Jesus, by giving His perfect life as a payment for ours, so we may live eternally with Him in heaven, showed the true meaning of sacrifice and love. Now we as Christians must show the world the love we have been given, no matter the opposition we face. We must all be Lions of God. Jesus said, "I am the Way, and the Truth, and the Life. No one comes to Father except through Me." We can be the first glimpse of light, leading our peers, our family members, our enemies towards the true Light.

Friday, May 20, 2011

Something Taken out of my Hands…

The beginning, turned ending, turned beginning. A true story.

By Arial LionessofGod

 

She was the beginning to all this, you could say. Sure, I had been on facebook and my blogs for a long time before she came along. And I had talked to and I guess helped a few, but she was the 1st who I felt pulled to. And even now I can't help but look back and wonder how God knew exactly what I needed but did not want. It is easily the hardest lesson I have had to learn recently. And it is one I will recall for the rest of my life. Who comes into our lives, we are given for only a short while, and then they move on, and it is His Turn to work in them. Even if that short while is merely 2 hours on facebook chat.

 

Her name was Morgan Cotton. I don't know how old she is, a year older than me I'd guess, since she's still in school. Presumably fake black hair, blue eyes, a silver hoop hanging from a thin, faded lip belonging to a pale and emotionless face - someone who looked like one I might write about in one of my novels. She lives in New Zealand, and dreamt of coming here to the US to study art and things like that in New York. She had goals, hopes, things followed by ' :) ' and ' <3 ' in the chat message box.

 

But there were shadows in her past, I knew that simply because of how she had come to send me a friend request... To Write Love on her Arms is an outreach for anyone troubled, and she was no exception. The too big sweatshirt she wore in her profile picture, stamped in big white letters was the word 'LOVE', a piece that To Write Love on her Arms sells, was all the more proof to her affiliation with their mission to save the lost. And though one mustn't judge by appearances alone, she wasn't someone like me, whose only purpose on the site was to offer support. She was the one who needed it.

 

Even as we talked, mostly about the nonsense of fellow teen drama and the promise of simplicity if we let all that go as we matured and grew in confidence and standing with the world, I knew there was only so much beating around the bush that could be done before I had to ask, "What made you send me that request?" and, even now I smile with a hint of sadness that her reply had been "You sounded like you would care...You said you did. No one ever really cares."

 

I'm sure at least one of you could guess what I said. God cares. She, like so many, was afraid of being unworthy of this grace we cleave to, and had never thought of being accepted into His Love as being attainable for someone 'like her'. As I continued to tell her of her beauty and of her purpose, I learned more and more of the demons she battled, things that haunt in scars and bruises, nightmares, and thoughts better left unthought. In a flash of clicking keys, I asked her if I might pray for her. This was my first time, only this past January, breaching that level of spirituality and personal nature with someone I had never met in person. But - she had said this clearly -  I seemed like I would care. And care I did.

 

I would very much like to tell you that she can be found underneath my 'friends' list. I'd love to say that we speak regularly and that she is now a strong believer and has shed the 'habits' of her past... Believe me, I've shed my fair share of tears over that possibility that never came to be. What happened that night in fullness I will never know. We prayed, we exchanged our music interests and blog sites, we talked for hours, as if we had known each other for years, and then as she said goodbye I knew in my spirit as I hit the enter button, replying 'Ok, talk soon :)' that she meant forever. The green dot of her online presence disappeared just after she received the message, as did her profile from my screen. Frantic - thinking the worst, that perhaps the idea of heaven had been twisted into an immediate escape from this world, I searched for her and came up fruitless. In a desperate attempt to see if she had deleted her facebook, or if mine had a glitch, I logged into my father's facebook account, only to see she was very much okay, it was only me that could not find her.

 

I had been blocked.

 

Can you imagine what I thought? What had I done wrong? The first person I had prayed for in hopes of her being Saved had BLOCKED me?? Why would God have me share my heart with this girl if she was to only block me?

 

And then, when I recalled she had a blog, I knew that she could not hide that from me.

I found these words typed onto a picture of a girl sitting on a cliff. "You saved me when no one was left. Thank you Arial." posted an hour before she had signed off. This only added to my uncertainty of why she had felt the need to literally block me from ever speaking to her again.

 

What must have happened?

 

My mother, whose voice I find is often an echo of God's, reminded me as I told her this tragic story, unable to remain calm, of seeds. Maybe the idea of an immediate need for change, responsibility for her actions and emotions, had been too much - but she had already prayed. And the thought of His Vastness was too much - but again, she had prayed His Presence into her heart, and once in us, He will not leave.

 

In the comfort of seeing my insignificance in this greater picture, of the Power He has, and her inability to ever 'block' Him, I was mercifully able to sleep that night, something only minutes before had seemed impossible. I know that one day, the Bible verses I shared, and the words I personally promised and the promises He already made, the songs I had posted to her profile, and the hopeful messages they lulled, will resurface.

 

I still go to her blog every now and then, and sadly nothing has changed yet, there is much pain and brokenness within the quotes and pictures she has posted since then, but I smile at one of them. "There is Hope." It says, a pink bow wrapped around a scarred wrist lies in the back ground. When she finds this hope for herself, when she submits to His Presence within her, when His Light breaks through - I will bow my head in awe that that one joyous turned seemingly tragic night was the first of many equally powerful nights to follow, for both Morgan and myself, and that maybe one day, whether it is five or fifteen or fifty years from now, she might lift the 'block' she has placed over God, and I hope over me.

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