Monday Link from a Link
I'm in my normal Monday mode. Modays are internet day for me - not that I don't get online through the rest of the week - but Mondays I have a routine of reading certain blogs and and getting my Baby Blues comic strip and Dork Tower comic fix for the week.
A link from a link today brought me to a group called
To Write Love On Her Arms
Needless to say, it's a wierd name for an organization, though I had a hint what it might be about.
I checked out their vision page and kind of skimmed it ('cause it's way too stinking long) - but about halfway down the page is this:
Story is where I'm at. So I start it and I can't believe this story - except I DO believe it, and I know it's true, and, worse, it's not just her story - but it's the story of too many girls.
Here's an excerpt that just broke my heart:
Sunday night is church and many gather after the service to pray for Renee, this her last night before entering rehab. Some are strangers but all are friends tonight. The prayers move from broken to bold, all encouraging. We're talking to God but I think as much, we're talking to her, telling her she's loved, saying she does not go alone. One among us knows her best. Ryan sits in the corner strumming an acoustic guitar, singing songs she's inspired.
After church our house fills with friends, there for a few more moments before goodbye. Everyone has some gift for her, some note or hug or piece of encouragement. She pulls me aside and tells me she would like to give me something. I smile surprised, wondering what it could be. We walk through the crowded living room, to the garage and her stuff.
She hands me her last razor blade, tells me it is the one she used to cut her arm and her last lines of cocaine five nights before. She's had it with her ever since, shares that tonight will be the hardest night and she shouldn't have it. I hold it carefully, thank her and know instantly that this moment, this gift, will stay with me. It hits me to wonder if this great feeling is what Christ knows when we surrender our broken hearts, when we trade death for life.
I'll forever hold that image of the razor blade when I think of handing over to Jesus even the sin, even the brokenness and the hurt and the loss in my life.
Running To Stand Still
And so she woke up
A link from a link today brought me to a group called
To Write Love On Her Arms
Needless to say, it's a wierd name for an organization, though I had a hint what it might be about.
I checked out their vision page and kind of skimmed it ('cause it's way too stinking long) - but about halfway down the page is this:
Story is where I'm at. So I start it and I can't believe this story - except I DO believe it, and I know it's true, and, worse, it's not just her story - but it's the story of too many girls.
Here's an excerpt that just broke my heart:
Sunday night is church and many gather after the service to pray for Renee, this her last night before entering rehab. Some are strangers but all are friends tonight. The prayers move from broken to bold, all encouraging. We're talking to God but I think as much, we're talking to her, telling her she's loved, saying she does not go alone. One among us knows her best. Ryan sits in the corner strumming an acoustic guitar, singing songs she's inspired.
After church our house fills with friends, there for a few more moments before goodbye. Everyone has some gift for her, some note or hug or piece of encouragement. She pulls me aside and tells me she would like to give me something. I smile surprised, wondering what it could be. We walk through the crowded living room, to the garage and her stuff.
She hands me her last razor blade, tells me it is the one she used to cut her arm and her last lines of cocaine five nights before. She's had it with her ever since, shares that tonight will be the hardest night and she shouldn't have it. I hold it carefully, thank her and know instantly that this moment, this gift, will stay with me. It hits me to wonder if this great feeling is what Christ knows when we surrender our broken hearts, when we trade death for life.
I'll forever hold that image of the razor blade when I think of handing over to Jesus even the sin, even the brokenness and the hurt and the loss in my life.
So, yeah, read it for yourself...
Running To Stand Still
U2 The Joshua Tree
And so she woke up
Woke up from where she was lyin' still.
Said I gotta do something
About where we're goin'.
Step on a fast train
Step out of the driving rain, maybe
Run from the darkness in the night.
Singing ah, ah la la la de day
Ah la la la de day.
Sweet the sin, bitter the taste in my mouth.
I see seven towers, but I only see one way out.
You gotta cry without weeping, talk without speaking
Scream without raising your voice.
You know I took the poison, from the poison stream
Then I floated out of here, singing
Ah la la la de day
Ah la la la de day.
She walks through the streets
With her eyes painted red
Under black belly of cloud in the rain.
In through a doorway
She brings me white golden pearls
Stolen from the sea.
She is ragin'
She is ragin'
And the storm blows up in her eyes.
She will suffer the needle chill
She's running to stand still.
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