Soap for Jesus

Writers. A forum. Testing waters, not yet knowing who we'd be. Fighting. Backsliding. Growing closer. Fought for me against them. Against the darkness. "Give them my email." He who was so cautious about letting other people have his details, gave them to fight for me. Arguing. Constantly. Respect. Never realising. I gave stuff up to talk. Constantly demanding to talk. Freaked out if he couldn't talk. He always made time. Even got grounded a few times because he went over the limit. Mentioned a girl he would like if he'd let himself. Realised. Ran. Two guys apart, I accepted it. Compliments from him, kind words, meant the world to me. I began to save them. A friend found out about it after the time that he said with me in the RAF and him at college/working, our friendship would probably disappear and I freaked. Then the friend let it loose to him. We talked. Agreed a time to separate and pray. I offered to kill it, told him I was being stupid. He asked ...

Recently, it was the birthday of The Dude. It was kinda a hard day, despite this place of constant peace and resting the Lord has provided. It took a bit of pondering, over the past few weeks, whether or not to send a birthday greeting. After all, he totally blanked (probably forgot, you know what men are like :P ) my birthday this year, in spite of our past friendship of seven years. The one part was going, "Well, I want to ignore him. He ignored me. Maybe I should just leave it to public holiday greetings from now." The catty, angry, self-righteous part wanted to send him a greeting, just to say to myself that at least I did the right thing. And both of them were holding back because, well, I don't want to give in to the self-righteous part. I want to love him right and purely. In the end, I sent it. Because holding back isn't an option. When you love, you give all, whether or not it's returned. It's a rejoicing day because someone is alive, someo...

*grins* That's a Black Country term, so most of y'all probably won't know that. ;) So here's me, in sweatshirt, fancy necklace and Mediæval bodice fresh from work, earbuds dangling and still distantly playing Mandisa's "What If We Were Real" album, pj trousers on and perched on a chair, typing this while gobbling up some pumpkin soup - WITH CHEESE. Scrummicking round the house, getting fed and watered before settling down to work at home for the evening. Y'know, it's impossible to explain the joy and peace that's been here the last few days. The period I've just gone through has been the blackest, spiritually, I remember walking through in the past four years, since my backslide when I was 17. I don't remember what jolted me to actually fighting again. I was convinced God wasn't going to fight for me anymore, and on being told that He was waiting for me to say no to doing wrong in the weakest area of my life and wasn't go...