Soap for Jesus

I have a slight problem. During my time on the internet, after I started to drift away from OYAN, I became more and more popularly accessible through chat. Now, I love chat. Don't get me wrong. I love all my people that want to talk to me, that choose to talk to me, and that put up with me. I love the variety of conversations, the happy chatter, the many people I can talk to at once. One of the most important things in life to me is my friends. Being there for people, listening and praying for them, trying to encourage them in their walk with the Lord. As far as I'm concerned, one of the greatest reasons the Lord put me on this planet is to bless the lives of others, and I really, really want to do that. Friends are more important to me than a lot of other things, and if I can put something selfish on one side to do that, then I will. But recently, as I get more involved with the blogging side and also with other internet sites, (and my emails), I find the pressure to chat beco

Hey guys, check this cut from my first chapter of a new novel - No-Win War. :D Critique away! No-Win War By Jane Johnson Chapter One “We’re at war with them, as far as I’m concerned,” I said, my voice flat. “Always have been, and always will be.” The two of them stared at me. I read faint disgust in their faces as they bowed their heads and backed out of my room. “Ole Habo. He just doesn’t have an inkling that times CAN change.” “No; he’s too stuck in that past of his. We’re a new generation, and things can be different. He’ll see, someday.” “What did you say?” I called after them, but they had moved beyond hearing range. With a weary sigh, I turned and shuffled back to my cosy leaves. The very fact they called me old signified that this new generation that I didn’t really know had lost respect for me. Why do they even bother coming to ask advice? All they do is mock at it, even though I know better than they, and then go and pass a contrary decision in that new fangled Parley-ant of t

I didn't write this song. It's Don Francisco's. But right now, it says what I want to say more perfectly than I could if I tried. When the weariness sets in - turn to God. When it seems easier to turn away; no matter the hurt - carry on in His strength. When the heart cries it can't do any more, take the next step forward in the supernatural almighty Hand of God.

Dear Daddy, I guess I'm kinda stuck on what to say. Because right now, what I'm seeing is a dual personality. I know Mommy said you were like this from the first, but I guess I never saw you like that. This is one of the most painful things I've ever tried to write. Because I know that you'll never see it; because I know Mom would hate it. I try to bottle up about you, because if my feelings don't align with everyone else's, they get misunderstood or condemned. They say that every little girl believes her Daddy is a knight in shining armour. I never was fool enough to believe that, and as our fights, verbal and nearly physical, worsened over the last three/four years, my respect for you went to zero. I remember telling my brother at thirteen that it was over, that your lives were your lives and we had to fight our own courses now. I became brokenly independent to some degree; Joseph started fighting. I'm watching these letters in which you're acc

I'm chatting away to Calleigh and Eagles, and fully conscious that in my blogspot there are four blogs sitting to be written, and many more splattered through my head. So I have a squash (drink!) and a chocolate bar beside my bed, ready to provide me energy, snuggle into my camo sleeping bag, pull up my fluffy raw quilt and get ready to type. Blogs I've wanted to do on singleness, my own story, an update, writing on something that happened the other day, modesty at home, Beauty and the Beast, songs from Enchanted, songs from Hairspray, my jewellery, examining what we look for in a partner for marriage - all crowding in on me. But you know, one of the worst things to do is to switch off that main light, to curl up underneath the warm fluffy quilt and put one's head on those two soft, comfy pillows...and then the internet connection dies...and you wait...... And yes. I fell asleep. Needed messages to write. Needed blog posts to do. I missed four chats with people I love talki

My introductory OYAN topic reads as follows: "I am Jane. Jane Johnson. The Brit. Some of you have never heard of me. Some of you have heard fact that is stranger than fiction. Some of you recognise me as legendary as Robin Hood. I hear fables and fantasies woven around my name that startle me. Now is your chance to see the real me. I have changed since I joined OYAN at 15 years of age. I am now approaching 19, and though I rarely visit (for now), I always feel like I'm coming home when I step onto a topic or see my friends gather round, or even occasionally step inside the chat. I never find a chat stay solemn for long when I'm around. I was a girl; now I am a young woman. I've gone through some fairly unusual trials and troubles, some brought on myself, others sent to bless. Yes, to bless, for God has taught me how to see His hand in the troubles. I am British - 3/8 English, 1/8 Irish and 1/2 Welsh. My real name is Sian, but I prefer Jane from my American friends, as

So I've had a lot of new experiences really, as God changes my life and turns it upside-down, inside-out. I've learned to babysit, day in and day out, moving from a six-month old to five and two year olds. For a girl who wants a goal of thirty children (God and husband willing :P), maybe that's not such a bad thing! I've learned to cope with mildly primitive living conditions, with raw emotions and trying to support other people simply by listening, to dealing with shifts and changes, to eating things I don't like, doing things I don't like. Well, this experience was a new one, and I call it my first in home education - the reproductive system. We'll skip a small part, for while the childish candour had my sister, friends and myself in hysterical laughter, it might not be suitable for younger ears. Jamie (5) holds up the doll that his mom uses to teach her classes. (Toni is a doula, and teaches other women.) Jamie: "This is my baby, Rosie. Why haven'

This is probably one of the shortest blog posts I've ever written, but it's a sudden thing that struck home to me while chatting to someone about their relationship. It's so awesome, I have to share it. I love someone. And it's a very hard situation for me. I'm used to crushing it and refusing to let it grow, because I'm afraid of getting hurt. Recently, I made the choice to let go of it. And I think I just saw the clearest exactly why I had to let go of controlling it. How many of us flee from pain? How many of us sing, "Take my life and let it be consecrated, Lord, to Thee," and actually mean, "Take my life but let it be; what I can cope with, give to me"? It's when you can't cope with the pain that God takes over. When He gives you the burden that sinks you into the ground and you surrender it back to Him, that's when He leads you into the most blessed path of closeness to Him. Oh yes, fleeing from the pain is often because we

I wear a purity ring. Wow. Big shock. Actually, to my circle, yes it is. They view it as an American crazy idea I've acquired, and view even more disapprovingly the finger I wear it on - my wedding finger, saying that I should never wear a ring on that finger until I'm married Due to the problems I've had in the past from/with lads, it was part security for me, part protection from myself. For whatever else I have been, I don't believe a woman with a ring on her finger should be interacting in any way that could be considered inappropriate with a guy. (Not that a woman without one should be, either, but for me, it's more influential this way). I wear it on my wedding ring finger after hearing a horror story from one of my gentleman friends, who I questioned on seeing his purity ring being worn on his left hand. He was driving around with a pastor just before a revival meeting, and the pastor stopped to invite a couple of girls on the pavement/sidewalk to the revival

I was laughing inside a minute ago over this, and I just thought I'd share it with you. I've always hated crusts. You know, how people favour parts on a chicken? Thigh, leg, breast, drumstick...and some people like bread slices, and some people like the crust. I hate crusts. Always have. About two/three days ago, I opened a new packet of Hovis bread while making sandwiches for Mom, Jose and me, and realised I had to use a crust. Reluctantly I was about to put it on my plate, when I remembered. Joseph! I hurried into the next room. "Jose, you do like crusts, don't you?" Jose nodded. "Yes, he does", from Mom. I hurried back happily into the kitchen and dropped both crusts onto Joseph's plate, buttering them before putting the filling on. Yay! I never eat crusts gracefully. Or gratefully. Today we'd run out of bread. Except for two crusts. Mom, Sam and I were really hungry (Joseph was having seizures) Mom went to make a sandwich. Sam didn't want

I was walking my dog the other day...one of those forced walks I have to take when Joseph has decided to start attacking me and I have to leave my Mom and sister at his mercy in the hope that he will calm down with me, the aggravating presence, gone. I cried as I walked. Despair. Despondency. An utter, "Oh, God, what ARE You doing." An I can't take any more. We can't. And through the tears and mascara smears, I talked out loud to God. (And yes, this is a very selfish list. I know Mom, Sam and Joseph have lost even more.) God, what are You doing? How much more are You going to do? Look at what I've lost. My father, who I never really had anyway. My home. My church. My belongings. My neighbours. My Squadron. My best friend, who meant more than most of any of it to me. Nearly the whole circle of my close friends. And I nearly lost my MP3 and my trip to the States, only God gave them back to me. My internet is spaced out, and I can lose it completely for two days at a