This Song

I’m listening to this song - like an aroma that takes you back to an exact moment, this too, this song, takes me back to two exact moments. 

The first moment was actually the first time I heard this song. It was live. I was stunned and frozen. I was transported by the sounds, by the melody, by the words. I was taken, yet I couldn’t move. It was haunting.  

The second moment was when this song was replayed for a group of people we were newly connected with. We were asked to bring a song that was important to us at that moment in life. My husband picked the song. I wasn’t in a place to care to pick. 

The thing is that there was this underlying, silent devastating pain in both of those moments.  We were experiencing horrific betrayal, disappointment, hurt, pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. 

Yet, the song proclaims, “Love’s our only hope.”  

Both of those moments as foggy as they seemed to be, were each followed by a quick but powerful gust. The same night I heard that song for the first time, we were extended love and hope in a gesture by a struggling band offering us the cash they made from their merch sales that night. We were betrayed by people who were closer than family, yet this gesture showed us we still had real friends who really cared. To this day, I cannot comprehend how massive that was. How much love and hope they offered us, not in cash dollars, but in real kindness and love. 

And that second moment, with the people who asked us to bring in a song? They didn’t know us well, but they invited us in when we had been shut out. They gave us love and support and offered us a hope we thought could never be restored. They listened. They spoke massive words of wisdom to us. 

So my two exact moments perhaps are four. A counterbalance of pain and hope all wrapped up in this song. I needed to hear this song today. I needed to be reminded that Love is my only hope. My world is a bit of a tumultuous sea right now. I know I’m not the only one in a storm. I know we all must endure the weather. I am just glad I can be lifted off the waves, even if it is for a brief moment, in the memories of a song. 

Today I asked myself a question, asked myself a question

Why am I different from anyone else anyone else in the world?

'Cause if I can lie, then I can kill 

Am I willing to die for what is real?

‘Cause I’d like to think that there is a chance for change in this world 

And if I am the problem, what’s the solution? 

Can anybody tell me that? 

Yesterday, I said I’d make a difference, said I’d make a difference

But today I got lost in the shuffle, lost all the purpose I had

And if I don't try then do I really care?

Do I believe there’s something greater out there?

‘Cause I’d like to think that there is a chance for change in this world 

And if I am the problem then what’s the solution? 

Can anybody tell me that?

And if I can lie, then I can kill 

Am I willing to die for what is real?

‘Cause I’d like to think that there is a chance for change in this world

And if I am the problem, you’re the solution

Love’s our only hope

-Arkeo, “Love’s Our Only Hope”

RYFO (pronounced, rye - foe) Host Home (pronounced, cray - z)

We had quite an experience this weekend, one I had hoped for, but not out loud - just a secret wish.  You see, maybe a month ago I noticed a RYFO event posted on facebook - a "Dessert's On Us" or something or other.  I was intrigued and checked out the details.  It was to be in Orange County on February 1^st. 

ryfo.org Check it!

I followed the posts regarding this event, secretly hoping in some way it would work out that we would be able to go.  This would require a 12 hour drive, which for us, we've made a million times, so really that part was no big deal.  It would also require Greg to take a Saturday off.  This was a bigger deal since he has only been at his new job about 4 months and it seemed the last time he attempted to take a vacation day, there weren't enough available hours for him to do so.  We'd been toying with the idea of scheduling a routine surgery Greg had to have to coincide with a trip to California - as a sort of "recovery", but the surgery date ended up being late February. 

So as the last week of January began, I sadly shrugged off the idea of making it to this RYFO event.  But then, as if it was all planned out the whole time, God sent me an email and laid it all out.  

My email from God!

 Okay, that's not exactly how it went.  I just really, really want God to communicate with me like that.  I'll even take a real, paper letter via US Mail.  I realize the reality in which God "speaks" to us:  through His Word, through other people, through prayer, but as of late, I am pretty sure He doesn't use email.  (Not that He couldn't if He wanted to.  He can do anything, I know this, but....) I digress. 

Anyway, I received an email that put the wheels in motion for a trip to California.  Yes, we'd have to leave in three days, yes, Greg would have to get a day off, yes it would require expenses we hadn't budgeted for, but then again we were picking up a check we'd been waiting on for 5 months the day before we needed to leave.  So, yes, God worked it all out just for me, just so I could go to my little RYFO event.  Okay, He worked it out for a number of reasons, this I know was one of them.  But then I thought, "Is this event even for us?"  I asked (the RYFO President), Nick and he agreed to let us come.  Actually, he was super-awesome and was happy to have us.  I was so excited to be able to meet the people involved in this awesome thing we were also a part of.  To meet them face to face, hear what they had to say, to be able to buy a RYFO t-shirt and not pay for shipping...

A different brand of fan

 

The event was great!  We got to meet Nick & Emily, Simeon & Johanna, Audrey, Erika and a number of other great people, some musicians, some families, and Dr. Jeff the cool Chiropractor who is the only Pro Services guy on the RYFO map (that orange star in California).

A number of things stood out to me as we talked with people.  The most common response to meeting us was kind of an awe at being a host home.  It was an odd thing to hear people thank us for what we do and comment on how great they think it is.  It seemed kind of like what we do is some mystical service that most people can't do.  We were met with wide eyes or squinted eyes seemingly trying to understand or comprehend the host home experience.  We were able to offer some explanation of what it looks like when we get to host an artist.  That seemed to help.  But still, I realize for most people, that what we do is nuts.  And if it doesn't sound crazy to some, the impossibility of how keeps them from doing.

So, I'd like to share a few practical and completely impractical things we've learned being a RYFO host home over the last year:

We get to witness the water to wine and the feeding of the 5000 miracles every single time. 

            Living on a teeny-tiny budget, we shop, portion, and eat for 2 people.  We carefully watch our spending.  We took some hard hits over the last year and a half (as most people have) and had to watch our savings dwindle down, down, down.  We adjust what we can of course.  We are the cheapest, most frugal people in our family the world.

That Diet Coke was a gift! See, God loves us!

            When we receive a stay request, we plan for what meals we will need to prepare then we shop with faith.  We usually blow our food budget for 2 weeks for one stay.  But we love it.  We love that we can provide some healthy meals for these guys and girls who eat more Taco Bell and pizza in one tour than one should eat in a lifetime.  We love that we can send them off with a case of water, some sunflower seeds and a few other snacks for the road.  We love that when there is orange juice in the fridge it means that we had or are having company.  We love cooking up all the ground turkey in the freezer for one meal (which is portioned for 6 meals) and adding little potatoes to it to make it stretch and hopefully feed 10 of them with the possibility of also feeding the two of us.  We love thinking we couldn't possibly have made enough food, but then, miraculously we have some leftovers and everyone had enough.  Sometimes without having room for dessert!

            God multiplies it and makes it gourmet.

            Surprisingly enough, we never go without or are hungry even though we spent that food budget.  God provides every single time.

No one says anything about the bedding from 1980. 

Wake me up, before you go, go

            How we ended up with the sheets I remember from my childhood, I don't know - I guess Mom gets the new ones and we get what she's getting rid of.  Mind you, they are in good condition, it's just obvious from the patterns they are from the 80s.

            I am a little worried that the bands will come in and be a tad disappointed when they see they have to sleep on air mattresses, or one of two twin mattresses we have for guests or even the floor.  I wish they could walk in and see a king size bed for each fitted with down comforters and heavenly pillows in their own private room their own private bathroom, but that's just not what we've got.  We have been totally blessed with a 3 bedroom house.  We can split up the sleeping in our guest/music room and in the office (if Greg is not working), in the living room and even in the dining room (which actually doubles as our work out room -we've made it easy to move furniture around to give a lot of floor space).  And one bathroom is all we have for the guys/gals to share. 

            We've had 10 guys stay at one time and I can tell you that not once was there a complaint about the accommodations.  On the contrary.  We received more thanks and compliments from those 10 guys than you can imagine.  They live on the road.  They share a van for hours upon hours with each other.  They sleep in the van, eat in the van and "shower" in the van.  Our 80s bedding is of no concern to these artists.  Any space they are allowed to utilize, they do and are grateful.  They have been nothing but respectful.

You will never have enough if you think you need more.

Ding dong! It's Jesus!

            Yes, we have a three bedroom house with a driveway, a front yard, a backyard and a garage.  I do not tell you this to boast.  I see pictures of host homes that are more beautiful than ours, with swimming pools, woods for backyards, even separate quarters for quests.  I am not jealous - okay maybe sometimes, I am... but I will tell you this:  If we moved and we lived in a one bedroom apartment, our desire to host bands would not change.  And since that desire would not change, we would continue to offer our home as a refuge to these traveling artists.  They, of course, have the option to accept or decline.  I do know this though, that most of these guys and girls would rather sleep inside on the floor than in the van.  They would rather share one bathroom than have to visit the Walmart bathroom on the road after they've slept in the parking lot.  They are thrilled to sit in a quiet place with wifi that doesn't include McAnything.

             If we have a roof to offer, we will.  We will let other wonderful homes with amenities we don't have share their blessings.  Isn't that the beautiful thing about Christ's children?  That we are all different and that we all have different things to offer?  He has given each of us a desire to take care of those traveling artists.  I do not think it makes a difference how much we have to offer, but how we choose to use what we have. 

            If you're intrigued and want to become a host home, but are stuck on the logistics or just stuck, know this: There will never be the "right time" to become a host home - there is never a "once we are settled into a place with more room", a "once we have a steady enough income to provide for our family first", a "once we've gotten enough blankets, pillows, plates, forks, stuff, in the cabinets".  Those times may never come or they may come once you take that step of faith and use the servant's heart God put in you.

            We feel most alive when we serve Him, and for us, serving Him as a host home brings so much joy to us.  I think it may bring joy to the recipients of the stay, but even if we never hear about it, ultimately it is Christ who we are serving (loving) every single time that doorbell rings.

Journey Twenty-Twelve

Journey Twenty-Twelve

Yes, I do realize that 2012 isn't quite over and this post sounds like it would be more appropriate for an end-of-year reflection.  But the truth is, I embarked on a journey that I thought would only begin in 2012.  As it turns out, 2012 also marks the end. 

Isn't true that sometimes this is the way things work out?  That at the beginning of our journey, our dream, really, we cannot foresee or even fathom that it would end?  Sure, we have goals along the way that we may reach, even an end goal of what the epitome of our greatest dream and desire would be, but when you dream, does it have an end?  For me, this journey, this dream did not have an end. 

So what do you do when you literally see your dream, your journey end?  What if the end is ultimately out of your control?  Does it really end?  I think the answer is yes and no.

The journey, the dream as it was worked out, plotted and trekked may have been ended, but I figure I can make the decision to jump off of that dead end path and begin to clear a new one.  I can dream a new dream.  I can journey another journey.  It will look different.  Different people will accompany me on this new journey.  People like-minded and with similar goals will grab the plow, don the work gloves and go.  We will begin, on the hardened ground, to plow.  We will shed blood, sweat and tears.  We will put forth the effort for the hope of fulfilling our greatest dreams and desires.  We will get dirty, we will get tired, we will question ourselves and each other, we may even want to give up, but even knowing this, I want to go.  Even if that next journey ends, even if it ends by another's hand as this one did, I can't stop.

The end hurts.  Clearly, I'd be a fool to say it doesn't hurt - that my heart isn't broken.  The moments of hope come when I think I'll be able to move on. But as quickly as those moments come, the memory of the words that ended it jump back into my mind like a demented jack-in-the-box to torture me and suck me back into another's choice that I cannot change.  Hurt, disappointed, devastated.  Adjectives that haunt me.  Adjectives that bring me back to the past, the very distant past that conjure up feelings I thought were long gone.  Memories of hurtful words and actions that have been buried by time but longing to be freed from the grave.  

Just as the fool doesn't feel the pain or admit to it, I'd be a fool to remain in my hurt.  Pain is a close friend of mine.  He visits me often, and over the years I've allowed him to stay with me longer than I'd like to admit.  I've allowed him to move into my heart, settle in and stay for years at a time.  He's invited anger and bitterness to join him and I've welcomed them in as our companions.  We've included envy and jealousy, pride and hate to join us.  I know pain.  As easy as it is to let them all in and stay, it takes an army to make them get out.  An army and time.  

So, I've let God be my army.  He does, however, require us to do work and He does give us the option to allow pain and its friends back in.  God and time have been my greatest allies against pain.  Even when I've asked God to back off, He has allowed time to continue to heal me.  So, foolish, I will try not to be.  I am hurt.  I am heart-broken, but I have the ability to move in a new direction and I will.  I just need my army to surround my heart and begin rebuilding that fortress - and in case there is a breach, I always can depend on our ally, time. 

PROCEED WITH COURAGE

PROCEED WITH COURAGE.  That was the advice I got the other day.  It was awesome advice.  I was looking for someone to tell me what to do and, well, I was told.  The problem is that I wasn't exactly sure what they were talking about.  I mean, I get it, but proceed exactly where?  I had been pondering some heavy questions for a few days.  I had been thinking of next steps, goal-setting, I had been dreaming, and of course, because I'm me, injecting chunks of realism (read: pessimism, skepticism). 

I want to sing.  I want to write.  I've been struggling with this thing I have called pride.  Brought to my attention a couple of years ago, pride, as I knew the definition to be wasn't exactly what was crippling me, it was the pride I never knew was pride.  I never overtly put myself on a pedestal.  I didn't proclaim, "I am so great!" with a puffed up ego.  So in that sense, pride wasn't the obvious issue I had.  It was pointed out to me in a gentle way, through a question from a friend, a mentor of mine.  And all because I refused to join in some silly antics of taking a harmless picture and distorting my image for laughs.  My objection was, "I'm just too vain, I guess," shrugging it off.  The response was, "Maybe you have a pride issue." 

See, I cared about how I looked, how people were going to perceive me, my image.  Instead of allowing for some harmless fun and silliness, I cared about what people were going to say if they were to see such a photo.  I didn't understand it at the moment.  Even the comment of having a pride issue didn't make sense at the time.  Graciously, the statement of having a pride issue didn't just end there.  Examples of how this person related to it was given and clearly I had similar thoughts much of the time.  So it gnawed and gnawed.  I posed the question to my husband the next day, "I'm not a proud person, am I?"  Again taking "pride" in the context of an outwardly puffed-up egomaniac.  He agreed that I was not.  But it kept eating away at me.  The next few days spelled it out for me.  I did have a major pride issue.  And even though the outwardly puffed-up egomaniac wasn't really what I was dealing with, my pride ran deeper; a thick, black sickness pulsing through my veins.  A transfusion would be all that would cure me.  A transfusion that still takes place this very day. 

Pride for me is ME, SELF.  Egomaniac to the core.  This is what I struggle with on a minute by minute basis.  Inward, not outward (so it doesn't necessarily project "self-absorbed-snob and prigish).  It's about me and how others see me.  It's about what others will think of me (this is also called fear).  It's about being afraid to do something silly for fear of my how I will look.  It's about being afraid to try something new for I may not be good at it and fail or I'll receive some remark about it's good that I at least tried.  It's about not finishing something for fear I could never be excellent at it.  It's about making sure I choose the right outfit so I can receive compliments.  It's imagining what the conversation will be like so I get noticed for something - all with a seemingly humble response.  It's fear and selfishness with a side of envy and self-doubt mixed in.  That's the recipe for pride in me.  It is something that has been brewing in me my whole life.  I have searched within myself for the reasons why I am this way, and certain things, events and experiences have contributed, but regardless of the reasons why, I have to accept that this thing, this pride thing is a part of me.  But I will not stop there and give the excuse of, "Well, that's just who I am, that makes me who I am, and that's that."  No.  This is not something to leave as is.  This has crippled me my whole life.  Why would I let it continue to be a part of me?  This is a disease that can be cured and will be cured.  I recognized it, and I fight it every second of every day.  I do not fight alone, however.  I have a power greater than I who fights with me.  Fights for me.  One who is on my side to cure this sickness which debilitates me.  I can rely only on Him for I find myself incredibly unreliable in this matter.  For once I relied on Him solely, things improved, then I begin to forget about Him and of course pride crept in again.  So I find myself back close to the starting point.  Beginning again, except this time with the understanding of what cripples me.  So, my reliance on God, the Mighty One, Jesus, will have to be a complete reliance for I have seen what I am capable of. 

This brings me back to the advice, PROCEED WITH COURAGE.  I want to sing, I want to write, I want to bring hope and beauty to a place where it is so rare to find it.  I must, I must, I must do those things without pride.  Without fear, without the desire to be recognized for my "talent" for the "awesome things" that I write or for the "attention"(good or bad) I receive for my voice (literally and figuratively).  So I must proceed.  With courage.  In all that I do, whatever it looks like for that moment, I must PROCEED WITH COURAGE.  I don't think it was an answer to any one of my singular questions I was pondering.  I think it was God saying, "Quit proceeding with caution and proceed with courage."  Caution for me equals pride (fear, selfishness, envy, self-doubt, SELF).  Courage is the cure to my disease.  With all that is within me, I must be courageous.  I'll let God hold the sword.  I'll be His armor- bearer and follow Him into battle.  I trust He will be the example I need to follow and pass along the sword to me.  I want to be courageous enough to take it and go.

Fear Paralyzes

Fear paralyzes.  It disguises itself in so many different ways.  Sometimes it's obvious that it is the fear of messing up or choosing wrongly that paralyzes.  Sometimes it disguises itself cleverly as someone else's issues that hold you back.  "They are.... They won't.... They think.... They don't..."  "They" don't have anything to do with it.  It's just another excuse we give ourselves to wait and do nothing. 

We spiritualize it by saying that You don't want us to go yet because we are supposed to be learning something by doing nothing - by saying there is no open door yet.  We seek heavenly inspiration and wait until we get an obvious answer from above.  That is fear's trickery.  Fear is my enemy.  It loves to see me wait, loves to see me cry out in agony for a clear direction.  Fear loves to keep me alone and scared.  Fear is clever, sneaky and cunning.  

You, God, do not operate in that kind of fear.  You require us to live by faith.  You require us to believe in the things we cannot see.  You require us to go where we are unsure.  We know this about You yet we beg and expect clear directions and apparitions, voices, maps and lists.  We blind ourselves, our faith by these expectations.  If we love You madly and know You deeply then what we do is what You want us to do and Your love is the voice, Your character is the map, You are the direction, the list and the apparition.  

Blind faith.  True love - complete surrender to You - that is how we know where to go, when to go - that is anywhere and always.  Fear cannot live in Your love.  It cannot trick us or tell us to wait for a door, a sign, an inspiration.  Fear has no hold, no grasp, no place in the life You've given me.

Jesus, Father, God - I want to know Your heart so we beat in sync.  You love me.  I love You and fear must be banished from this temple.  I will go  You have led.  I'm coming.

Can't We All Just Get Along?

Can't We All Just Get Along?

I am convinced now more than ever, that in general, Christians are creating more hate than showing love.  This is a bold statement, I know.  I realize that I have put everyone that calls them self a Christian in this category.  Let me just clarify that I am generalizing and my "box of Christians" is based solely on what I see and what I have experienced.  Also, let me state that I have been in the group I am criticizing.  One more thing - this group I am referring to shows no mercy to "fellow Christians" or non-believers alike.  What have we done?

I know what it's like to want to do right in the eyes of God.  I know that in attempting to do right in the eyes of God, I was rigid, judgmental, prideful, stubborn, and hateful.  Except those characteristics were veiled - at least to me they were veiled.  Of course anyone looking at me probably saw those things for what they were and not the way I saw them.  No, I was not rigid, I was following rules set before me in the Bible.  I was not judgmental, I just happened to see the sin (or non- sin as it turns out) in others (tsk, tsk, tsk!) and "pray for them. " I was not stubborn, I was just extremely clear as to what God said about certain things and adhered to them.  I was not hateful, I just simply avoided people, things and issues that were ungodly. 

That is what I saw of myself when I looked in the mirror.  It makes me sick to my stomach to even remember that is who I was.  This was at a time in my life when my husband and I were deeply involved in a (Christian) church and served as leaders on several levels.  During this time, I learned more about God and Jesus than I ever had before.  I was reading the Bible and praying daily.  I experienced a deep and intimate relationship with God that was beautiful and even today I look back and long for some of those times (the relationship part).  But somehow, with as close to God as I felt, I was too closed off to the world around me.  I think, for me, this was somewhat necessary.  I had shut God out for so many years, lived an ugly life filled with so many regrets, I think I needed to close the door slightly on the outside.  I think I took it a bit too far, (I slammed that door, locked it, dead-bolted it threw away the key) but for me it was necessary to cut out things that were stumbling blocks for me.  A diet of sorts.  I had to... for my health, I had to. 

So, in surrounding myself with "Christian music" and cutting out all secular music, in putting restrictions on films, books, television and most art, I also seemed to judge (without really knowing I was doing it) everyone and everything that I deemed "unchristian."  Things I felt were not good for me to put into my body, I also determined they were not good for others to put into their bodies.  That is how the judgment began, the pride crept in, the stubbornness grew and the hate bubbled up.

This, I think, is how it begins for most "Christians" - we are simply attempting to live a life pleasing to God.  I never thought I was any of those negative things.  I never thought I was without love.  I loved people.  I loved my family and friends.  I served others.  I was empathetic to the hurting - but I could only see what I allowed in front of my eyes and if I was exposed to something I didn't agree with the love had conditions, the service ceased, the empathy turned to apathy.  It is only now that I see this. 

But I have been exposed!  Exposed to the real love of Christ, shown by people who look "odd" and act differently - the "not quite right."  These people I once condemned for not being "Christian" enough.  These people who love Jesus but show it in an odd way -  a different way than what the world is used to seeing.  These people believe as I do, that Jesus is the Son of God who died as a sacrifice in our place so we may have a relationship with God and ultimately so we may live in His Kingdom, and believe that the Bible is the infallible Word of God.  These people love unselfishly, give of themselves and serve everyone.  These people hang out with Christians and non-Christians (as Jesus did, by the way).  These people have hopes, dreams and passions that may or may not involve employment at a church or Christian organization.  These people long to build meaningful relationships and friendships.  These people are not afraid to share their pain and struggles in a real way.  These people are not afraid to talk about how screwed up they are or the mistakes they've made or continue to make.  These people are not afraid to tell you that everything may not turn out okay, that life sucks sometimes and it's hard, unfair and sad.  These people will also tell you of a Hope that keeps them going and makes life worth living.  These people show just as much excitement about living life now, here on earth, as they do about their eternal destination.  These people live life in this world without blinders on.  These people can live in the world but be unlike everyone else.  These people listen with Love in their hearts.  These people have a mission.  A mission to love as Christ loved while He was here on earth and as He loves us still.  These people will show you that the Love grows inside, breaking down the rigidity, judgment, hate, pride and stubbornness.  These people are not perfect, yet strive to be like the Perfect One.

I am sorry I judged you, hated you, was prideful and stubborn.  I have a million regrets.  I am by no means perfect or even "cured" of those things, but I have seen and experienced a different kind of Love that makes me odd, different and "not quite right" and I am determined to live it out.  God help me. 

From Darkness...

February 1, 1990 - the day I began my descent into darkness.  For weeks I attempted to tread water, holding on to the Hope I had.  But I let the Hope fade and I succumbed to the darkness as my lungs slowly filled with water and I drown.  I floated down, down, down into hopelessness, carelessness and faithlessness.  I buried the Truth so deep down inside of me only on rare occasions would a speck of Light break through my darkness.  I liked the Dark.  Or should I say, the Dark liked me.  We fit well together.  Cynicism and Doubt became my companions.  They rarely left my side.  The values and morals I once believed in escaped my soul and I was glad to see them go.  I held nothing sacred.  It was easier to not care about my self, my safety, my life.  Nothing would ever bring the Light back.  I didn't really care if it did come back.  The Light had taken something away from me, something I couldn't replace... something I didn't want replaced. 

Darkness made my choices all right.  Acceptable.  Normal.  Darkness shadowed all the love others were trying to give.  The good kind of love - not the kind of love I accepted, gave into, chased, hunted.  Darkness said yes when Light said no.  Not that I cared what Light said anymore, for Light let me down.  Darkness applauded my choices when I knew Light would have been disappointed.  But I didn't care.  I didn't care.  My new life was what it was.  I had to accept that.  I could only feel alive when the pain was bad enough.  I had to make sure my heart beat so it was often that I inflicted my own pain.  I loved to hurt.  I must have - for my choices were painful.  I still have the scars.  I still feel the consequences.  I regret.  My pain made me alive, but really it was killing me. 

I had the Truth buried somewhere  and I knew it.  But I shoved it down attempting to snuff it out for good.  But the Truth prevailed even as I attempted to kill it.  The Truth gave me things - good things, even as I was strangling it.  The Truth chipped away and cracks formed.  Tiny streams of Light shone through.  I was given real love again.  I was given hope.  But still, I embraced the shadows and the Darkness.  I continued in the dark.

September 11, 2001 - the day I began my ascent from the darkness.  Unstoppable grief for people searching for their loved ones.  Lives gone in an instant.  It was something I witnessed first hand - life being lost in an instant - yet this time, its effect drove me to the Light.  I woke up.  I woke up.  I woke up.  I struggled for air.  Gasping, I could breath.  This pain this time was accompanied by Hope.  I still hurt.  I still felt the wounds, but I wanted them to close.  I wanted the scars to fade.  Although the ascent was instant, still 11 years later I deal with the consequences.  Regret still haunts me.  The journey has been beautiful, crushing and treacherous, but Hope accompanies me.  Truth is my guide and Light is my constant companion. 

This is a Redemption story.  Redemption, the Truth, Hope, Light -  that is Jesus Christ.  I needed redemption even when I didn't want it.  I was afforded the opportunities to make whatever choices my heart desired.  I chose.  I chose.  I chose.  The Truth never left me.  Hope pursued me and Light took the time to chisel away.  I had buried the Truth.  Perhaps you never met the Truth.  But Truth, Hope, Light pursues you.  Stop and look carefully. Listen.  Never far too far away. 

I recognize Darkness.  Cynicism and Doubt chase me, even sometimes catch me.  I see Hopelessness in hollow eyes and I still feel the pain it inflicts.  I remember.  I remember.  I remember.  I feel it.  I hurt as Hopelessness and Darkness imprison you.  I remember.  It is not Pity that I wish to throw at you, for Pity loves Darkness.  I just want you to know I know.  I remember.  I have the scars to prove I've been there and as much as I hate them and wish they would disappear forever, they are to remind me and hopefully comfort you - the wounds will close.  Those thick pink ribbons fade.  I can't wait for your Redemption story.