Don't read this and pity me. Read this and be moved.
Dear Reader,
I am going to tell you a story.
Just a few short months ago I took a trip to St. Louis with my youth group. We attended an evangelism conference called Dare2Share. And it was wicked! That place was filled with thousands of teens on fire for God. It was moving and inspiring and motivational. It made me want to burn with God. It was a great weekend. But it was also a really really challenging weekend.
A big part of the conference was learning how to share the gospel of Jesus Christ with our friends. It was equipping us to know what to say and how to say it. It was challenging us, as teenagers, to embrace the akwardness and start speaking outwardly about our faith in Christ. In fact, the motto for the weekend was "awkward is the new awesome." It was exciting stuff. But challenging. So challenging.
On the very first night, one of the first thing we were asked to do was to grab a Sharpie pen and write three names on our hands. These were to be the names of three people we knew who needed to hear about Jesus. People who needed prayed for and needed the love of Christ to rock their world. Three friends in need of the gospel.
And then throughout the weekend we were given time to ourselves and challenged to CALL each of those friends. Or to contact them in some way, no matter how awkward it be, and tell them about Jesus. Just start a coversation with them, and let the Holy Spirit take it from there. That was a challenge. It was a difficult challenge.
It probably shouldn't have been that hard. We were all Christians. We were living for the Lord. Yet we cared so much about what people thought about us. And being asked to make those phone calls just made the entire room feel tense.
So I....I got in touch with one of my three friends. Via text message. (Lame, I know.) The second one didn't answer and the third I had the wrong number for. But the thing is...the challenge wasn't supposed to stop at that conference. I was supposed to take it home with me and make sure that I got in contact with those friends and tons more people to share what amazing things Jesus has done for me and for them!
...But I didn't. I never talked to those other two people. I haven't to this day. I got back into the swing of life, I sent them a few prayers from my guilty conscience....and I went on.
One of those names written on my hand was Heather.
Heather died yesterday.
At the age age of seventeen, she went to bed and didn't wake up the next morning.
On the brink of figuring out who she was and what she was going to do with her life, it was all taken from her. In a moment, everything can change.
I don't know if Heather ever found Jesus. I can only hope and pray that someone, somewhere, did what I did not. That someone sat her down and said YOU NEED JESUS.
If I could pick up that phone right now I would beg her to come to God. I would plead and sob and drive to wherever she was so that I could pray with her and be with her and show her the love that He has for her.
Maybe Heather knew God.
I don't have that answer.
But I know I could have.
I'm not writing this so that you will feel sorry for me and cry because my heart and soul have been crushed by the death of this good friend. I'm writing this so that you might read it and be changed. I writing this so that the urgency of the gospel might be made known to you!
Jesus needs us to spread his word TODAY.
Not tomorrow.
Not later.
Not when you get home.
Right now. This is the moment he needs you to move.
Heather was a beautiful girl.
She deserved so much more love than she was ever given.
And she will be my inspiration until the day I die.
She will be my motivation.
I am going to be different now because of Heather.
I am going to live by the following words:
Don't waste today.
Because if you knew tomorrow was not coming...
today would seem a lot more vital.
This isn't about living with "what ifs" and regrets.
Those things have no place here.
This is about being touched
And allowing a really crappy situation
To change your life for the better.
Today is vital.
Our time here is short.
We have a mission.
Glorify God.
I'm not saying you have to go out and witness on the streets every day of your life.
I'm just saying, make today count.
Work on yourself today.
Work on someone else tomorrow.
Spend time on your knees the next day.
Worship your heart out the day after that.
I remember the day I first met you
the summer before fourth grade,
when you and your abundance of brothers
moved into the crappy yellow house
right behind mine.
I spotted you from across the grass and weeds,
your long dark hair sweetly blowing in the wind
and your eyes set like you had a mission.
I think I was a little frightened of you at first.
And then..it happened.
Friendship and happiness and smiles and love happened. And my life will never be the same.
We did homework on my trampoline
and walked through town in the rain, barefoot.
Rollerbladed every day that summer
and the next...
because that's what the cool kids did back then.
Especially rollerblading into the video store.
Cuz they let you do that, you know?
I ate so many Hershey's Cookies and Cream bars with you,
I can't look at one without thinking
of your radiant face.
We had heart-to-hearts on my bedroom floor
and faces covered in powdered sugar at the carnival.
We got mad at life together
and shared the woes of Jr. High:
Not making it on the cheerleading team,
Having to do stair laps in p.e.,
Getting detention for chewing gum...again.
One exciting winter day
we gave your little brothers straws
and challenged them to see who could
suck up the most snow.
Then we just stood back and watched and laughed.
You had such a crappy situation,
yet you rose above it like a champ
and that makes me smile.
You finished school
cleaned yourself up
got serious about life,
and were learning to be a nurse!
I am SO proud of you.
I always knew you had it in you
to rise above and prove them wrong,
the ones who said you would be nothing.
You can be somebody.
You believed it.
And you were somebody.
Somebody special.
You were a free spirited
headstrong
independent
passionate
beautiful
loved
child of God.
I will look out my bedroom window tonight
and see an abandoned yellow house,
and I'll remember the day we first met,
staring curiously at each other
from adjoining back yards.
And then I'll say a prayer
and hope to God that one glorious day
....we will meet again.
You will become my inspiration,
Heather Ann Poore.
My life is changed forever.
Heather Ann: 1993 - 2011
"Everyone is but a breath, even those who seem secure." Psalm 39:5
Death Cab for Cutie
The Decemberists
The Hush Sound
Everfound
John Mark McMillan
Copeland
Children 18:3
Bradley Hathaway
Melody Gardot
Needtobreathe
Nickel Creek
Peter said to Jesus, "Lord it is good for us to be here. If you wish, I will put up three shelters -- one for You, one for Moses, and one for Elijah." While he was still speaking, a bright cloud covered them, and a voice from the cloud said, "This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased. Listen to him!" When the disciples heard this, they fell facedown to the ground, terrified. Matthew 17:4-6
The voice of the Lord sends people to the ground.
Would that I might fall on my face now and then.
I know this is a homeschool graduation ceremony. Clearly, I’m not walking into a gym wearing a blue graduation gown marching to the beat of pomp and circumstance with 70 other classmates. This ceremony, held in a church, with lots of speeches and special music and a video presentation cries “homeschooled.” But, truth is, I’ve only been homeschooled for two years. 11 substantial years of my education were provided by the Bushnell-prairie city public school. And although I have loved every minute of being homeschooled, deep down in my heart, I’m a public school kid. There would be something terribly wrong if this entire ceremony concluded without any acknowledgment of my public school years. I spent the end of my high school days at home, but I never did quite fit the homeschool stigma. I grew up playing capture the flag, waiting at bus stops, taking field trips to wild life prairie park, eating my lunch in a cafeteria, decorating home-made valentine boxes, saving up money for the penny carnival, dreading the yearly physical fitness test, marching with the band in the homecoming parade, coming up with excuses for why I was late again, engaging teachers in endless conversation to waste class time, and losing sleep over the pressure of the science fair. In these past two years I’ve learned about deaf culture, why it is so incredibly important that I know every detail of the beginnings of American history, and how to extract a DNA strand from an onion -- which is all very fascinating and has surely prepared me for college. But, it must be noted that Mrs. Fuller taught me how sometimes a C makes the K sound and sometimes it makes the S sound. Mrs. Simmons taught me that the short hand on a clock tells what hour it is and the longer hand tells the minute. Mrs. Kramer introduced me to the wonder of the haiku poem. And Mrs. Young taught me how to find the average of a set of numbers. Mrs. Holland first introduced me to the cell. And, Mr. Gilbert taught me of the beauty of Robert Frost and his poetry. Mrs. Harrison taught me of Aphrodite, the goddess of love, and Hermes, the messenger god. Ms. Hannam taught me my very first notes on a trumpet. And then there was the lovely Miss Torrence, who taught me how to use an oven and thread a sewing machine! And Mr. Prentice, who taught me things I never needed to know about jigsaws and sanders and drafting. I could go on and on. My years at B-PC were sometimes great and sometimes difficult. I had my complaints, just like everyone else. But when it comes down to it, those schools are a huge part of why I am the person I am. And if nothing else, they taught me social skills like no other. So, even though this is technically a homeschool graduation, it must be understood that the girl who is graduating cherishes every year she spent in public school. I wouldn’t take it back for anything. So here’s to Bushnell. Here’s to watching track meets in the rain and selling over-priced pizzas from a catalog. Thank you, B-PC Schools. Thank you for being a part of me.
Here is the speech I gave at my graduation yesterday.
Enjoy.
Graduations are funny things. Throughout my 17 years of living, this is what I have observed about the peculiar thing we like to call graduating:
Some kids have kindergarten graduation. Not that I’ve ever seen one or been invited to one or heard of one taking place – but they happen a lot on TV. I suppose the purpose for such graduations is to celebrate a child’s first big accomplishment in life. After all, they probably learned how to tie their shoes, count to 100, and recite their address and phone number all in the past year. I figure kindergarten graduation is also an attempt to convince the kids that school is not that lame, since they’ll be doing it for the next 12 years of their lives. Parties and cake and wearing nice dresses tend to make unexciting things seem a little more hopeful.
There’s DARE graduation – which is kind of a sorry attempt at mixing a celebration of finishing elementary school with a hope that these kids will never touch drugs or alcohol in their lives. The thing is: all fifth graders are gung ho about being drug free. None of those kids are like…well this DARE thing is a nice idea, but I’m really just not ready to make the commitment in my life to not do drugs. So it turns into a pretty inspirational ceremony. And that’s fifth grade.
Then there’s 8th grade graduation. To be quite honest, I’m not really sure what the point of that one is. At my eight grade graduation we did our hair up all nice and then wore jeans and our 8th grade t-shirts to sit on the floor in the gym and eat pizza off of paper plates while listening to crappy music. And then a bunch of people took our pictures, we shook the principals hand, got a piece of paper saying we survived Jr. High, and then we went outside and released balloons into the open sky, as if graduating 8th grade was some sort of super freeing, sentimental experience. I never really understood it. Like I said, graduations are funny things.
I guess this leaves us with high school graduation. It’s a lot harder to define something when you’re currently experiencing it. But, from my observations over the last 17 years, high school graduation seems to be the most significant of the graduations. Because, hey, for the last 13 years of my life I’ve been working toward this one goal. And now it’s here. I did it, right? I learned my ABC’s and I can find the square root of 144, I know that “I” comes before “e” except after “c”, and I know that the proper term is “Native American” not “Indian”.
I guess I’m not really sure what a graduation speech is supposed to consist of. I’ve never given one before. There are probably rules or guidelines or something. The problem is, most of the graduation speeches I’ve heard have been at public school, in which the valedictorian addresses his fellow classmates as if he’s got the whole world figured out, and encourages them to stay strong and pursue their dreams and never give up. And then he shares some school memories and quotes somebody who has something profound to say about growing up and moving on. I guess I could try to give you advice about life, but that would seem kind of out of place. You guys aren’t the ones graduating. You should be the ones giving me advice. You should all be up here telling me to follow my dreams. Yet somehow I got stuck with this speech giving thing. So I’m kind of just making it up as I go. I’m not going to follow any guidelines or rules. I’m not much for traditionalism, as you probably already know.
There’s something I would like to talk about. It’s something I’ve wanted to say for a long time, but I’ve never really had a platform to say it on. It doesn’t necessarily pertain to graduation a lot, but let’s act like it does. Because I don’t get the chance to make speeches a lot, so when else am I supposed to share the depths of my heart with a captive audience? So here it is: I love my family. Not like…”Yeah, love you too” empty words kind of stuff. Not like I love you because you raised me and fed and me and picked me up from school. I’m talkin’ for real for real. I Love my family. I don’t think I could possibly put into words how absolutely blessed I am to have the family I have. They are really way more than I could have ever asked for or deserved. I guess it is natural that the older we get, the more people we meet. And I’ve been noticing recently that the more people I meet, the more I realize how rare my family is. The normal family now…is pretty broken. And even the ones that are not broken do not communicate with each other well or inquire about each other’s lives or get involved in matters of the heart. The more people I meet, the more stories I hear – stories about how mom and dad yell at each other all the time, or about spending every other weekend with the other parent even though it’s a terribly hostile environment, stories about how my parents don’t care how late I get home or what I’m doing, my house is just the place I eat and sleep. This is normalcy. There are kids who have never sat down with their families and cried about the woes of life, or sat in the “hot seat” in the living room and been prayed for before a big event , or spent an evening playing clue and poker with their parents.. I listen to the stories and I don’t understand….why I got this family? I know God gave them to me for a reason. But sometimes I get to asking myself…why me? Maybe I’ll never know that. Or maybe it will all make sense someday. But either way, all I can do now is just be thankful. Maybe you guys don’t really understand. Maybe you’re thinking, “yeah yeah, typical obligatory thank you, I have the best family ever part of the speech.” But, see, you don’t understand. And I’m not here to brag about how awesome my life is and how everyone else got jipped. I just feel like it needs to be acknowledged. My parents need to be acknowledged. My siblings need to be acknowledged. Because more than anything else, they are the reason I am the person I am.
Mom and Dad,
Somehow, you’ve made parenting seem like a piece of cake. I don’t really understand how you did it – how you parented SO well. How do I say this without sounding like every other child who says this but doesn’t really mean it? You are the best parents I could have asked for. You are more than I could have asked for. I know one thing for sure, God gave you guys the gift of parenting. Your marriage is one of the most beautiful ones I have ever seen. There aren’t very many kids who can say without a doubt that their parents are madly in love with each other. But I can. You guys were meant for each other. The way you respect each other and love each other and communicate with each other is incredible. The way you always keep God at the center of your relationship is the best gift a child could be given. I could go on and on giving reasons why you guys have succeeded completely at being parents, but there are more people who must be addressed.
To my Siblings, Lindsey, Colin, and Megan,
You rock. I know we’re siblings and we’re not supposed to get along that well or whatever…but I’m really glad we do. I’m really glad my siblings are the best friends I’ve ever had. I’m glad we watch movies together and play Frisbee and make music incredible music videos. I’m glad we encourage each other and support each other spiritually as well. I am the most myself when I am around you guys. Growing up, I’ve watched each of you graduate. I’ve mixed the punch at your parties and picked up the balloons from hyvee. I’ve taken pictures of each of you with your graduation cake and made lists of who gave what gift, so that the proper thank you notes could be sent. It feels so surreal…standing up here, realizing that it is FINALLY my turn. It’s pretty crazy really. I’m the last one. We did it guys. We dun’ growed up. YOU did it, mom and dad. You win the prize. Best parents ever. Best teachers. Best confidants. Best encouragers. Best board game players. Best advice-givers. Best at making sure your kids know that they are loved. And just for the record….We love you too.
Now, I don’t want this to start sounding like I’m dying or something. That’s the problem with graduation speeches. I’m just graduating high school, I’m not getting married or accepting a promotion or sharing my death wishes. This is just another step in this crazy thing we call life. Another. Incredible. Step.
And how could I move even one step forward without acknowledging the entire reason I live, move and breathe. The entire reason that I have made it through every struggle I have had. The entire reason I get out of bed in the morning with a smile on my face, and the reason I have hope for the days to come. God. What would I be without him? I don’t even want to think about it. By some blessed miracle God found me around the age of twelve. That is when I gave my life to him. And quite honestly, I’ve been falling in love with him ever since. God is working. He is moving and breathing life into those who are empty. My life is because of God. And I don’t deserve any of it. But miraculously, I, the worst of sinners, have been made new by the saving grace of Jesus Christ. He is my redemption. He is my life and my joy and his plans are what I am clinging to for as long as I live.
I’m not stupid though. I know I will fall. I know life is a roller coaster. I know that even though today is good, tomorrow could very well be devastating. But there is something in me. SomeONE in me. Who gives me hope for the brighter days. My soul rejoices with a never-ending joy….because Jesus. Died. For me. And If that’s not worth rejoicing over, I don’t know what is.
Now this is the part of the speech where I tell you what I’m going to do with the rest of my life. Which is kind of funny, because I have no clue. I know I want to follow God. I know I’m planning on going to college and perhaps eventually getting married and maybe sometime in their acquiring some sort of job that pays money. How’s that for a 4-year plan? Here’s something solid. I’m going to Western Illinois University next year. Here’s something less solid. I’m majoring in Psychology and minoring in….art or theater or possibly sign language or journalism. Want to know how I feel about graduating? Excited. Scared. Joyful. Overwhelmed. Anxious. Hopeful. ….But I figure if I just stood up here and said, Yeah! Graduating is awesome and I’m super ready to jump right into this living on my own thing!!....I wouldn’t be able to fool any of you. I also figure there would be something slightly wrong if I wasn’t scared at all. After all…I’m just a kid. Apparently not for much longer. It seems that I have 17 more days of being able to say that. So I’ll be sure to say it again. I’m just a kid. I’m going to Africa this summer. I’m going to college next year. It’s super crazy, I think. But let’s do it. God is in control.
So there it is. A graduation speech. It was pretty all over the place, I know. But I had a lot of random things I wanted to address. I guess that’s what you get when you come to the graduation of a 17 year old-indie-hippie-slightly crazy-Jesus-loving-homeschooler. Just a lot of really real thoughts. And in all the other speeches I’ve heard, this is the part where they make their long list of thank you’s. First is family, then friends, teachers, and other random people who didn’t quite fit into a category. I think in the guidelines for all normal graduation speeches, that’s how it goes. But I believe it’s already been established that I’m not much for normalcy. And I can’t even begin to fathom trying to make a list of every person who deserves to be thanked in my life. So just know…that I have a thankful heart. I am utterly thankful to any and every person who has sacrificed any of their time to influence me and mold me into the person I am today. So this is how I’m gonna do it: If you’re here right now, thank you. Thank you for coming and listening to me ramble on. Thank you for actually caring enough to come. And if you’re here, there’s probably a good chance you deserve to be thanked for a mountain of other things too. So just take my word for it….I am truly thankful. And have some cake and punch in a few minutes to celebrate how thankful I am for your existence. And I do need to say this: Thank you, Mom, for teaching me. And anyone who is not here who deserves to be thanked….Well I guess they’ll never really know the difference anyway.
I’m going to close by introducing the next song. This is a song that I have had picked out since I was little as the song I wanted sung at my graduation. So I asked my cousin Angie, with her beautiful voice, to sing it for me. It is called Follow Love. Listen to the words. Because in this song, love doesn’t just mean love. God is love. This is a song about following God wherever he directs me. This is a song about jumping, taking a leap of faith, walking away from the safe, comfortable life I’ve always known….and following God….wherever his abundant Love leads me.
Monday, May 2, 2011
I think I probably love my own writing more than anyone else.
Which is kind of backwards, I know.
An artist is supposed to be his own worst critic, apparently.
But I really enjoy reading my posts over and over again.
I figure God gave me a talent for writing.
Possibly a gift.
So why not appreciate it?
Maybe this is terribly vain of me.
My apologies if it is.
Your love is like coffee.
Or, rather, like a coffee shop.
Like one of those wannabe
indie-hippie-nonconformist-chicks
who wears a knit hat
and worn, faded mocassins,
spending her afternoons reading
fine poetry at the cafe,
listening to bands that
no one has ever heard of --
because they just suck that much,
and sipping some sort of hot, over-priced
beverage with mediocre flavor.
But she doesn't drink coffee,
At least, not straight up.
She drinks spiced cider
or some sort of fancy thing
with "chai" in the title.
She drinks strawberry italian soda,
and some days,
when her lack of a job
fails to support her coffee shop habits,
she drinks luke warm water
from a red plastic cup.
She doesn't drink coffee
because she doesn't like coffee.
She doesn't like coffee
because it's so bitter, overpowering,
and a bit too sophisticated for her tastes.
So she spends her afternoons at coffee shops
immersing herself in the smell of the steamy, black beverage,
breathing in the environment, the vibe, the aura,
and occassionally sipping something with
a hint of that bitterness in it --
so that she doesn't feel like such a faker.
Your love, it seems, is like that girl.
Life aimlessly submerged in the delectable aura --
yet never fully abandoned
to the Source of it all.
The story goes something like this:
I went to a youth conference last weekend in St. Louis called Dare2Share. I really didn't know much about it before I went. All I knew was that it included a road trip and a weekend away, and that is just what I felt like I needed. So I got invited by the youth pastor at church and went with him, his wife, and three other girls who I really didn't know that well. I knew it was a conference centered on evangelism -- you know, sharing the gospel with people, straight up? I figured I was pretty well versed in this subject already, having grown up in the church and such. But, like I said, I was desperately looking forward to that weekend away.
Why was I so looking forward to it, might you ask? Well, life was just getting uber overwhelming at the home base. Between divorces and police interviews and people confiding in me about things way beyond my maturity level....I was longing for an escape.
But before I went, I prayed. I know it's easy to get super pumped up about God during retreats like this. Conferences, camps, concerts, revivals: they give us what I like to call a God high -- that temporary enthusiasm about the amazingness of Jesus that makes you want to jump around and shout about it to everyone you know. Now I don't think there's anything particularly wrong with God highs. But the thing is, like every high, they are temporary. They fade away within a few days. And then you're back where you started. And then what was the point of all of that? What was the point of the concert, conference, camp, etc., if it was only going to affect me for a few days? I've had my fair share of God-highs in life. And they've been totally awesome. But I was feeling exhausted and burdened last weekend, and I found myself saying to God something like this:
I don't really want a God-high this time. I don't want something this is just going to fade away in a couple of days. I want to get something out of this weekend. I want to be moved. I want to be changed. I want to find peace. I have no idea what you have in store for me at this conference. But, if at all possible, Lord, could you please fill me with some sort of peace that just destroys all of my burdens and lasts? Because, that's what I need. I don't need to jump up and down for a few days and get all emotional about it. I just. Need. Peace.
Dear friend, I believe strongly in the power of prayer. I believe God responds when his children get passionate and real about things. I've experienced God in that way time after time.
You know, there's something about being surrounded by 6,000 other people your age who are worshiping the same God you live for, that just takes your breath away. There's something about a room filled with so much passion for the gospel of Christ that just brings a sense of contentment about you.
Last weekend I got a refreshing reminder of the bigger picture. The bigger purpose. The reason we're here. God took my hand and calmed me. He gave me three beautiful girls to get to know and share my story with. He showed me how incredibly powerful he is and how urgent his message is. He introduced me to new people. He moved me through speakers who had their stuff together.
I got fired up about God last weekend, I did. But, naturally, it faded.
But I got something else in that arena in the middle of St. Louis.
Peace.
The peace that surpasses all understanding.
I can't tell you specifically where it came from or how I got it.
It wasn't one specific thing someone said or a specific amazing song we sang.
It wasn't this relationship that was formed or that time I spent in prayer.
It was the weekend. The conference. The experience. The getaway.
It was GOD.
...and as I sat on the floor of the church we would be sleeping at on Friday night, I mindlessly flipped through my bible. And then, this:
“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” Matthew 11:28-30
All throughout the weekend this line from a movie was constantly playing through my head. Over and over.
"What's the point of all this if you're not going to let it change you."
And so I grew up in a world of humans
Where they told me this lie
And like a fool, I believed it.
They tell it to everyone.
Everyone tells it to everyone else.
And it shapes and forms our lives
Into everything they say it is supposed to be.
So many different ways
They communicate this lie.
Sometimes, it goes something like this:
"If you're not in love, you're worthless."
Or this:
"Being in love is what we were created for.
You will never truly be alive until you are in love."
The thing about love is that I am really quite fond of it. It would seem unnatural to have a disliking for it.
I think love in its most raw form is the most beautiful, breath-taking gesture in existence.
But then there's this:
"If someone loves you and then stops loving you, you become worthless, powerless, and naked."
Love is great. Perhaps I love it.
But these lies we keep buying
...they are a load of crap.
Because when we believe that lie long enough
It begins to create a hole inside of us --
A hole that we do not allow to be filled
By anything but sappy, touchy-feely, passionate in-love-ness.
And then that hole starts growing
And the longer we go without being in love,
The less we feel like a worthy member of society.
The longer we go without being in love,
The bigger the hole grows,
The more fervently we search for love,
The crappier we feel about being single,
The lower our standard becomes for a mate,
The less secure we feel in ourselves,
...the bigger the hole grows.
"If you're not in love, you're as good as dead."
"If you're not in love, you had better be looking for love."
"If you're not in love, then why are you here?"
Hey.
HEY.
Don't buy that crap.
You are independent and beautiful.
You are loved and you have a purpose.
You are worthy all on your own.
So shine in your singleness.
Fill that hole with family and friends and
Sunny days and soft melodies.
"So maybe there's a war, inside of me and for me and maybe my heart is the opposite of small. Maybe it's the opposite of cheap and empty and alone. Maybe it's sacred and enormous and wild." (Jamie Tworkowski)
Be free.
...and so I grew up in a world of humans
where they told me this lie.
Don't be a fool.
Never believe it.
"And so we know and rely on the love God has for us. God is love.Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in them." --1 John 4:16
Several years ago during that junior high/early high school stage of life I got really into this awesome new organization calledTo Write Love On Her Arms.(twloha) Their mission is to reach out to people struggling with depression, self-injury, addiction and suicide. I didn't really know of anyone who was dealing with those issues at the time. At least, I didn't think I did. But it was a pretty cool, God-loving organization that made rad t-shirts. So I went for it, bought the sweet merchandise and visited their booth at Cornerstone. Then, pretty quickly, it got hip. Random preppy people were wearing their t-shirts and stuff -- people who, I assumed, probably didn't even know what the organization stood for. So, being the nonconformist that I am, I instantly dropped my twloha following.
Not long after my abandonment of twloha, I found myself to be struggling with depression. Legit depression, man. It's weird...how that timing worked out. Because during my time of darkest depression, I kind of forgot that twloha was there for people like me. I kind of forgot that there were tons of other normal people out there who were struggling with the same things I was. I kind of convinced myself that besides my mom and sisters and stuff, I was alone in this whole thing. Like...I was abnormal. Flawed. Possibly crazy.
The thing about depression is that there is a stigma attached to it. There is something about it that makes us feel ashamed of our pain. There's something about it that makes us afraid to tell others what we are going through.
For a long time when I would go to camp, I would hide the little white pill labeled "Effexor" in my hand and then secretly slide it into my mouth, because I didn't want anyone to see me and ask what I was taking medicine for. I was so ashamed of my depression. I thought people would judge me for it and look at me completely differently once they realized that the bubbly, spunky MaryBeth they knew was depressed.
I want to tell you something, dear heart. You are not alone.
I want to introduce you to a whole world of people who understand what you are going through and want to help you through it.
I wish someone would have reminded me of To Write Love on Her Arms when I was spending my days in bed and my nights in tears.
Recently, I've reconnected with twloha. Just reading their vision statement gives me hope and lifts me up on those occasional crappy days.
Soak this in:
-121 million people worldwide suffer from depression. (World Health Organization)
- 18 million of these cases are happening in the United States. (The National Institute of Mental Health)
- Between 20% and 50% of children and teens struggling with depression have a family history of this struggle and the offspring of depressed parents are more than three times as likely to suffer from depression. (U.S. Surgeon General's Survey, 1999)
- Depression often co-occurs with anxiety disorders and substance abuse, with 30 percent of teens with depression also developing a substance abuse problem. (NIMH)
- 2/3 of those suffering from depression never seek treatment. Untreated depression is the number one cause of suicide, and suicide is the third leading cause of death among teenagers. (NIMH)
There is hope for you yet.
Whether you are dealing with thoughts of suicide or just get tired of those occasional crappy days, we are here for you. I am here for you. To Write Love On Her Arms is here for you.
You don't have to live like this.
You are not a mistake.
Depression is extremely treatable.
You need to know that your life matters.
You need to know that you are more loved than you can imagine.
You need to know that rescue is possible and freedom is within reach.
You need to know that this is not the end of your story.
You have a purpose.
You are here for a reason.
You were created for more than this.
Don't settle for a mediocre existence.
You can thrive.
Hey there, Sad Eyes.
Lift your head.
You are not alone. You are not alone.
Wake up, oh sleeper, Rise from the dead, And Christ will shine on you. --Ephesians 5:14
