tendrils of heat that kissed the bare skin of my arms. It was always freezing in Greene County High School's cafeteria, even if there were almost a hundred people milling about for registration. After working the senior packet table for the last four hours, I finally had the chance to step outside for a ten minute break. I spotted my nana sitting in her white Chevy Traverse where she waited as my aunt and cousin finished registration activities. I walked over and got into the passenger seat. “How long have they been in there?” She glanced at the clock on the dash. “Almost an hour and a half.” I could believe it. Before I had the chance to ask her why she hadn't went inside, her face broke into a smile as a man passed by my window. “Hey George,” she called. “How’s your daughter doing?” I was so used to these types of conversations, I didn't even blink. It seemed to me that my nana knew the entire population of our county—and then again her job in Human Resources probably meant she did. “Not too good, Ms. Ruby.” George replied from my window. “I'm sorry to hear that.” Nana frowned. She waved to me as a change of subject. “This is my granddaughter, TreAnna, Becki's eldest.” The man finally seemed to notice me. “You're one of Rachel's friends aren't you?” I smiled. “Yes sir. We hang out a lot.” He turned his gaze back on Nana. “Rachel's still in the hospital. They say she may have Ovarian Cancer, but they're not quite sure. They removed a tumor from her stomach the size of a baseball last week.” The weight of his words finally dawned on me. This was Rachel's father—and she was in the hospital. With cancer. The rest of their conversation passed in a blur as I tried to fight off the tears I felt rising within me. Suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder. “It'll be okay, Sweetie. Rachel wouldn't want you to cry. She would want you to be happy. Smile for her.” His kind words were my breaking point. The tears began to flow and I tried to scrub them away with the back of my hand. He looked back at my nana. “She's a kind-hearted girl just like you, Ms. Ruby.” His compliments and Nana's responses were lost to me as I sat trying to get over the shock of what I had heard. Rachel had cancer. I stayed on break a little longer than I should have. George eventually left and I had to get back to work. When I finally got out of the car, it was as if my entire world had changed. I walked back through the doors of the school, still brushing tears from my eyes.
The first day of school arrived quickly after that. Of course registration was only one of the various activities members of our school's leadership organization, WILDPAT, had to perform. I stood just inside the three sets of glass doors, a paper box lid full of blue R's held in my hands. I was nervous—even though this project had been my idea, and I had received approval from the sponsors. I had no way of knowing if it would be a success or not. I could just become a laughingstock. The first group of students entered, and I was relieved they were in my grade, meaning I somewhat knew them. I plastered a smile on my face, bolstering all my confidence. “Would you like to wear an R for Rachel today?” The three girls stopped and looked at me. One of them family asked, “What?” “Rachel Black is a girl in our grade here, and she was diagnosed with cancer over the summer. We're handing out R's to people to wear today and some of the WILDPAT kids are going to take pictures. Then we'll send them to Rachel in the hospital to show her that we're thinking about her.” The girls looked at each other and then reached in the box for and R and a safety-pin. They walked away, still trying to pin them onto their shirts. The remainder of my morning consisted of handing out blue R's. Not many people declined taking one even if they didn't know Rachel. That was just the way our high school worked. Like the rest of the county, it was community based, hosting a type of closeness only those who've been to the Deep South know and understand. At one point that morning, a mother came in with her son to complete his transfer from a school in Alabama. I smiled and asked again, “Would you like to wear an R for Rachel today?” After delivering the story for the thousandth time, the mother reached over and plucked an R from the stack, handing it to her son. “You're wearing it.” was all she said before she turned and disappeared back to her car.
As the days passed, guilt began to gnaw at my heart as I consistently prayed and pleaded for Rachel's healing. One thought was always persistent in the back of my mind. She's not saved and it's your fault. It's your fault because you've never told her about Jesus. If she dies, her blood will be on your hands. It was these thoughts that kept me awake at night, tossing and turning in my sleep. Most nights I could push them away, ignore that they even existed. “It's going to be okay.” I told myself one night. “God, please let it all be okay.” It was after one A.M. and I had a pounding headache from caffeine and sleep deprivation. I turned over on the couch in our living room for the thousandth time, trying to justify or rationalize my deeds—and lack thereof—for the millionth. “I know You can make it okay.” I prayed again. “I know You have the power to heal her. So please. Heal Rachel.” Sometime that night I finally fell into a fitful sleep. It didn't take long at all for Rachel's story to circumnavigate our whole county, and even though she wasn't part of any church, her name was soon the top priority on all twenty prayer lists in our county—if not more. My youth group prayed for her every night and even my fourth block second year business and communications class read and responded to the updates her mother posted on the hospital's blog. I spent at least an hour everyday keeping Rachel updated on school events—which usually included things like what was being served in the cafeteria and which grade won the spirit stick at pep-rallies. Of course, I would also talk about the things she liked: Mexicans and chickens. I've always assumed her obsession with the Mexican race stemmed from a family heritage or something. She never said, and I never bothered to ask. Chickens, on the other hand, I knew a lot about. She would show them and win prizes at fairs. She was always talking about her chickens. That was one thing I missed, I realized, Rachel's constant ramblings about her birds. I focused back on the computer screen before me and typed a P.S to my message. —Do you have any chickens at the hospital with you? pressed send, knowing that would make her smile. Weeks dragged by. Some days Rachel was doing better. Some days she was doing worse. She had her highs and lows, but she was making it—and I began to hope even harder. She would pull through. I repeated what had become my mantra: “Have faith. It'll be okay.” As the months passed, I honestly began to believe that everything would work out. I knew it would. My life adopted an almost pattern of do-not-worry. I had gone to youth that Wednesday night, just like every other week prior. We were in a transition period of searching for a new youth pastor, as we had been for almost a year and half now. We met upstairs in our youth room. The guy we had at this time insisted we sing a few hymns...and most of us did. Afterwards we sat down on the hard metal chairs and tried to tune into his sermon. It was just as short and simple that night as any other Wednesday night. He dismissed us and our group of twenty or so students stampeded down the stairs and outside to freedom. I walked out into the crisp night air, being one of the last ones to exit the building. Around me the rest of my friends were laughing and joking about. Leah jumped me from behind. I laughed and she ran away, sticking her tongue out at me in the process. For some reason I was extremely hyper. Soon I was joining everyone else as they joked with one another. I finally saw Nana's transverse and waved goodbye to Mellie and Meghan as she pulled up. They waved at me as I slipped into the back seat of the car. I closed the door and began to prattle on about service. Nana took some of the back roads, giving me time to talk. When she finally pulled up to the post office, she cut the engine. My aunt got out of the car and went inside leaving us alone in the darkness. “They're taking Rachel off the ventilator tonight.” She said quietly. At first her words didn’t' register with me. Only after my aunt had gotten back into the car and we were on our way home did I realize the gravity of her statement. Tears began to flow and as we pulled into the carport, they were no longer silent ones. Sobs wracked my body. Nana cut the engine and my aunt got out of the car. She let me sit there for a few minutes as I struggled to get myself back under control. I walked into the house, not noticing the pitying glance my cousin shot me as I walked past. I walked into the room I shared with Nana and sank down beside the bed and started crying again. At some point my aunt came in. “TreA?” I stood up and let her pull me into a hug, still crying. “Do you think it’s possible they may be taking her off the ventilator to baptize her and then putting her back on?” She asked gently. I shrugged. This was the first time I had been told she was saved. Some part of my mind wondered, When did that happen? But it was a small part and easily blocked out by my grief. I pulled away from her to see that she was crying now too. “Is there anything I can do? Someone I need to call?” I took a deep breath, trying to regain control of my breathing. “I-I need to c-call Haley.” I finally said. “Do you want me to do it?” I shook my head. “No. I-I need to. I just n-need to c-calm down first.” She hugged me once more and then left. I sank back down beside the bed and dialed my mom. She already knew. “Do you think there's a chance they'll put her back on the ventilator?” “Baby, I think when they take her off it's for good.” I sucked in a deep breath as tears threatened again. “I don't want to go to school tomorrow and I need to call Haley and I just don't know what to do.” “You need to go to school tomorrow. Maybe there will be arrangements announced.” “Okay.” “I love you.” “Love you too.” I hung up. I don't know how long I stared at the phone before I dialed Haley's number—my best friend and a mutual friend of Rachel. She picked up on the third ring. “Hello?” I could hear her sister laughing in the background. “Haley?” She immediately heard the tears in my voice and I heard her shush her sister. “Hey. What's wrong? Why are you crying?” I started to pace a small section of the bedroom. “Are you sitting down?” “Yes.” I could hear the fear in her voice and it was hard for me to keep the tears at bay. “I just found out they're taking Rachel off the ventilator tonight.” There was a heavy silence on the line for several seconds. Then as if from far-away, “Thanks for telling me.” The phone shut off without either one of us saying goodbye.
The next day at school was horrible. Haley and I met in the cafeteria just like every other morning. Her eyes were puffy and swollen, much like I'm sure mine were. “I just don't know what to expect.” I said honestly. She nodded. “Me either.” I was a zombie the rest of the day. As I made my way to homeroom English, one of my teachers and youth leader, Ms. Kandie Ham, stopped me in the hall and gave me a hug. “If you need anything today, just come to my room, okay?” I nodded mumbled and continued to homeroom. When I got there, my teacher, Mrs. April Howell, wrapped me in another big hug. “If you need to leave at any point during class today, just go. You don't even have to tell me.” I smiled. “Thank you.” At that point something very rare happened, my younger sister, Karissa, walked up and gave me a hug. I hugged her back, and realized she was crying. She didn't even know Rachel and yet she was crying...for me? Not even ten minutes into class, we get the announcement from our principle, Scott Bray. “Students, if you will, move into the gym at this time. This is going to be a Christian-based presentation. If you don't want to attend, you can sit in the library.” We all exit the classroom and shuffle to the gym. I found my drama teacher and second mom, Mrs. Jennifer McNeal and sat down next to her. Coach Bray is standing at a podium in the middle of the gym. “Last night I had the honor and the privilege to go see one of our students, Ms. Rachel Black. Her parents talked with me and they told me they were going to be taking her off the ventilator today at some point. But I know we have a God that heals and if it’s in His will He can heal her right now. I want to ask you to bow your heads and pray with me.” We closed our eyes, bowed our heads, and prayed. After the assembly, I was in zombie-mode again. There was that faint ray of hope. Rachel hadn't ...left yet so there was still hope. The Spanish teacher, Ms. Tracie Hillman, gave me a hug with tears in her eyes. “I'm here if you need anything, okay?” I nodded, genuinely shocked. School passed by. I rode the bus home without Rachel. When I did get home, I couldn't focus on anything. I was too agitated to do homework. I couldn't eat, read, write. I just couldn't function. The next day at school, we finally get the announcement, “Students, Rachel passed away yesterday at 5 P.M. She was able to breathe on her own for three hours after she was taken off the ventilator.” Coach Bray continued talking, naming the time and place for Rachel's wake and funeral, but I was once again a zombie.
The day for Rachel's wake and funeral came. It was my cousin's birthday ironically enough. Haley, Karissa, and I showed up at the funeral home, feeling out of place amongst the family members. We saw Rachel's father almost immediately. Nana gave him a hug. “I'm so sorry, George.” He smiled a small smile, “She's in a better place. When we asked about arrangements, she said she wanted it to be closed casket. She didn't want anyone seeing her like that.” Nana nodded. George turned to me and Haley. “Don't cry, girls. Rachel wouldn't want you to cry. She would want you to smile. She's not in pain anymore. We put a little chicken figurine in the casket with her. You know how she loved her chickens.” This response did solicit a small smile from both Haley and me. We both wandered off, and paid our respects to our friend. After the wake was over Haley faced me outside. “I can't do it. I can't go to the funeral.” I gave her a hug. “Okay. Well, we don't have to go.” She nodded. “I just...I don't want to see her going in the ground.” I nodded this time, understanding the words she didn't voice. Because that would make it all too real.
Two years later I stood in front of a group of girls at the second Awaken Rally to be sponsored by our school's Fellowship of Christian Students. I sighed as I looked at them. “I wasn't going to get up here and say anything, but I just felt like it was something God wanted me to do. Two years ago I lost one of my friends, Rachel, to cancer. “I had known Rachel ever since she moved here to Leakesville in fourth grade, but I had never made it a priority to tell her about Christ. I knew she wasn't saved and yet I allowed my fear to keep me for having the most important conversation with her. “When I found out she had cancer, guilt gnawed at my insides. I kept telling myself that I didn't have to get involved because God would heal her. And I kept telling myself that. Until it was too late. Rachel did get saved, but not because of me. Some man she barely knew came to her hours before she died and talked to her. “Guys, when I found out, I felt lower than dirt. Because I had never taken the time to tell her about Jesus she could have spent an eternity in Hell. And it would have been my fault. I told you this story because I don't want any of you to make my mistake. Don't be afraid or ashamed to share the love of Christ with others because you'll never know when too late will be.” I sat down amid applause from the girls I knew so well, feeling somewhat relieved to have said my feelings out loud. The following Wednesday, one of the girls that was there, Mary Grace came to me and asked me to share my testimony with the youth group. I did. But even after sharing my pain with those girls and my youth group, I still felt responsible. It wouldn't be until a few months later that I would sit down with my youth pastor, Chris and finally feel alleviated of some of the burden. Rachel's story caused me to look deeply into myself and I didn't like what I saw—a roiling black mass of fear, anger, shame, and guilt. This is perhaps the first time I'm spoken Rachel's story aloud, in its entirety. That day in Chris's office when he finally sat me down and looked me in the eye, I realized something, yes it was partially my fault for not telling Rachel about Jesus, but at the same time God would forgive me. Rachel would forgive me. I needed to forgive myself. That day I made a promise to myself: I will never sit by and allow my silence to cost me another friend's life, not matter what my voice may cost me.
By TreAnna B.
Rachel Alexis Black was the type of girl no one thought twice about. She was average height and a bit chubby at eighteen years of age. She had crooked teeth and a slight lisp—both problems her family was too poor to correct. Lank black hair that held a slight curl and thin wire-frame glasses made her face look slightly rounder than it actually was. She was what would be considered a misfit in most social circles, and that's one reason she fit so well into mine.
Throughout my freshman and sophomore year many of my friends were like Rachel—poor, socially challenged, and just different . There was something about them that the average high school population just wouldn't accept. I believe I often viewed myself in that light, at least to a degree. That's how we were all drawn to each other—how we all came to belong to our little group. There are several stories that came out of my circle of friends, but none more painful to me than Rachel's story.
It begins the start of my sophomore year.
I walked out of the building, glad for the tendrils of heat that kissed the bare skin of my arms. It was always freezing in Greene County High School's cafeteria, even if there were almost a hundred people milling about for registration. After working the senior packet table for the last four hours, I finally had the chance to step outside for a ten minute break. I spotted my nana sitting in her white Chevy Traverse where she waited as my aunt and cousin finished registration activities. I walked over and got into the passenger seat. “How long have they been in there?” She glanced at the clock on the dash. “Almost an hour and a half.” I could believe it. Before I had the chance to ask her why she hadn't went inside, her face broke into a smile as a man passed by my window. “Hey George,” she called. “How’s your daughter doing?” I was so used to these types of conversations, I didn't even blink. It seemed to me that my nana knew the entire population of our county—and then again her job in Human Resources probably meant she did. “Not too good, Ms. Ruby.” George replied from my window. “I'm sorry to hear that.” Nana frowned. She waved to me as a change of subject. “This is my granddaughter, TreAnna, Becki's eldest.” The man finally seemed to notice me. “You're one of Rachel's friends aren't you?” I smiled. “Yes sir. We hang out a lot.” He turned his gaze back on Nana. “Rachel's still in the hospital. They say she may have Ovarian Cancer, but they're not quite sure. They removed a tumor from her stomach the size of a baseball last week.” The weight of his words finally dawned on me. This was Rachel's father—and she was in the hospital. With cancer. The rest of their conversation passed in a blur as I tried to fight off the tears I felt rising within me. Suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder. “It'll be okay, Sweetie. Rachel wouldn't want you to cry. She would want you to be happy. Smile for her.” His kind words were my breaking point. The tears began to flow and I tried to scrub them away with the back of my hand. He looked back at my nana. “She's a kind-hearted girl just like you, Ms. Ruby.” His compliments and Nana's responses were lost to me as I sat trying to get over the shock of what I had heard. Rachel had cancer. I stayed on break a little longer than I should have. George eventually left and I had to get back to work. When I finally got out of the car, it was as if my entire world had changed. I walked back through the doors of the school, still brushing tears from my eyes.
The first day of school arrived quickly after that. Of course registration was only one of the various activities members of our school's leadership organization, WILDPAT, had to perform. I stood just inside the three sets of glass doors, a paper box lid full of blue R's held in my hands. I was nervous—even though this project had been my idea, and I had received approval from the sponsors. I had no way of knowing if it would be a success or not. I could just become a laughingstock. The first group of students entered, and I was relieved they were in my grade, meaning I somewhat knew them. I plastered a smile on my face, bolstering all my confidence. “Would you like to wear an R for Rachel today?” The three girls stopped and looked at me. One of them family asked, “What?” “Rachel Black is a girl in our grade here, and she was diagnosed with cancer over the summer. We're handing out R's to people to wear today and some of the WILDPAT kids are going to take pictures. Then we'll send them to Rachel in the hospital to show her that we're thinking about her.” The girls looked at each other and then reached in the box for and R and a safety-pin. They walked away, still trying to pin them onto their shirts. The remainder of my morning consisted of handing out blue R's. Not many people declined taking one even if they didn't know Rachel. That was just the way our high school worked. Like the rest of the county, it was community based, hosting a type of closeness only those who've been to the Deep South know and understand. At one point that morning, a mother came in with her son to complete his transfer from a school in Alabama. I smiled and asked again, “Would you like to wear an R for Rachel today?” After delivering the story for the thousandth time, the mother reached over and plucked an R from the stack, handing it to her son. “You're wearing it.” was all she said before she turned and disappeared back to her car.
As the days passed, guilt began to gnaw at my heart as I consistently prayed and pleaded for Rachel's healing. One thought was always persistent in the back of my mind. She's not saved and it's your fault. It's your fault because you've never told her about Jesus. If she dies, her blood will be on your hands. It was these thoughts that kept me awake at night, tossing and turning in my sleep. Most nights I could push them away, ignore that they even existed. “It's going to be okay.” I told myself one night. “God, please let it all be okay.” It was after one A.M. and I had a pounding headache from caffeine and sleep deprivation. I turned over on the couch in our living room for the thousandth time, trying to justify or rationalize my deeds—and lack thereof—for the millionth. “I know You can make it okay.” I prayed again. “I know You have the power to heal her. So please. Heal Rachel.” Sometime that night I finally fell into a fitful sleep. It didn't take long at all for Rachel's story to circumnavigate our whole county, and even though she wasn't part of any church, her name was soon the top priority on all twenty prayer lists in our county—if not more. My youth group prayed for her every night and even my fourth block second year business and communications class read and responded to the updates her mother posted on the hospital's blog. I spent at least an hour everyday keeping Rachel updated on school events—which usually included things like what was being served in the cafeteria and which grade won the spirit stick at pep-rallies. Of course, I would also talk about the things she liked: Mexicans and chickens. I've always assumed her obsession with the Mexican race stemmed from a family heritage or something. She never said, and I never bothered to ask. Chickens, on the other hand, I knew a lot about. She would show them and win prizes at fairs. She was always talking about her chickens. That was one thing I missed, I realized, Rachel's constant ramblings about her birds. I focused back on the computer screen before me and typed a P.S to my message. —Do you have any chickens at the hospital with you? pressed send, knowing that would make her smile. Weeks dragged by. Some days Rachel was doing better. Some days she was doing worse. She had her highs and lows, but she was making it—and I began to hope even harder. She would pull through. I repeated what had become my mantra: “Have faith. It'll be okay.” As the months passed, I honestly began to believe that everything would work out. I knew it would. My life adopted an almost pattern of do-not-worry. I had gone to youth that Wednesday night, just like every other week prior. We were in a transition period of searching for a new youth pastor, as we had been for almost a year and half now. We met upstairs in our youth room. The guy we had at this time insisted we sing a few hymns...and most of us did. Afterwards we sat down on the hard metal chairs and tried to tune into his sermon. It was just as short and simple that night as any other Wednesday night. He dismissed us and our group of twenty or so students stampeded down the stairs and outside to freedom. I walked out into the crisp night air, being one of the last ones to exit the building. Around me the rest of my friends were laughing and joking about. Leah jumped me from behind. I laughed and she ran away, sticking her tongue out at me in the process. For some reason I was extremely hyper. Soon I was joining everyone else as they joked with one another. I finally saw Nana's transverse and waved goodbye to Mellie and Meghan as she pulled up. They waved at me as I slipped into the back seat of the car. I closed the door and began to prattle on about service. Nana took some of the back roads, giving me time to talk. When she finally pulled up to the post office, she cut the engine. My aunt got out of the car and went inside leaving us alone in the darkness. “They're taking Rachel off the ventilator tonight.” She said quietly. At first her words didn’t' register with me. Only after my aunt had gotten back into the car and we were on our way home did I realize the gravity of her statement. Tears began to flow and as we pulled into the carport, they were no longer silent ones. Sobs wracked my body. Nana cut the engine and my aunt got out of the car. She let me sit there for a few minutes as I struggled to get myself back under control. I walked into the house, not noticing the pitying glance my cousin shot me as I walked past. I walked into the room I shared with Nana and sank down beside the bed and started crying again. At some point my aunt came in. “TreA?” I stood up and let her pull me into a hug, still crying. “Do you think it’s possible they may be taking her off the ventilator to baptize her and then putting her back on?” She asked gently. I shrugged. This was the first time I had been told she was saved. Some part of my mind wondered, When did that happen? But it was a small part and easily blocked out by my grief. I pulled away from her to see that she was crying now too. “Is there anything I can do? Someone I need to call?” I took a deep breath, trying to regain control of my breathing. “I-I need to c-call Haley.” I finally said. “Do you want me to do it?” I shook my head. “No. I-I need to. I just n-need to c-calm down first.” She hugged me once more and then left. I sank back down beside the bed and dialed my mom. She already knew. “Do you think there's a chance they'll put her back on the ventilator?” “Baby, I think when they take her off it's for good.” I sucked in a deep breath as tears threatened again. “I don't want to go to school tomorrow and I need to call Haley and I just don't know what to do.” “You need to go to school tomorrow. Maybe there will be arrangements announced.” “Okay.” “I love you.” “Love you too.” I hung up. I don't know how long I stared at the phone before I dialed Haley's number—my best friend and a mutual friend of Rachel. She picked up on the third ring. “Hello?” I could hear her sister laughing in the background. “Haley?” She immediately heard the tears in my voice and I heard her shush her sister. “Hey. What's wrong? Why are you crying?” I started to pace a small section of the bedroom. “Are you sitting down?” “Yes.” I could hear the fear in her voice and it was hard for me to keep the tears at bay. “I just found out they're taking Rachel off the ventilator tonight.” There was a heavy silence on the line for several seconds. Then as if from far-away, “Thanks for telling me.” The phone shut off without either one of us saying goodbye.
The next day at school was horrible. Haley and I met in the cafeteria just like every other morning. Her eyes were puffy and swollen, much like I'm sure mine were. “I just don't know what to expect.” I said honestly. She nodded. “Me either.” I was a zombie the rest of the day. As I made my way to homeroom English, one of my teachers and youth leader, Ms. Kandie Ham, stopped me in the hall and gave me a hug. “If you need anything today, just come to my room, okay?” I nodded mumbled and continued to homeroom. When I got there, my teacher, Mrs. April Howell, wrapped me in another big hug. “If you need to leave at any point during class today, just go. You don't even have to tell me.” I smiled. “Thank you.” At that point something very rare happened, my younger sister, Karissa, walked up and gave me a hug. I hugged her back, and realized she was crying. She didn't even know Rachel and yet she was crying...for me? Not even ten minutes into class, we get the announcement from our principle, Scott Bray. “Students, if you will, move into the gym at this time. This is going to be a Christian-based presentation. If you don't want to attend, you can sit in the library.” We all exit the classroom and shuffle to the gym. I found my drama teacher and second mom, Mrs. Jennifer McNeal and sat down next to her. Coach Bray is standing at a podium in the middle of the gym. “Last night I had the honor and the privilege to go see one of our students, Ms. Rachel Black. Her parents talked with me and they told me they were going to be taking her off the ventilator today at some point. But I know we have a God that heals and if it’s in His will He can heal her right now. I want to ask you to bow your heads and pray with me.” We closed our eyes, bowed our heads, and prayed. After the assembly, I was in zombie-mode again. There was that faint ray of hope. Rachel hadn't ...left yet so there was still hope. The Spanish teacher, Ms. Tracie Hillman, gave me a hug with tears in her eyes. “I'm here if you need anything, okay?” I nodded, genuinely shocked. School passed by. I rode the bus home without Rachel. When I did get home, I couldn't focus on anything. I was too agitated to do homework. I couldn't eat, read, write. I just couldn't function. The next day at school, we finally get the announcement, “Students, Rachel passed away yesterday at 5 P.M. She was able to breathe on her own for three hours after she was taken off the ventilator.” Coach Bray continued talking, naming the time and place for Rachel's wake and funeral, but I was once again a zombie.
The day for Rachel's wake and funeral came. It was my cousin's birthday ironically enough. Haley, Karissa, and I showed up at the funeral home, feeling out of place amongst the family members. We saw Rachel's father almost immediately. Nana gave him a hug. “I'm so sorry, George.” He smiled a small smile, “She's in a better place. When we asked about arrangements, she said she wanted it to be closed casket. She didn't want anyone seeing her like that.” Nana nodded. George turned to me and Haley. “Don't cry, girls. Rachel wouldn't want you to cry. She would want you to smile. She's not in pain anymore. We put a little chicken figurine in the casket with her. You know how she loved her chickens.” This response did solicit a small smile from both Haley and me. We both wandered off, and paid our respects to our friend. After the wake was over Haley faced me outside. “I can't do it. I can't go to the funeral.” I gave her a hug. “Okay. Well, we don't have to go.” She nodded. “I just...I don't want to see her going in the ground.” I nodded this time, understanding the words she didn't voice. Because that would make it all too real.
Two years later I stood in front of a group of girls at the second Awaken Rally to be sponsored by our school's Fellowship of Christian Students. I sighed as I looked at them. “I wasn't going to get up here and say anything, but I just felt like it was something God wanted me to do. Two years ago I lost one of my friends, Rachel, to cancer. “I had known Rachel ever since she moved here to Leakesville in fourth grade, but I had never made it a priority to tell her about Christ. I knew she wasn't saved and yet I allowed my fear to keep me for having the most important conversation with her. “When I found out she had cancer, guilt gnawed at my insides. I kept telling myself that I didn't have to get involved because God would heal her. And I kept telling myself that. Until it was too late. Rachel did get saved, but not because of me. Some man she barely knew came to her hours before she died and talked to her. “Guys, when I found out, I felt lower than dirt. Because I had never taken the time to tell her about Jesus she could have spent an eternity in Hell. And it would have been my fault. I told you this story because I don't want any of you to make my mistake. Don't be afraid or ashamed to share the love of Christ with others because you'll never know when too late will be.” I sat down amid applause from the girls I knew so well, feeling somewhat relieved to have said my feelings out loud. The following Wednesday, one of the girls that was there, Mary Grace came to me and asked me to share my testimony with the youth group. I did. But even after sharing my pain with those girls and my youth group, I still felt responsible. It wouldn't be until a few months later that I would sit down with my youth pastor, Chris and finally feel alleviated of some of the burden. Rachel's story caused me to look deeply into myself and I didn't like what I saw—a roiling black mass of fear, anger, shame, and guilt. This is perhaps the first time I'm spoken Rachel's story aloud, in its entirety. That day in Chris's office when he finally sat me down and looked me in the eye, I realized something, yes it was partially my fault for not telling Rachel about Jesus, but at the same time God would forgive me. Rachel would forgive me. I needed to forgive myself. That day I made a promise to myself: I will never sit by and allow my silence to cost me another friend's life, not matter what my voice may cost me.
The Bittersweet Melody, By McKayla R.
The Bittersweet Melody
McKayla R.
This past summer was a bittersweet melody. So many things that happened, that at the time I thought I would never escape. I thought my life was over. Nothing would ever be the same.
However, I was wrong. Everything that happened was a total God-thing. And sure, it was terrible in the fire, but now 4 months later, I have learned so much about myself and have built my testimony even further.
My story starts in November. At the time my dad “volunteered” at the school I was attending. Meaning he was really active with the school, just didn’t get paid. One day the school had a board meeting, and they made a decision to “fire” him. It would have been okay. Not a huge deal. Except for the fact that he was the advisor for one of the biggest clubs. At the next club meeting, it was me, my mom, my friend, her dad, and some of the members of the club’s parents. The school sent a representative to the meeting to state why my dad was fired. He was:
A) Not respectful of the principle
B) Didn’t pray before meetings (Christian school)
C) He was radical.
The representative said a lot of other things, but that is the summed up version.
I couldn’t take it. For the rest of that semester and into January, I refused to do school work, or even remotely seem like I cared. The once straight A student quickly resolved to Ds and Fs.
My mother was also working at the school and had access to all the grades. One Monday near the beginning of February, she saw my grades, and pulled me out of the only school I had ever been in.
On February 13th, I started my very first public school. I quickly had friends and was considered “popular”. However I was battling my own inner demons.
After I had stopped going to the church my best friend did, the only form of communication we had through text. One night we were talking and one of mentioned how bad it was at home. Someone was fighting or something, I can’t even remember. However that one simple text started it all. We both began to use very “grown-up” curse words. We were depressed, very dark little girls. We even went so far as to create a joint instagram account that included things like cutting, suicide, and pornography.
On a Friday night, I was talking to the girl. More of the choice words and issues. We had planned for me to go over to her house the next day. I left my room for something, and when I came back, my mom was sitting on my bed with my phone in her hands and tears in her eyes. I had been caught by the most important person in my life doing things that were terrible.
For about a month after that day, our household had so much tension in the air, you could cut it with a butter knife. All my mom did was cry and I think my dad was at a major crossroad in where we stood as a family. It was awful.
Eventually it got better. My mom started to trust me more, my dad and me have a much closer relationship, and I have matured so much!
I don’t really know where to end this, because the story is still going on. Every second of everyday just adds to this, because this isn’t something that just ends. As you sit there reading and I sit here writing, this snapshot of my life is being continued.
McKayla R.
This past summer was a bittersweet melody. So many things that happened, that at the time I thought I would never escape. I thought my life was over. Nothing would ever be the same.
However, I was wrong. Everything that happened was a total God-thing. And sure, it was terrible in the fire, but now 4 months later, I have learned so much about myself and have built my testimony even further.
My story starts in November. At the time my dad “volunteered” at the school I was attending. Meaning he was really active with the school, just didn’t get paid. One day the school had a board meeting, and they made a decision to “fire” him. It would have been okay. Not a huge deal. Except for the fact that he was the advisor for one of the biggest clubs. At the next club meeting, it was me, my mom, my friend, her dad, and some of the members of the club’s parents. The school sent a representative to the meeting to state why my dad was fired. He was:
A) Not respectful of the principle
B) Didn’t pray before meetings (Christian school)
C) He was radical.
The representative said a lot of other things, but that is the summed up version.
I couldn’t take it. For the rest of that semester and into January, I refused to do school work, or even remotely seem like I cared. The once straight A student quickly resolved to Ds and Fs.
My mother was also working at the school and had access to all the grades. One Monday near the beginning of February, she saw my grades, and pulled me out of the only school I had ever been in.
On February 13th, I started my very first public school. I quickly had friends and was considered “popular”. However I was battling my own inner demons.
After I had stopped going to the church my best friend did, the only form of communication we had through text. One night we were talking and one of mentioned how bad it was at home. Someone was fighting or something, I can’t even remember. However that one simple text started it all. We both began to use very “grown-up” curse words. We were depressed, very dark little girls. We even went so far as to create a joint instagram account that included things like cutting, suicide, and pornography.
On a Friday night, I was talking to the girl. More of the choice words and issues. We had planned for me to go over to her house the next day. I left my room for something, and when I came back, my mom was sitting on my bed with my phone in her hands and tears in her eyes. I had been caught by the most important person in my life doing things that were terrible.
For about a month after that day, our household had so much tension in the air, you could cut it with a butter knife. All my mom did was cry and I think my dad was at a major crossroad in where we stood as a family. It was awful.
Eventually it got better. My mom started to trust me more, my dad and me have a much closer relationship, and I have matured so much!
I don’t really know where to end this, because the story is still going on. Every second of everyday just adds to this, because this isn’t something that just ends. As you sit there reading and I sit here writing, this snapshot of my life is being continued.
My Testimony, By Maryann Y.
My Testimony
By Maryann Y.
It all started back when I was five. My mom and I were listening to the song, Amazing Grace and I asked her, "How do I become a Christian?"
She explained that I had to regret my sins, believe that Christ died on the Cross to save me,and arose on the third day after His death. I said "Yes, I do."
but I don't think I really believed. I just did it to impress my mom and dad. Then July, 2013 one night was reading chapter 10 of Romans, my favorite book of the Bible when I came across verse 9:
"If you confess with your mouth 'Jesus is Lord' and believe in your heart God raised him from the dead you will be saved." So I decided. I want my life to play out this verse. So my dad questioned me and told me he thought I was saved.
I want my baptism and testimony to be a model for other people on how to live their lives for Christ.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
