She heard his footsteps echoing down the corridor. She kept her head down. What she didn’t want at the moment was one of the guards tormenting her. The footsteps stopped in front of the cell. When there was only silence, she looked up. He was looking at her through the bars. She hadn’t ever seen this man before. There was no way he was one of her guards. The kindness in his face hid any distinct features he had. The last time she could remember seeing kindness like that was, well…

He finally spoke. “Why are you here?” His voice was soft, not at all accusing. She lowered her head but kept her eyes fixed on his.

“I, I messed up. I didn’t want to come here. But I couldn’t be good enough.” A tear ran down her face. She begged him with her eyes to believe her story. The only thing she couldn’t understand was why she wanted this stranger to believe her. For all she knew he could be a spy. Would he leave her after she had admitted the truth?

“Do you want out of this place?” He asked as he looked around at the peeling paint and stains on the floor. He turned his gaze back to her face. It took her a moment to plant the question firmly in her mind. Did she want out? Wasn’t that the dream that haunted her for so long? Isn’t that the only dream she had since being there?

“Oh yes, I don’t want to stay here.” Almost without hope, she watched to see what he would do. He slowly reached into a pocket. She heard the clink of metal. The sound with its memories almost paralyzed her. He brought his hand back out of his pocket. Something glinted inside of his hand. His hand went for the lock between them. The key slid into place. She held her breath, barely hoping. With a small click and rasping sound, there wasn’t any bars separating the two anymore.

He held out his hand. “Come with me please.” She slowly stretched out her hand and placed it in his.

“What if,’ she looked fearfully around. ‘What if they find us before we can leave?”

He stopped and looked her directly in the eye. “If you stay close to me, they can’t harm you.” Relief washed over. She moved closer to him. It had been that long since she was brought there that she didn’t know the way out.

They moved slowly down the passageway. Her legs trembled as they tried to support her body. Then there was the unmistakable sound of stomping. She knew that sound. He held her hand tighter as a guard came directly at them. The guard opened his mouth to degrade her. His look turned to terror as he recognized the man. Without a word, he pushed past the two. When the sound faded away, she looked up at the man. Who was he? She had never known anyone who wasn’t afraid of the guards.

Then she heard a sound. It was a gentle, soft noise. He was laughing. Who was this kind man who laughed at giants?

~ Hope


Potatoes and Lives



I have a potato. For the sake of extreme creativity I will call it Potato A. If I take this potato and cut a big slice off of the side, I now have only a part of a potato. It’s very easy to see what happened.

But if I take another potato out, (let’s call him Potato B) and go outside. Then I find a rock. I take Potato B and rub it against the rock. At first you can’t see much, maybe just a little scraped skin. I don’t do this just once though, I do it again and again. Soon this potato is as damaged as Potato A.

The problem is that Potato B will have a harder time figuring out what happened.

Who are you?

Because this isn’t just about potatoes, it’s about people.

It’s about you. Are you broken? Wounded? Hurting?

Who are you?

Were you damaged like Potato A? Did your wound come in big blows? Maybe you were abused? Were you abandoned? You can look at your life and say, “This is where the knife came down.”

You are hurting. You have a reason to hurt. You were wounded.

But what if you weren’t hurt like that?

What if you can’t remember big traumas in your life?

Then you can relate to Potato B.

Maybe it was a lot of little things.

A friend’s rejection

An angry parent

Cutting remarks



Each time things like that happen, it scrapes away at us until we are badly damaged. The problem is that it’s harder to believe you were hurt. Somehow we think life should be okay.

Whether you are Potato A or Potato B, you are hurting.

I don’t know what happened.

But I do know this. You did not deserve that. You were not hurt because it was your fault. There was someone that already took that hurt for you. You don’t deserve the hurt. You are worth freedom. You are worth being loved. I want healing for you. Even more, He wants healing for you.

Will you let God heal you?

He is good.

He can put the pieces back together.

~ Your sister, Hope

The System (Part I)

The System

It sits empty all week long. Maybe an evening a week it’s visited and every Sunday morning it’s full. It’s where so many good things happen. People get married, people become friends, grow together and learn, they pour their hearts out to each other and cry together. Sad things happen too. Like funerals. They bury the dead in a plot of land beside it and mark the deceased with a stone to remember them by.

It’s more then a building, it’s like a system and it’s supposed to work for everyone.

I started off as a regular Sunday school kid. I learned all the songs, memorized the verses and earned my stickers just like everyone else. Then also just like everyone else I “gave my heart to Jesus” at just the prime age and was baptized at exactly the right time. I never skipped communion, I rarely sat on the back pew and I even kept notes of the sermons.

But it seems like I blinked and missed something important. I failed the system. But to me it seems like the system failed me.

I hate church, it makes me bleed.

It hurts like hell.

But what really happened? What is reality? I have more questions then I have life to find answers for. At this rate I’ll die with them or they will kill me.